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-{
-    "metadata": {
-        "pairs_size": 10,
-        "sanitized_pairs_size": 9
-    },
-    "data": {
-        "He is the one and the same person that gave": "He is the one and the same person that gave the medical testimony. Who knows whether he studies his dictionary, medical or English, more than his Bible. 'Thank you, thank you. Don't mention it. What are enemies for!' His ironic use of 'enemies' caused another fit of giggles to permeate the audience. 'The basket has been passed round and you must have picked something. Now if I point at you, just walk up here and tell us what is inside the piece of paper you picked.' He pointed at one brother but that one said the basket did not get to him. He pointed again and the lot fell on Segun. He came out, unwrapped the paper and read out what he foud therein. 'Dance and gist with the celebrant for two solid minutes!' 'Whaoh! That is phantasmaglorious! Hold on, please hold on DJ. None of us should be left out in this networking. This is what we are going to do. Get someone beside you and you too can interact with him or her for those two minutes. No dancing in your own case however.' He turned to Segun and AY who were now standing together. 'And to both of you, \"Holiness to the Lord\" o?' He feigned a baritone, 'Thou shall not tamper with the holiness gap.' The two beamed with enthusiasm. 'I request the DJ to play us a soft, slow-moving gospel. They can't be dancing marcossa and still be able to colloquize. Yes or no?' The echo was in the affirmative. 'Meanwhile, if you can't find anyone to spin a yarn with, I'm very much available. Let the music roll.' It was time to continue where they stopped on Sunday evening as they rocked lazily to the music. When it all ended the two minutes seemed two seconds. Segun craved for more. * * * * *\n\nSegun got to his door but could not put the key in the lock. He bent to the peephole and discovered another key hanging in the lock from the inside. Definitely Sister Kemi is around. He knocked at the door and Kemi was prompt to open. They held hands and got inside. She had come with the progress report as usual. 'Brother Segun, the good news is that Daddy's attitude is getting more and more favourable by the day. From the look of things he will give his full consent with one or two more delegations'. She noticed Segun was not showing interest. It was taking him unnecessarily long pulling off his shoes. He was bent double to the task and would not even lift as much as his eyes when she mentioned 'good news'. 'Brother Segun!' she tapped him on the back, 'it seems you are not even interested in what I'm saying. You are not saying anything. Is anything the matter?' Segun jerked up his head, managed a reluctant smile and spoke with an interest that was only skin-deep. 'I'm interested now. Nothing is wrong, it's only that I'm tired. I'm sorry.' 'Then say something to the issue on ground,' Kemi queried. 'I'm happy. Yes, I'm happy that Daddy is responding. I just pray that the Daddy upstairs will grant us good speed.' 'Amen. He will. But you know God's time is the best. He makes all things beautiful in His time and ours shall not be an exception. God will help us. Let's just hold on to Him till the end.' Segun concluded the dialogue with, 'It is well.' Somebody else is beginning to steal Segun's heart. A real-life osmosis is taking place across his heart \u2013 love is moving from an area of higher concentration to that of lower concentration. But then, when the two sides are balanced, one must be discarded, for the heart understands romantic love only in the language of elimination by substitution. There can be no greater confusion in the heart than that of love. CHAPTER 5\n\n3 \u2013 2 = 1 heart praying 4 u. 1 + 1 = 2 eyes looking at u. 3 + 4 = 7 days thinking of u. 7 + 5 = 12 months asking God to protect and bless u, because u're special! How is ur day? The Lord is ur muscle. Shalom. Segun finished punching in the short message and was about sending it when he caught sight of the figure 269/2 at the top right hand corner of his Nokia 1100's LCD. That suggested the message had spilled over to the second page, meaning an additional cost. Segun, a shrewd and thrifty SMS-sender, could not tolerate it. The service is called short message and it should remain as such. He looked for ways of trimming down the text to one page. After reading through twice he discovered he had been too generous with spaces. He removed the space immediately after every punctuation mark and operation sign. Still the character-and-page number indicator was reading 279/2. What could he do? He removed the 'g' ending all the present participle verb forms. He abbreviated 'months' to 'mths' and 'because' to 'cos', then 'at' was transformed to its internet sign, '@', and the conjunction 'and' to its popular symbol '&'. When it would still not go for one page he finally decided to delete 'shalom' and was happy with what he saw at the corner \u2013 300/1. No wonder some of his friends called him SMS Ijebu. On several occasions he had sent texts with too many contractions. It would take the receiver several minutes of logically slotting in the missing letters for the meaning of the SMS to flow out. He could receive a 3-page text and resend it in just one page. He had to be this generous with the text because of the recipient involved \u2013 AY. But ironic enough, he was a well-known magnanimous giver among brethren. He keyed in AY's number offhand \u2013 no need of going through the search option in the terminal equipment's phonebook. OK. In about twelve seconds the screen read, 'Message sent', and ten more seconds, 'Delivered to AY' flashed on and off the display unit. AY flashed back to acknowledge the receipt of the text. Segun's gaze had stayed on the petite, black-and-silvery Nokia expecting the flash. Terminating a call while still ringing, before the called could pick it up, had become a cheap form of sending warm but dumb greetings and acknowledgment to friends and loved ones. The verb 'flash' was whimsically coined out for this special service maybe because of the speed involved. The flasher must be on the red alert \u2013 his ear on the receiver-mic and his thumb on the red button \u2013 or else he has himself to blame. Actually, flashing costs nothing. You must have airtime validity and a few kobo of credit left though. With that, one could go ahead to flash the whole world. But if one of those flashed prematurely picks the call, maybe accidentally or deliberately \u2013 as a sort of punishment or mischief \u2013 your flashing credit goes down the drain. So it is a game of speed. An extended use of the flashing technique plays out when the younger intend sending the older a free electronic SOS which could be equivalent to a telegram message that sounds like: please call me. Segun flashed a smile and then withdrew to his sofa to reminiscent on the series of happenstance, as the Americans will say, that had brought him thus far with the beautiful and talented AY. Only a month into the relationship and the developments seemed built over years. The way nature arranged the events and their rolling out, scene upon scene and act upon act, made Segun conclude: 'God is arranging the circumstances to prove a point.' 'And what is the point?' 'This lady is meant for me.' 'Are you sure? Has that conclusion passed the joy and peace test?' 'My peace seemed a bit withdrawn about it. But does it really matter? Time can take care of that.' 'You are treading on a dangerous path, Segun, you are!' 'Allow me please!' and with that he ended the conversation with his conscience. His mother, Mama Sola, came visiting two hours later. Her furrowed face bore the concern of the severing relationship between Segun and his father. Baba Segun lay critically ill at the General Hospital, Oke-Ijeun. He had been there for two weeks but Segun did not bother to send a word, much less a visit. The gap between him and his father, created at the pre-introduction, yawned by the day. Things were making a turn for the worse and Mama Segun could bear it no longer. She had come in the company of her last born, Sola. 'Ah! Segun! You are wicked. Did your younger brother not deliver my message to you that your father is sick and bedridden?' her emotional outburst characteristically feminine. 'Deji delivered your message. But I can't come,' Segun said bluntly. 'Why, Segun, why?' Mama taken aback. 'What do I have to do with him again, Mummy? He had denied me. He did. He said he is not my father. He said it with his own mouth and I've made myself to come to terms with it. The denial sank so deep and I lost all feelings toward him. I had to actually force myself to even pray for his recovery, and that once. I struggle with my conscience daily but visiting him is too much an honour I can't afford, Mama. He went too far to shame me only to carry me farther to shear me of all feelings and honour I hold for him...'\n\n'Segun! Segun!' his mother cut it, 'My Adesegun! If we forget not yesterday's grudge we will have no one to take to the game.' The crown that brought me conquest\n\nThe Alani who is no fool\n\nIn a single swipe\n\nHe splits eko, the half-solid gruel\n\nTwenty wraps down the gut\n\nAnd he still wants more\n\nAdesegun, their son in Igbein\n\nThe Igbeins, the sons of Ojowu\n\nAnd Ojowu, the son of Sikiki\n\nWho would bring home produce\n\nIf the farmer he met on the farm\n\nEven in the farmer's absence\n\nHe would still cart the produce home\n\nBut then in superfluity\n\nThe farmer's cursing\n\nRanting and raving\n\nNever took a toll on your ancestor\n\nAnd cursing never does\n\nOn your lineage ever since\n\nSon of ...'\n\n'Oh! Please, please, please, Mummy. You know I don't like all this ancestral praise-singing. Please stop it...'\n\n'Adesegunfunmi, my one and only! Eh! For the sake of this my womb that bore you for nine months; these my knees that bended to bring you to birth; these my two breasts that nourished you in your first year and for the sake of this my back that carried you for two years, please forgive your father. Jo oko mi. My son that is like a husband to me, please. Everyone has his day of blunder. Agreed that your wedding pre-introduction day was his day of blunder, eh? But Alani ogo, Alani is no fool, please find a place in your heart to forgive and let bygones be bygones. You need to bury the hatchet my son.' The atmosphere dripped with emotion. Even Sola, the 13-year old, caught the current. Her eyes, fixated on the mother-son scene, were saturated with the tear-gland fluid ready to trickle down any moment. Mrs. Toriola had succeeded in infecting every occupant of the sitting room with emotive germ. Segun contracted the endemic and a lump was stuck to his throat. He was gradually getting mollified as he succumbed to the feminine tear-power supplying the atmosphere with the electricity in high horsepower. He is no wood, how will he not succumb! Yes, it will only take a wood to stand unyielding when mother's tears start yielding in squirts. He dropped his head, shook it vigorously and was still for a while. When he finally lifted up the bloodshot eyes, his exasperation had been defused. 'But Mummy, I'm confused. He said he was not my father. Here you are saying I should forgive him being my father. Would there be smoke without fire? Would Daddy...' the first time in many days his heart and mouth would reconcile to call Mr. Toriola daddy, 'have said it if nothing broods at the back of his mind? Mummy, does the mouth not speak out of the abundance of the heart?' The conveyance of his conviction was wrapped up as he awaited its effect. The middle-aged mother heaved a great sigh but not of relief. It was time she visited the past she dreaded even its mere mention. She acute-angled her head on the upright, the backrest, of the sofa as she travelled down memory lane. 'It was some twenty-nine years ago. You were six months in my womb then. Some three men, armed with matchete, burst into our home while your father and I were asleep. They dragged him out and, oh my God! They murdered him, in very cold blood!' She stopped cold and the valve to her tear-store let go freely. Cascading tears pervaded every particle of the emotional pause. Segun squeezed his eyes shut as if remembering something. Yes, the dream. Those three men. That man he bore uncanny resemblance to who was hacked down mercilessly. The woman heavy with pregnancy. Every detail streamed up his memory. Then, they were obscure, even to his pastor. But now, the pictures came out crystal clear. 'The dream!' 'What dream, Adesegun?' 'I saw everything in that dream a year ago!' 'Eh, what did you see?' 'Daddy was matcheted to death. You came out, saw it and blacked out. I saw everything vividly in the dream.' When weeping weds wondering, a sight to behold indeed it is. With eyes oozing tears and mouth agape in wonder, the matriarch was lost in meditation on God's awesome reign of providence over the earth. 'So it is true that Daddy is not my father. But wait Mummy, why then do I bear Adesegun Toriola?' 'I'm not yet through, Adesegun. After the incident, which God showed you in your dream, a lot still happened. I was revived and comforted afterwards. I had hardly adjusted to this which life threw at me when it threw me another. No sooner were my days of mourning over than your father's family stood against me insisting I was responsible for his death. Gbolagade mi, my one and only. How could I have killed my loving and graceful husband! There was no means I didn't employ to prove my innocence. I even subjected myself to swearing an oath before the deity. Still they tortured my existence. When I couldn't bear it anymore I ran away and came down to Abeokuta here. Your pregnancy was eight months old then. Though Abeokuta was supposed to be the country-home of all Egbas, I knew nobody - no friend, no relative. I went through hell. Life was toughest. I had to attend to wicked canteen owners, sell pure water and peddle fruits and vegetables. 'Because I couldn't afford antenatal care I resigned to fate; if God would permit I would be delivered of you safely but if not and I would have to lose my life in the process, so be it. But thanks be to God who had a better plan for me. He saw my plight and divinely connected me with this man you have known as your father all your life. He took me in with the pregnancy and took every responsibilities over it and over you when you came. It was life moving from the depth of the quagmire to the height of the mountain range \u2013 a new lease of life. And it was to honour the man that has done, and means, so much to me that I gave you his surname. Maybe by that step, Adesegun, I went too far, please pardon me. You are of age now, you can right the wrong. Your real father's family name is Alapatira. You can be Adesegun Alapatira. But please Adesegun, even if your surname walks away from Toriola, let not your affection for him toe the trail. He has done so much for you and your mother. Please, let his pound of past good deeds outweigh this his penny of momentary misdemeanour. He still loves you Adesegun.' The atmosphere has been charged up again. Tears freely flowed down every eye in the room. If an outside observer called it showers of tears he would make no mistake. Even if a man who had just had tortoise's head steak, a diet believed by the Yorubas to be an exclusive preserve of a scrooge, had walked in, he would shed proper tears, not crocodile. 'Adesegun,' she picked up the reconciliation bid where she left off, 'every minute that ticks away tugs Adewale Toriola closer to the grave. And only you can restrain his galloping down six feet below the earth.' 'Me? Why? How?!' Segun erupted with a repertoire of one-word questions in response to the responsibility being stacked against him. Something was in his mother's voice that told him this was not about footing his foster father's hospital bill. He had known her all his life and could bet his life on it that her prod was not pecuniary. There was more to it than met the eyes and he couldn't wait to hear her out. 'When your father, I mean the man you bear his surname before now, spurned medical treatment, despite degenerating health, I prevailed on him, as a last resort, to go with me to seek spiritual help in a church. There, we were given the only antidote that would remedy the situation.' 'And what was it?' growing impatient. 'That he has so much offended an anointed one and what we have at hand is the consequence. Only the prayer of that same anointed one can save him from the dangling doom.' 'And?' 'And when I added one to two in my heart, I arrived at you.' 'Mummy!' 'Adesegun, if all my pleas have landed right on your eardrums then it is time to act and that quickly. Adesegunfunmi, my one son that is worth seven others.' * * * * *\n\nStill, Mr. Adewale Toriola was adamant on not undergoing the testoctomy. Had he, he would have long been placed under the deep X-ray therapy. That means his case would have been transferred to UCH, Ibadan \u2013 the only health institution in the South-West with the deep X-ray machine. He had been to the radio-therapy ward of UCH before to visit a cancer patient on admission. Though the patient, a childhood friend, eventually died of the disease, images of the untold hardship faced by those who had come from far and near to 'pass under the machine' were still fresh in his memory. There were always too many people waiting for their turn on the roll every day. Eventually some would be turned back in gross disappointment at the end of the day, around 7pm sometimes. These had had their names called out in the morning among those to be attended to in the course of the day. Schedule for exposures would have to be thrown into the trashcan. Ten exposures to be taken within two weeks might extend over two more weeks. That is if the patient was even lucky and also knew how to rub the palm of the attendants. Only God knows the ratio of those who died out of the scarcity of the essential healthcare infrastructure to those the obstinate cancer killed. That he met many from the East there could mean that even in the South-East, the machine was almost non-existent. 'Ah! Nigerian Government!' he muted the exclamation as his nervous system reminded him he was in a hospital \u2013 sustainable silence, aside from involuntary cries, must be the lifestyle. 'Why worry my head. I never fully subscribe to Western medicine anyway. Testoctomy, injection or deep X-ray, I would have none,' he rounded off the soliloquized murmur. He was right. It was the wife's plea cum pressure that saw him to the hospital, and with the way things were going, the hospital management might soon discharge, or rather evict, him. What was he still waiting for \u2013 he had blatantly refused all the other options beside pills and capsules offered. * * * * *\n\nThe cab pulled up in front of the freshly repainted General Hospital and Segun took his time to alight. He couldn't be faster. The front passenger seat had pressed so hard on his long femur-borne knees and would need to push it a bit forward to free his legs one at a time, like legs stuck in the proverbial local palm oil mill. The cab, a Datsun 120Y saloon painted with Ogun State taxi colour of green with two parallel yellow stripes running along the sides and the centre of the boot and the bonnet, was near rickety. He partly regretted not being selective a bit. It was the custom of Abeokuta commuters to pick and choose cabs. They had all the time and chance \u2013 resources scarce to passengers in Lagos, a neighbouring state, who were ever in a mad rush. This was Segun's first time at the hospital. He was welcomed by the board on the gate showing the visiting hours. 4.00 \u2013 6.00pm! Thank God it's just some minutes after four. So he would have been turned away if far, far earlier. He exchanged pleasantries with those at the security post and as it is becoming of every visitor he asked for directions to the male ward. With reluctant steps he entered the hub of the hospital. The deceleration was due to the ongoing conflicts in his mind \u2013 the guilt of not making the get-well-quick visit earlier and the vent of deflated pre-introduction fulfilment. A bold label betrayed the male ward. He was just navigating the corridor towards the nurse/inquiry desk at the other end when he stumbled on a familiar voice. He turned in its direction and there at the farthermost corner to the left was his mother. His gaze steeply descended and met his old man's. He froze. A minute or two later, he clicked into gear and started towards the bed though against a most powerful friction. Adewale's quest for forgiveness swelled to the brim. With an emotional call-out, he broke his son's resistance. He extended arms hungry for an embrace. Segun was overcome. He rushed into the arms. Sparkling tears hunted one another down their natural gorges on the face of the on-looking mother, and wife. She watched the intertwined two in a togetherness that has so long eluded them all with rapture. From the endocardium Adewale rolled out the Elastoplast,\n\n'Adesegun, I am very sorry for all the hurts I have caused you. Please, do find a place in your heart to forgive me.' All eyes with good sight in the ward turned away from the captivating Nollywood Yoruba movie on Gateway Television, the state-owned station which the ward TV was tuned to and which hardly featured such on its daily line-up. The unfolding scene at the ward's outstage stole the show and tucked in all attention. Surely, Segun did forgive his father. He passionately prayed for him while still deep in his embrace. The joy of forgiveness gained entrance and Adewale's body reacted positively to it. He could not conceal it. After the prayer he opened up. 'Segun, while you were praying, something moved in my body and I felt light.' 'Hallelujah! Glory be to God. That is the Spirit of God,' Segun concluded. No doubt, the jinx had been broken and the siege over. CHAPTER 6\n\nThe balance of the day assumed a sloppy sloth towards the even. The blazing ball that had extended its rays to the horizon for the greater length of the day retired with moderate brilliance at its trail. The golden plate warmed up to clock in for the administration of the heavenly canopy. It trotted over the mountains of grey clouds emerging a spitting distance from the rendezvous where the crown of buildings and trees fused with the firmament. Wisps of smoke from the fires of wives in the city suburbia prepared the atmosphere to well-deservedly welcome the handover. The swing shift was for the re-solemnization of what the daily attempts at providing bare necessities had put asunder. Husbands would be brought back from the daily hustle and bustle into the safe hands and gourmet pots of their wives. Segun was in the sitting room overcome in two parts. The physical and mental exhaustion induced by the rigors of maintaining two jobs a day was the first part. He was a pedagogue at both a public secondary school and an evening private coaching centre. His work schedule was usually rounded off by six o' clock. The other part of the exhaustion was emotional. He was fuming at the reception his wife threw at him. It was his first day out to work after their wedding. AY had answered his homecoming compliments from the bedroom. She would not bother coming out. And when he endured it and composed himself to demand his right of food, the mistress's response shocked him the more. Without apology she threw instructions at him,\n\n'Get to the kitchen and check the blue warmer, the wraps of Eba are there. Help yourself to the soup. I really need this sleep so badly.' His little remaining strength drained from him instantly. He dropped into one of the three single-seating armchairs \u2013 the one closest to the main door. With head lolled forward and propped on the arms, he fumed in silence like a bottled acid. His condition sparked off a spate of reminiscences. Things he never stopped to think of then climbed up his cerebral neurones. With Kemi, the scenario would have been different. Poor lady! Strongly, he was feeling for her. He could remember the last time he set eyes on her. He felt sorry for how he treated her then. It was in his bachelor room. She had burst into the familiar terrain \u2013 she even held a spare key \u2013 brimming over with triumphant joy. From outside she had called out to Segun announcing her father's final submission to the will of God for the couple. After the long wait she believed the news would be victory at last for them both. But the sight that met her eyes stunned her joy to evaporation in a nanosecond. She stood stone-cold. Segun and AY were at the table sorting out wedding invitations. To confirm her open doubt Segun extended an invitation to her without as much as a word and continued with his engagement. She congealed for minutes. He had noticed her out of the corner of his eyes and could imagine seeing her mind's eyes staring at her world crash-landing like the almost always fatal Nigerian plane crashes. He felt sorry for her. If he could have stood up, walked up to her and declared with a smile, 'It's all just a big joke. We are still together,' her numbness would have been salvaged, though that would be the most unbelievable joke ever hatched. He remained on his seat half-heartedly busy. Omoye has already made her nude appearance at the market square. Of what good is running after her with a complete set of attire. AY was quite aware that this woman, shorn of joy and left to devastation in the emotional torture chamber, had her man first. Either out of malice or out of contempt, her inner judge to determine, she made no input as well. Segun's heart was as heavy as tonnes of cocoa beans for the length of Kemi's stupefaction. It seemed like ages. Then the uneasy relief came. Without as much as a whisper, Kemi walked out of the house and his life in the speed of a snail. Back to the present, another journey down the immediate past was about to begin in the convolutions of his forebrain over the same subject. 'Kemi, what a woman! She gave her best within the limits of what Christian courtship would allow?' He thought. He recollected some occasions at the more mature stage of their courtship when she would come to help with some sanitary chores and meal preparation while he was away at work. When it was a quarter to six she would set the table, covering the dishes and enamel bowls, and then dash out. Welcoming one's husband from work with an endearing osculation, warn embrace and hot dishes is a delight exclusively preserved for marriage, she would not want to have a premature taste of it \u2013 she often told him days later. How he longed for those days when he would come in to a surprise meal set on the dining with a note. The note, usually clipped at an edge to the tray bearing the stock bowl, would most affectionately read:\n\nI LOVE YOU\n\n'Now I have a wife, at home from morning till evening. Thanks to her leave. Yet no set table. Not even a warm welcome to rub off the day's demand. Sleep has engaged her in an assignment more important than all these. Imagine! I should go to the kitchen and dish out my food myself! My own self! What does she take me for? Her child? That's very naughty of her. Kemi would never do such a thing. I lost her by a whisker of impatience. Ah Kemi! What a great loss!' 'Comparing themselves with themselves they are not wise.' 'But should one not appreciate what is good? We must call a spade a spade. You too know it too well that Kemi is better off.' 'Crying over split milk?' 'Very painful I allowed it spill in the first place.' 'Why not try to make the most of what you now have rather than cry over what you never can get again.' 'But this is too much. In her first throw she hit me below the belt!' 'Stomach it and prudently communicate your displeasure later on.' Easier said than done. The advice from the voice in his heart looked perfect. But the devastating exasperation would not take to it. It had taken a toll on him for two hours already. Lassitude now drowned him in the sofa on which anger had earlier floored him in supineness. It was a quiet fit while it lasted. From the time he gave his life to Christ, ten years ago, he had worked through his temperamental disposition to provocation. It was transformed from tantrum to sulkiness. The change was really necessary for him to continue as a faith possessor and not just a professor then. Countless times he had had to get rededicated to the course of the Christ in those his developing days. No thanks to the unchristian verbal outbursts. Each time he responded to the first impulse when angered, he would be digressed a bit from the Way. And the muddling of the conviction to repent with the devil's deception of loss of salvation would make him go a day or two on a prodigal journey. It would take the next available altar call to save the day and his soul. Though commitment to God's service along the line had saved him from the toing and froing, he still had issues with anger. Anger had been around him for donkey years. Even in his teens, Mama Sola preferred sending him on an errand when he was boiling. She would say,\n\n'That is when he would deliver on my errand in no time at all.' She was right. The young Segun would neither greet anyone on the way nor throw banters the whole length of the fit which usually outlasted the assignment. 'Segun no longer boils. Thank God for Christ. But he can still be too sullen for comfort.' One of his childhood friends had remarked during Segun's last birthday when it was time for free-for-all remarks. Segun admitted it was his cultivated weak point. It was a quarter past eight. AY was having a sweet sleep on her matrimonial bed. She turned her side unconsciously. Her sleeping lips moved and muttered some undecipherable words for a long second before they were sealed again \u2013 a strange reflex for an adult, much less a female adult. Certainly, she was in the middle of some dream. Back in the sitting room, Segun was still lying on the three-seater. He was lost in thought, oblivious of the darkness that had crept into the room. Visibility was difficult but then his sight was not here but there, in the mind. The silhouette of shapes and figures in the room, imposed by the protracted power cut of Power Holdings, the Nigerian electricity authority, cried for illumination from a lantern at the very least. Segun's mind was too preoccupied. Out of mind. Out of sight. 'Tolu was right. My sullenness is very unpleasant. Not only to others but also to me myself.' He thought. He was thinking about the torrents of thoughts that always bedevilled him and sapped his strength dry whenever he was in a sulk. No, I won't with my own hands destroy my home. I might not have liked her approach. Her presentation might be rude. But then there's no smoke without fire. I must get to the root of it. But till we have a heart-to-heart, I give her the benefit of the doubt. I'm learning to lean. Just then AY walked into the sitting room quietly and carefully. With her right hand she scrambled for the way until the hand came to rest on the arched back of the two-seater. Her hands ran the arch through its length until she got to the far end of the sofa, opposite the kitchen door. She did not bother to call out to her husband. The absence of the lantern light had its usual conclusion; her man had either slept off on the rug or in one of the sofas. In the kitchen she located a box of matches and the lantern. She struck four sticks successively and failed. Each time, the reddish brown spark substance produced flame but the attached uncooperative stem stifled it almost immediately. 'Ah! Niger! Nothing is of quality again in Nigeria. Gone are the days of the popular and effective triple-picture match boxes.' She breathed her frustration. She was lucky on the fifth attempt. Quickly she suspended the transparent glass globe with the side-lever and torched the lantern's wick with the flame. The globe released. The flame regulated. Something told her to check the blue polystyrene food container. Her eyes popped when she saw the three wraps of eba, a food made from boiled and creamed grains of cassava, intact. She instantly knew she was in for trouble. What has she done wrong. She started some self-probe. For some five minutes, her legs would not agree with her heart on presenting herself at the sitting room for the obvious subpoena. Her eyes surveyed the kitchen aimlessly but vigorously, like the proverbial ear-cut thief. At last she summoned up the courage and advanced towards the sofa-and-electronic-gadgetry room, albeit slowly. The light led the way she sluggishly followed. Then she lowered her eyes on the sofa for three. There lay her beloved. He turned in a reflex towards the infiltrating light and his eyes looked horrible when AY zoomed in on them. She has jumped into the river already, fearing the cold now is useless. Though the grim face was highly repellent she drew closer and closer to it. Then she did what she never in her wildest dream thought she would do: she sank to her knees before her cross partner. Her tender hands seduced him to forgive while her mouth quickly laid out her reason. 'Sweetheart, I'm very sorry. It was not intentional. I was having some headache. So, I took Panadol and a nap to help me up.' Segun was floored by the explanation. His seething was stilled instantly, like the soup in an aluminium pot. One pleasant thought made a mockery of him. 'Women, so powerful! What is it they want they won't get!' He got up, sat up, helped her up and tendered a complementary apology. 'I'm sorry too in any way I've overreacted. I'm again sorry if I've been too harsh on you. We are still learning to understand each other. But it will no go without saying that communication builds a strong home. I wouldn't have felt offended if you had included a sentence or two about your headache in your welcoming words. I would have even forgotten about the food first, come around to the bedroom and stroke your hair. And the anointing in my hand would have cast off the intruding headache.' She beamed. 'I'm sorry sweetheart. I will take note. But it's not too late for the stroking.' She feigned an headache, 'I'm still feeling the headache.' The now love-drunken husband readjusted his posture, like a pastor swinging his shoulders to feel a newly given designer suit. 'Makaru ma tarasmiku!' the man of God was in the spirit as his hands descended on the pick-and-drop braids. AY responded promptly like one being delivered; she wriggled and jerked from head to waist. 'Ah! Man of God, I feel like falling!.' 'Maskarururi! Fall! Fall! Fall!' He tipped her head and she fell, like a pack of Whot cards, on his lap. 'You are an unusual deliveree; you should fall on your back and not forwards. The presence of your head on my lap is tempting. Get up and let me re-deliver you! Looska!' How they both laughed at the well-acted home-grown drama. AY eventually served the eba with okra soup. They ate their fill amidst teasing and pulling of legs. The drama then proceeded to the bedroom. It was a night to remember. CHAPTER 7\n\nOne year passed with speed. No bloated face, no protruded tum and no pale skin. AY became worried. Every time she saw her period, her tears flowed along. 'When will I become a mother?' Segun could not provide an answer to the incessant question. All he could do was to persuade her. At times, a mild reproof would do:\n\n'Just a year down the line and you shed tears this much. What would Sarah have done after fifty years of marriage and no child. She would have shed blood I suppose. Why will you kill yourself before the child itself comes? You don't need all these. God has not forgotten us. He will give us the fruit of marriage at the appointed time.' He would end up diluting the reproof with a sermon. 'But when is the appointed time?' 'Only God knows that. At any rate I know this: God's plan for us is the best for us.' 'I know too. But why not let us go for a medical checkup so as to know where to direct or re-direct our prayers?' 'I have no problem with that.' Tests upon tests followed. Different gynaecologists and infertility experts were visited. The diagnoses and results pointed in one direction: nothing was wrong with them. AY was overwhelmed with the outcome. Faced with the fast approach of the second year, she found the clean bill of health grossly unacceptable. Now that she had run short of ideas, she was compelled to wait for the appointed time. * * * * *\n\nLater in the year the couple had visitors. It was from the woman's side as usual. Segun often had wondered in his bachelorhood days why it had to be those of the wife's side who made the most calls. Reports from his married friends then elicited his quest. And up till the moment he had not yet found a solid answer. His mother- and sister-in-law were the visitors. Sade, AY's younger sister was on vacation. She therefore decided to follow her mother down on a stay with the couple. It was the third at the one-and-a-half-year old home. They planned to stay three weeks \u2013 the whole hug of Sade's 200 level first semester break. In the night of the first day, when the husband and wife had finally retired to their matrimonial chamber from the day's bustle, Segun uncorked the displeasure he had tried hard to bottle away from their guests. 'Why would Mama and Sade come all the way from Ikija to stay with us for not just one or two days but three full weeks without any prior information? In this world of GSM! Or were you informed but failed to tell me?' he queried. 'No, Sweetheart I am as well surprised seeing them. And immediately I registered my disapproval. I most especially rebuffed Sade, who ought to know better, for not making contact with me on phone prior to their coming. Mama tried to explain how they attempted to make the phone contact only to be met with the news of a two-day loss of GSM network signals to the village and its environs. She said she insisted on coming for the visit because her entire being was crying out to see us and she could not bear it any longer. I was still not satisfied with her explanation because I had at the back of my mind the fear of how you would react to the situation. Mama read my feelings and offered to go back to the village immediately. That floored me. I quickly mellowed and told her it has not gotten to that. And you know what sweetheart?' 'What?' Segun found himself being the respondent. 'I was humbled and relieved at the same time when you came in and received them with unexpected conviviality!' 'Uhmm, grammar!' 'You taught me. Honestly, sweetheart, they, who had sat precariously all the while awaiting your arrival to know their fate, stretched their legs and felt at home when they saw your warmth.' She untucked the insecticide-treated mosquito net over the bed at her side and climbed down. She then went on her knees before her 'head' who had all the while sat on the edge of the bed. 'Olowo-ori-mi, my sweetest heart, permit me, on behalf of my family, to apologize to you. I know it has not been easy feeding the two of us much less two more mouths coming out of the blue to join the number. For love's sake please bear with us. And the patience comes with an expiry date \u2013 three weeks.' 'Please, get up,' he helped her up, 'I was not angry, only surprised. We have always been well informed of Mama's visits in the past. So I was wondering if all was well when she burst in on us this time around. But it was perplexity all the way when I got to know it was just a three week long chatty call. I tried but in vain to understand the rationale behind this. And the best person to supply the reason is you. And with all your explanation I think Mama's excuse is tenable. Such Mama's passion is a surge that can never wane until it is fed to satiety. What is wrong in a mother's heart crying out for her daughter. The blame in all these goes to the treacherous GSM operators. They only concern themselves with increasing their customer base and making more money. They couldn't care less about improving on their epileptic services. Shame on NCC that could not mete out stiff measures against them. They are just all out to get us ripped off of our hard-earned money. I wish I were NCC Executive Vice-Chairman. I would without delay place a ban on all those useless street promos they stage to rake in more customers and instruct them to rather give those already hooked up to their network value for their money,' he was fuming. 'Aluta continua! The activist in my husband has already taken over.' She feigned a clenched fist and started a mock protest song. 'Solidarity forever\n\nSolidarity forever\n\nSolidarity forever\n\nWe shall always fight for our right.' Segun laughed over it but he was not done yet. 'But honestly honey, you can't imagine the kind of havoc these people are wreaking around.' 'You mean like the one having to do with Mama's visit and us?' she had been bought over. 'That's even a drop in the ocean.' 'A hyperbole I suppose?' 'No, no, no, not at all. Are you not aware of the poor GSM services these days wherein your call is misdirected to someone you never know from Adam sometimes speaking a lingo you never hear from the womb.' 'Of course I am. Was it not of recent that my friend, Sayo . . . you know her now! That one that said you were two years her senior in Lantoro High School.' 'Yes, yes. That diminutive lady.' 'That's it. She forgot her phone in her friend's place but thought she had lost it. What heightened her fear was when we called the phone and it was a strongly accented Hausa man who managed to identify himself as Alhaji that picked it. Only on redialing did we discover that the phone was with her friend. Her call had been re-routed to an Alhaji. Since then some of our mischievous friends never cease to tease her, \"When next are you going to see Alhaji? Please don't forget your phone there this time around o,\" they would say.' 'Honey, your friend's case is better. It only ended in teasing. Let me give you this vivid and lucid case which ended up in a broken home. A nearly five year old marriage ended on the platter of these people's negligence.' 'What!' she suspended the closing of the gaped mouth for minutes. 'The wife's friend was trying to reach her over the phone to extracool at midnight. The husband picked it and it was a male voice he heard at the other end. Meanwhile the friend could not hear anything and her credit burned on. She abruptly terminated the call. But the husband had heard enough. He flared up and said he believed the man must have cut off when he discovered he had been caught in the act. The wife tried in vain to convince him from the call records that it was her friend by the name Sola who called. The long and short of it was that he sent her packing with two kids.' 'Sweetheart! I think the foundational problem in that marriage is distrust.' 'Agreed. But the GSM poor service added petrol to the fire which consumed the relationship whole.' AY suddenly assumed the posture of one in deep thought and that did not escape Segun's notice. 'Honey, what is it?' 'Let me not bother you with it. It's not all that important.' 'What do you mean by it's not all that important? I want to hear it.' 'Okay. Promise you won't be cross with me.' 'I promise,' the more eager to know. 'Will you ever trust my explanation if something like that happens to us?' 'Hah-hah! You know now!' 'Eh, I know but I just want to ...'\n\nSegun stopped her mouth with his index finger strapped across her lips and with the other hand stroking her hair he spoke a la their wedding day. 'Yes, I do. I will ever trust and love you. So help me God.' Quickly he switched position from the bridegroom to the joining priest and in line made his voice guttural to spell out the adapted creed, 'Will you, Ayoolape Deborah Oyediran, trust and love Adesegun Peter Toriola as your wedded husband all the days of your life?' With sheep's eyes she promptly thinned her voice and responded in a soprano. 'Yes, I do. So help me God!' The two faces became radiant and the night caught the light. After the marriage act and before sleep finally closed their eyes Segun still found the time to chip in the million-dollar question: 'Why do the wife's people visit more than the husband's?' and he was stunned with the straightforward answer he got from his wife who responded sharply as if she too had been thinking about if for some time. 'Simple!' She said, 'Anyone who visits a couple will have more time to spend with the wife, the homemaker, than the husband, the hustler. And who can feel much more at home with the wife than her own people? Chikenah!' 'Uhm! The sage old woman has spoken.' Segun put his hands together in low ovation. 'Than-k you m-y s-o-n,' she shook her voice like a very aged woman. 'You are not serious, who is your son? Thou wizened great great grandmother,' he tickled her and the conjoint giggles and laughter turned the night's light up the more. CHAPTER 8\n\nMama could not complete her holiday. A matter requiring her urgent attention arose in Ikija after two weeks with the Toriolas. 'Ah Mummy, ki lo de!' AY's heart was thumping as she collected her phone back from Mama to terminate the call from the village. 'Kosilaabi o. Ma kaya re soke!' [No problem. Don't give yourself any heartache] Mama assured her daughter. She then went ahead to explain to the two agitated children that it was her kolanut trade that had sent the invitation. Satisfied with the explanation, the two then began making preparations for Mama's travelling. That was Thursday. Mama travelled on Friday. On Saturday, an event took place that sent the other guest to follow on mama's trail before the expiration of her intended length of stay. AY had gone out to plait her hair. She was not expected to be back until two hours later. That had been her grouse with the hairdressers in the locality; they were too slow. But then she must dress her hair when due; if not for her own sake at least for her husband's. Segun was still in bed though half-awake. Twenty minutes after his wife had left for the hairdresser's he felt a supple hand on his bare breast. The tenderness message travelled wildly all over his body. Back so soon? That was what he wanted to instruct his vocal cord to convey through his mouth when on opening his eyes he met a different figure altogether by the bedside. She sat halfway her length from the waist upwards almost nude with only a cleavage-advertising wrapper, loosely tied, on. * * * * * *\n\nAy could no longer contain her impatience. She had had to wait for twenty minutes for an early bird's hair to be set. Despite the hairdresser's pacifying pleasantness she stood to go instructing the hairdresser to flash when ready for her. * * * * * *\n\nSegun's resistance weakened with the persistent stay of the tender hand on his cold chest and the elegant face in his electrified gaze. 'You sent for me?' beamed the owner of the hand, with winking and goggling accompanying. Segun was completely lost. His system was on fire. How could he escape this mountain that had come to Mohamed even when Mohamed never gave it a thought to get to it! His flesh was already caving in. Where was the libido-holding power of his bachelor days that kept him chaste till the wedding night? Or has his first carnal knowledge broken the hold irredeemably? It was no time for question, but action. Blood pumped turbulently into his male machinery. He grabbed her shoulder to commence touchery and her wrapper easily fell. At that instant, a bizarre grace fell on him and what he couldn't do in front of the curtain he did in the full glare of nudity. His inner strength was roused as he came to his senses. He immediately let go. Furrows of anger disfigured his countenance very quickly,\n\n'Get out now!' He shouted at the top of his lungs. And that one hastily covered herself back with her wrap and ran out like a rabid dog. She knew too well that the man had successfully weathered the seduction storm. Segun was still panting out the so much adrenalin pumped into his system when AY burst into the bedroom with alarm. 'Sweetheart, what happened? Whom were you shouting at like that!' her eyes, as well as her hands, joined in the demand for an answer. Segun gave her the graphical details. Message decoded, it was now AY's turn to take the baton of tantrum. 'You mean she came in here and attempted to lure you into sleeping with her on my matrimonial bed. Unbelievable! Ah! Sade! My God! S-a-d-e!' she stormed out and made for the guest room where Sade sat on the floor coiled like a tightly wound spring in shame. She was given the beating of her life despite assuming a pleading posture in welcome of the boiling sister. 'Please! Please! I'm sorry! Anti mi, please! Please forgive me! It's devil's handiwork!' she sputtered amidst the drenching rain of open-palm blows. Segun's intervention could do nothing to stop the exploding smacks until exhaustion did. Then AY broke down and both the beaten and her bailiff threw a weeping party. Segun came to the one that was his, put his arm under her armpit and guided her to their room. The weight the situation placed on her heart was not as much as the subfertility it reminded her of. In the bedroom, she wept cat and dog. All of Segun's homilies and consoling bounced off her earwax achieving nothing. The futility made him resign to the usual last resort \u2013 subtle threat. 'Is the childlessness on your own side alone? OK, I've gotten children from some lady elsewhere, eh? Or did the doctor say anything is wrong with you or with me? C'mon, we are in this together now! Why behaving as if the entire burden lies with you? I've been trying to pacify you since, you refused to be pacified. Don't force me to change my mind! What's with you now?' It worked as it always did. She tightened her hold around her man, gave the final sob and sigh, a forced calm then ensued. Segun finished it up with a continuous stroking of her hair and the concomitant repetition of the Christian clich\u00e9, 'It is well.' Sleep saw their heaviness and, out of pity, came to soothe it. Sade did not allow the glimmer of the next day to open its shutter before she took off under the cover of the gloom. Only God knows what she told Mama, but the couple never exposed her atrocity to a third party. * * * * *\n\nThe heavens wailed loudly and the teardrops pursued after one another to the heart of the earth. The highlands tilted the water towards the lowlands and the lowlands emptied it into drainage. The land was thus cleansed. But the political intrigues making the rounds stained it back with a different sort of dirt \u2013 accusations, cross-accusations and counter-accusations. They flew freely in the air. He who loves his head should wear crash helmet, ducking won't help. It was the third term era. Actually, the fire started with genuine concerns about constitution review. But because the No. 1 was at daggers drawn with the No. 2, the good intention of the former received a garb of mud from the latter before it left the boardroom for the public domain. The feedback? It could not get messier! The constitution review effort lost its identity to become Third Term Agenda. Opinion polls here, public hearings there. Where will it end? The two sides fought tooth and nail to overcome at the Waterloo \u2013 the National Assembly. The parliamentarians were two \u2013 the pro-third term and the anti-third term. Those on the fence before were jumping down fast to take sides. The whole wide world was expecting a crescendo soon. The venue was the red chamber of the National Assembly. The upper house, the more mature, would have the first go. Nigeria sat before the television to observe the climax of many days of horse-trading, political bickering and mudslinging. The press had had a field day. It was now the turn of the legislature to have the final say. Segun too was glued to the TV like most of the adult portion of the 140 million Nigerians. Alas! It was a stunning anticlimax. What a disappointment! The constitution amendment bill was devoid of any serious or sensible polemics. It was decided with a voice vote. When the Senate President demanded for the 'aye' of the draft bill enthusiasts, a muffled silence took over the chamber. Where were the swelling ranks of the pro-third term senators? What could make those with vested interest vastly divested of their interest and that sheepishly? The nays eventually had it at the hit of the gavel but neither exultant joy was written on the faces of the conquerors nor grave disappointment on the countenances of the conquered. Only the observers, across the length and breadth of the land, could not afford to be indifferent. To many of them, it was an utter waste of valuable time and scarce government resources to have embarked on a mission that would only meet a dead end at its full stretch. Segun shared in that view. Why throw the baby out with the bath water? The third term clause should just have been removed while allowing all the vital issues like fiscal federalism, resource control and revenue sharing formula to scale through. Why lavish so much money on the senate constitution review sub-committee and their many public hearings only to sell us a dummy at the end. The failed coup of the militarized democracy resurrected the poet in Segun and he put down a verse of it. Its trappings from the outset\n\nLook a coup d'\u00e9tat\n\nBut settings at the sunset\n\nCut a cul-de-sac\n\nMuch ado about hogwash\n\nSegun was now aware of the pounding pressure on his rectum and he headed towards the john to ease it. As he made an entrance into the conjoined toilet-and-bathroom 1, AY exited the master bedroom for the living room. The TV had been left running. The words of the man on the screen caught her attention. The man, clad in plain blue suit, a sky blue shirt and a chequered tie to match, was one of the operators of modern trado-medical centres in an ongoing traditional medicine trade fair organized by the TV station. He was oratorical and had the charm that would hold his hearer spellbound anytime. He was ahead of the pack. The fluency of his English suggested he was read to some appreciable level. Though AY in her normal self would have hissed and instantly tuned to another station, three factors wormed the man into her heart. One, she was losing hope in this waiting game, she needed a drastic measure. Another, the man claimed that six months were too much for his patients to conceive, and in six months' time the medics would declare hers an infertility case \u2013 the medical jargon for two Gregorian years down the exchange of marriage vows without conception. And the last straw that gave her camel's back a compound fracture, the man said the power of herbs and leaves only would do the magic \u2013 no incantation, no divination. AY took it all, hook, line and sinker. She copied down the shop stand and also the permanent address of the centre. It was now time for deliberation and decision. Should she inform her husband of her intention? Negative! He would never be a party to seeking help in traditional, or as they now christened it, alternative therapy. Had they not once discussed an issue relating to it and Segun had made his stand known! If he was ever to use herbs and leaves for physic he would prefer fetching them from the living plant himself. Going for all those crudely concocted herbal preparations was no option for the fear of fetish or metaphysical involvements even when there was a claim to the contrary. Another deliberation was on where to visit the man \u2013 his trade fair stand or permanent address. The latter naturally sailed through because of the fear that too many eyes would be there to pry at the former. Thus she concluded the arrangements but acted as if nothing happen when her husband returned from shedding the barbells in his rectum. CHAPTER NINE\n\nThe azure sky romanced the verdant vegetation and the rustic settlement was sandwiched in a festival of blues and greens. AY alighted from the intercity cab and took her journey to the backwater settlement. Eweje is one of the many villages and towns culturally and socially attached to Abeokuta, the headquarters of the Egbas. It is just a five-to-ten minute drive from the main town and has a Baale, the community head that reports to an Abeokuta king who oversees its relevant section of the Egbas. The kings in Abeokuta are not five for fun. Two times AY's left big toe kicked against some stone or stump along the grassy footpath. A bit of superstition worked its way up her heart but her Christian frame shunned it recklessly. Lepers never build their colony within the town walls, the old saying goes. The trado-medical centre was sited on the outskirts of the community. Leprosy. Sin. Sinister. Her heart again ran through the flashes but she came out unscathed. As she trod the sinking sandy part of the road, cacophony of school-children chatter surged from a nearby primary school. She checked her time; it was a quarter to twelve. Having confided only in a fellow-teacher of her sneaking out, return she must to school before the second period after the long break for her class. Otherwise, what she cooked and the whole house got razed by fire, her no-nonsense head-teacher would get wind of. And not in vain was Mr. Adekunle called the iron man of NUD Primary School, Obantoko. Among the teacher folks in Abeokuta, only the greenhorns would not be in the know. She had had an encounter with him once, not too long ago. It was still fresh; within the post-specialisation regime of primary school pedagogy. She was tardy for her Home Economics class. On getting to the class, Mr. Adekunle was already there, fuming. He gave her the telling-off of her life right in front of the pupils. Never, not even in never-never land, would she wish another chance encounter with him. So, she hurried. In no time, the frontage of the lair came to view. The semi-urban bungalow had a low fence of joined wooden posts, tapering at the upper ends, round it. She drew closer. Her eyes caught an object around the lintel and her heart got engaged again. It in fact skipped. 'AY, are you doing the right thing?' her conscience worked the bellows, the bellows of scruples, turbulently. The picture of the previous day burst in on the ember's luminance. The time was 6:45 pm. Pastor Tunji, flanked by his recently wedded wife, was at the Toriola's for the King's business. 'The Lord asked me to seriously charge you and your household not to relent in your waiting on Him. He said at the appointed time He will come and 'Sarah' will have a baby. Sister AY, it is your turn to be that Sarah. I see Gen. 18:14b read, \"At the time appointed I will return, according to the time of life, and Ayoolape shall have a son!\"' 'Amen!' responded the couple and Pastor's spouse. 'On a final note, God will want me to leave this scripture with you: Heb. 10:36. Brother Segun, can you please read for us?' 'Ok, sir.' He got his Bible, scuffled it for a moment and eventually rested his search on a page. Then, he ran his eyes down the page to the prescribed verse. 'For ye have need of patience, that, after ye have done the will of God, ye might receive the promise.' 'Patience is the word, Sister AY.' At the synapse, the words jumped on the train of Memory Present. Patience is the word, Sister AY. Patience is the word. Pa-tience-is-the-word-Sis-ter-A-Y! Each syllable hit her heart and the sounding was in thumps. The arc of cowries over the door firmly held the heavy drumsticks of syllables and the rising beats became more and more unbearable. She hesitated for some seconds but eventually made towards turning back. 'Madam, welcome,' a voice said over her back. Were she palm oil she would congeal to red stone. The only consolation was that it was an inviting voice. She stepped up her courage and turned in the direction of the voice. It is better to turn around and see what will kill you than to swell the rout of those feared dead. What she saw was not a killer but a kid who looked every inch the physician's apprentice, nay, scout. He must had been there all the while watching the pilgrim's progress towards their safe haven and only came to the rescue when the wayfarer seemed to have missed her way and was turning back. Apart, part of his chores was to give every of the path explorer a welcome feel \u2013 a sort of a PR job. 'Have you come to see the doctor, or how can we help you, ma? You seem not familiar with this terrain.' She calmed down and tried to compose herself. 'Thank you, I \u2013 I \u2013 I've really come to see the doctor,' she spluttered. 'Why, he's at home. Please...'\n\nShe brought down her voice and motioned the boy to do the same. 'Wait. I will like to find out something from you first.' The boy looked puzzled. What could that be? AY continued, 'The doctor claimed over the TV that he doesn't use juju, but what are those cowries doing over there?' The boy in his late teens, burst into a belly laugh. He must have gone at it for a minute or so before realizing the embarrassment he was causing the visitor. He adjusted, apologized and then went ahead to give an answer to the question that had tickled him so much. 'Ma, my oga is a man obsessed with the relics of the glorious history of our people before the Oyinbos came to our land to spoil it. One of such is the cowries. You know, ma, that was the means of exchange for goods and services, our legal tender, then. It has nothing to do with his means of healing.' He looked out of the corner of his eyes to see if she would buy the explanation. She did. She swallowed it whole and heaved a great sigh of relief. Now, she was ready for a consultation with Dr. Were, but not without first passing a commendation note on the boy's pleasantness and intelligence. 'What is your name?' 'Lateef, ma!' 'You have a good head on your shoulders, Lateef. You must not end it here.' Lateef beamed and responded, 'Thank you, ma. Actually, I was in SS1 going to SS2 when my only sponsor died. These odd jobs I do to raise enough money for me to go back to school.' 'And God will help your determination.' She dipped her hand into her purse \u2013 the biggest luggage you can sneak out of school with \u2013 and gave him two crisp one hundred naira notes. 'Thank you, ma,' he tucked the money in his pocket as he led AY to the consulting room. CHAPTER TEN\n\nSegun had been pacing the corridor for two hours. Yet, no soft cry from the labour room, but AY's noises all the way. She sang, prayed, groaned, shouted and lamented. Two hours into the labour and not as much as the head of the baby came close to the obstetrician's hand. She pushed until she ran short of the breath to push. The two doctors, one consulting, the other resident, and two midwives were helpless. Eventually, when everything else failed, the leading doctor dashed out and invited Segun to the consulting room. Segun was confronted with the option of a caesarean. It was a tough decision but with the situation at hand he gave informed consent and quickly appended his signature on the paperwork. On the way to the theatre, AY's disposition assumed a sharp wonderment. And she engaged an unseen being in a supernal communion. 'Who are you?... I have nothing to do with you... Leave me alone in Jesus' name... covenant? What covenant?... Yes, I was at Dr Were's place. And so what... I say leave me in... the coin I dropped in the bubbling chalky water. You know about it?... I dropped it actually into your hand? ... Liar! You are a damn liar. Yes?! I took out of the water after dropping the coin. Were said the water contained ground limestone and some purely herbal mixture that would hyper-stimulate pregnancy hormone on contact with metal such as the coin. True to Were's words I took in a month after. So, stop lying. I never had a deal with you. I rebuke you in Je... What! The coin! That's the coin! Ah! The exact coin I dropped into the water. Ah! Deceit! Fraud! Were deceived me! Ah! Were! Were! Doctor, help me tell Segun, my loving husband. Tell him Were deceived me. And I allowed myself to be bought for a price as a sacrifice to Were's thirsty demons. Ah! Segun, I'm sorry!.. Yeh! Please, Death, please, have mercy. Don't strike me. Please don't bring down that cudgel. If I had known I would have ...No, don't hit...Yeh! Yeh! Yeh!' She started jerking and gasping for breath. The team forgot about the operation for the moment and quickly grasped the life-saving apparatus. She was put on oxygen and resuscitation pressure was applied on her ribcage to simulate breathing movements. But all failed, woefully failed. She passed on to an uncertain eternity. The medical team saw it all, they were petrified. Breaking the news of the split gourd and its spilt water is enough burden. How can Segun cope with the much more details they saw en route the theatre? They therefore agreed to keep the latter off the record. Segun was broken to the bones when the doctor eventually broke the edited news after a rather long pacifying preamble. 'AY! AY! AY! My God! My wife, gone?! No!' On and on the emotional turmoil went. The doctor tried his best; only God knew the number of pats on the shoulder, 'Take-heart' and 'Be-a-man' that eventually brought Segun to a momentary calm. With no family member around to offer support \u2013 they had all gone out in search of money for the caesarean section \u2013 he took his destiny in his hands and walked out in sullen quiet. * * * * *\n\nThe room saw its occupant's predicament and quickly wore a sombre mood to blend in, like the chameleon. Thanks to the power cut and the approaching evening shadows. Exactly a week after the demise of his better half, the haunting shadows were here again. And he was all alone to receive them. Had he not turned away family members and sympathisers after four days of unending flocking! Dilemma? Segun was not in a dilemma, but a trilemma; nay, a trilemma of dilemmas. The dilemmas, each historic in itself, from the Biblical to the Shakespearean \u2013 Job's to blaspheme or bless, Peter's to deny or defy and Hamlet's to be or not to be \u2013 stayed for hours in his higher mental function area. A million and one suggestions and the dilemmas intertwined to pull the network of strings across his brain. From the sublime to the ridiculous, the suggestions flowed till late into the midnight. Tick-tack-tick-tack-GONG! The modern pendulum clock adjacent the electronics stand hit the gavel for 1am. Segun's blankness continued. His eyes fixed glassily on the window blinds while he himself was fixated on the considerations and deliberations gallivanting his neurones. He sat still as a statue on the three-seater, cut off completely from the surroundings. Power Holdings had just restored the electricity. The TV shouted for its volume to be reduced, the security light begged to be switched on in the gross darkness outside and the industrial fan revved to call attention to its control knob, the statue remained unmoved. The glassy eyes suddenly thawed and hot tears emerged in showers. The black leather cover of the Bible that had sat quietly on his lap received the loadful on its centre and then redistributed them, in-between its embossed groves, to the spine and edge. The spine drained its portion on his trousers while the water that travelled to the edge soaked the hapless sheet-ends nearby. When the rains subsided, after about thirty minutes or thereabout, Segun suddenly grasped the Bible, rose in a single stroke and flung the sacred book as far from him as possible and shouted: 'God, you are dead!' EPILOGUE\n\nSegun was at the dining table waiting for the meal. He was beginning to grow rather impatient. Every other thing was set on the table except the food itself. The spoon and the knife lay supinely on the table-mat to his right while their counterpart, the fork, lay low in preparation for action on the left. The sweating bottled water fizzled at the top beside a scrupulously clean glass cup. Even the toothpicks were stacked in their container like Joseph's standing sheaves. But the food was missing. After five more minutes the food finally arrived. It was rice and stew garnished with a lot of beef. No sooner was it placed than Segun grabbed the spoon and buried it into the profusely steaming rice. Though the eyes were suggesting the food was very hot his stomach would not want to wait a second longer. In no time a spoonful of the rice landed on his tongue and all hell was let loose. His mouth danced wildly and his tongue recklessly. It was uneasiness all over. Quickly, his lips made an O-vent in-between them to suck in air continuously. The bloated grains knocked about in his buccal cavity for some time before their eventual cooling off to make the onward journey to the gullet. But not without leaving a permanent mark in the cavity \u2013 a burnt tongue and a scathed palate. As he nursed his wound, the old man, his server, came to the dining room and sat on the chair at the narrow edge of the table, opposite him. He gave him a stern look for a moment and then asked,\n\n'Your wound, whose fault? I that brought the food or you that took the food? Whose fault, Segun? Whose fault? Whose fault...'\n\nSegun long closed eyes popped suddenly from the REM and alarm was written all over him in his reclined position on the three-seater. He stealthily arose and got his mind stormed with the dream and its obvious interpretation. Impatience kept jingling his upstairs bells. No doubt he had been impatient in many things. The wind of memory breezed in in a flash bringing to him Kemi's condolence visit the other day with her husband and her six-month-old daughter. He had been impatient and maybe AY too. Though he had his own areas of haste at his fingertips, he could not pinpoint AY's. 'Old man, the fault's mine, not yours. It's mine!' The clouds again gathered in his eyes and when fully loaded another round of showers was delivered on his laps. The swelling emotions tugged his legs and straightway he fell on his knees to weep in the bosom of his Lord. He cried passionately for mercy. And how he found peace with God and with life!",
-        "Could Epsom salts do that? She wondered as she": "Could Epsom salts do that? She wondered as she kept checking for bruising and finding nothing. Coming to the conclusion she wasn't as badly bruised as she first thought. She put it to the back of her mind and wandered over to her closet, rummaged around for a moment, and grabbed a pair of shorts, and a sleeveless top with thin straps. It was going to be a warm day, and now that there were no hideous bruises to hide, she could dress accordingly. Once dressed, Faedra skipped down the stairs and into the kitchen. Her father was leaning against the counter waiting for his toast to pop out of the toaster. He looked at her in astonishment. \"Must have been the Epsom salts,\" she gave as explanation to answer the obvious confusion in his expression. He raised his eyebrows. \"I guess so.\" She grabbed a slice of toast that had just popped up out of the toaster. \"Hey, that's mine, young lady!\" Henry exclaimed. \"We're off, I'll see you later tonight. Enjoy yourself on the boat and give my love to Uncle Leo and Nicki.\" She grinned her cheeky grin and planted a kiss on his cheek. \"Love you.\" \"Have fun and drive carefully,\" he called after her, but she was already halfway to the living room. Henry shook his head with a big smile on his face. His daughter was growing up fast, and turning into a fine young lady. Faedra pulled up outside her friend, Amy's house. She had arranged to pick Zo\u00eb up from there, too. Zo\u00eb lived close to Amy, so it was on the way. She honked the horn to let them know she was there. A couple of minutes passed. Just as she was about to honk again, the front door opened and her two friends appeared. Amy was a little shorter than Zo\u00eb, who was about the same height as Faedra. They were all roughly the same build, but had very different features. Amy had white blonde hair, cropped into a short spiky style. She had blue eyes and pale skin, but unlike Faedra, not a freckle to be seen. Something that Faedra couldn't help but be envious of. Amy was a party waiting to happen; there was never a dull moment when she was around. Zo\u00eb on the other hand, had long sleek dark brown hair that flowed down her back and shone in the sunlight. Her olive toned skin complimented her warm green/brown eyes and she always looked great in anything she wore. Between the three of them, they had all the hair colors covered: blonde, brunette, and redhead. Faedra could see the excitement in their smiles as they made their way down the garden path to the car. \"Hi, Fae,\" Amy chirped as she took her assumed position in the front passenger seat. Zo\u00eb didn't hesitate jumping in the back seat beside Faen. She loved Faen almost as much as Faedra. It seemed to Faedra the feeling was mutual. \"How's my boy today?\" Zo\u00eb said as she mussed Faen's ears and planted a big kiss on his nose. Faedra was watching her in the rearview mirror and a big grin spread across her lips. \"Hi, guys,\" Faedra said. \"Well, we've got a great day for it.\" The journey to Cambridge flew by. They fell into the usual girlie chatter and didn't stop talking for the entire drive there. Amy told them in great detail about her latest conquest. Faedra had to admit he did sound rather nice and was looking forward to meeting him. Zo\u00eb was already in a relationship and she was perfectly happy. They had been together since the beginning of high school, and at this point, it didn't look like that was going to change any time soon. Faedra hadn't yet met anyone she felt any connection with. Although, she had been asked out on numerous dates, she had always politely declined. She had a feeling that when the right person came along, she would know in an instant. She just didn't want to waste her time, or his, when she knew it wouldn't go any further than the first date. Cars started to slow several miles out from Cambridge with all the festival traffic trying to make its way into the city. They sat in traffic for what seemed like half the day, but was, in fact, only about half an hour until they were eventually ushered into a huge field. They followed the line of cars in front of them until they found a parking space. The girls and Faen got out of the car and mingled in with the crowd of people heading towards the entrance to the festival. The deep bass of music off in the distance resounded all around them. As they got closer to the festival, the music became more distinctive and the crowd got larger. Faedra couldn't help but get completely caught up in the atmosphere. She soaked it all in, observing with interest the people in the crowd surrounding her. Every age range, from babies in pushchairs to older retirees, were present. It seemed to her that there were three categories of people attending the festival. Those who dressed in ordinary clothing, like her and her friends. Those that were dressed somewhat hippie-ish, with long hair, beards, and psychedelic t-shirts emblazoned with the 'peace' sign. And those who were just all out eccentric, wearing anything from renaissance clothing to cross-dressing. One couple that walked past her was dressed in silver clothing, wearing pink wigs, with one sporting devil horns and the other a tiara. Faedra guessed they were using the 'good versus evil' take on their costumes. Finally, they were through the gates and the festival spread out in all its enticing glory before them. There were hundreds of tents, housing vendors of all descriptions, and, from this angle, they could see at least two stages where bands were playing live music. \"Where do we go first?\" Amy asked, looking in all directions. \"Well, we could start off in that direction and make our way around. We've got all day,\" Zo\u00eb responded. \"That sounds like a plan,\" Faedra agreed. They headed off toward a stage where a band was playing some type of folk music. The band called 'Hogwash' had attracted quite a crowd. People were standing around watching, as well as, sitting down in the grass. Most were drinking beer. After watching them for a while, Faedra grinned at her friend Amy who was wiggling her hips in time with the movement. It had always been virtually impossible for Amy to keep still if music was playing. Even in the car she jiggled about in her seat to whatever song was blasting from the radio. A few songs later they decided to move on, and spent some time glancing at the vendors as they walked past. There were arts and crafts of all types. Faedra was interested in the handmade jewelry. Zo\u00eb was more into the candles and incense vendors while Amy was attracted by anything pink. \"I'm hungry,\" Zo\u00eb mentioned after they had been window-shopping for an hour. \"Can we find a food tent?\" \"That one over there looks fairly innocuous,\" Faedra said, pointing in the direction of a hotdog and hamburger stall. She was starting to get a little disappointed; she'd been hoping to see lots of 'mystical' stalls, but not a _Gypsy Rose Lee_ was to be seen so far. They wandered over to the food stall and tucked into some not-too-awful hamburgers. Faedra always thought it was a bit of potluck, putting your digestive health in the hands of a food vendor at an outdoor event. After they finished eating, Amy wanted to find another stage and listen to some more music. They all headed off towards the sound of music blaring behind a few more of the vendor's tents. Then it caught Faedra's eye; a sign that read _Runes read by Rose, Let the stones guide you._\n\n\"Hey, I'm just going to go over there,\" she pointed towards the tent she had just spotted. \"Oh, Fae, don't waste your money. Everyone knows they are all frauds,\" Zo\u00eb cautioned. \"It's just a bit of fun, I'll catch up with you. I've got my cell phone with me if I can't find you.\" \"Okay, we'll see you in a bit, but your wasting your money,\" Zo\u00eb said, as she and Amy started off in the direction of the music. Faedra wandered over to the tent. Most of the vendor's tents were only enclosed on three sides, but this one was enclosed on all sides, allowing privacy to the person getting a reading, she assumed. She wasn't quite sure what to do when she arrived at the tent. It wasn't as if there was a door to knock on before she entered. She didn't want to be rude and burst in on someone if they were having their runes read. She stood outside the tent for a moment contemplating the situation, and then decided she would just call out. If anyone was in there, they would hear her and let her know if they were busy or not. \"Hello?\" Faedra called next to the material that made up one of the tent walls. \"Is anyone in there?\" \"Hello,\" came the voice from inside, \"please, come in.\" Faen whined. \"It's okay, boy. You stay out here. I won't be long.\" Faedra did as the voice said and pulled the material aside to enter. The inside of the tent was exactly as she would have imagined a _Gypsy Rose Lee_ tent to look like. There was the strong smell of incense burning, which she saw was coming from a little table in the corner that also housed the obligatory crystal ball. Rose was seated at a small card table in the center of the tent that had a purple, crushed velvet cloth edged with fringe draped over it. The chairs were just ordinary plastic folding ones that probably came in a set with the table. Faedra smiled, Zo\u00eb was more than likely right, but she thought it would be good for a giggle, so she decided to stay. Rose got up from the table and held her hand out for Faedra. Faedra had to admit she was slightly surprised because Rose did not fit the _Gypsy Rose Lee_ stereotype she had created in her mind. Yes, she was dressed in a gypsy-ish way with a long floating skirt and billowy white blouse, but she was younger than Faedra had imagined. She had expected a much older woman, possibly with her fair share of wrinkles, but the lady facing her right now didn't look much older than thirty. She had a fresh rosy complexion with beautiful green eyes and long, wavy, dark hair hidden partially by a deep red headscarf. \"Hello, I'm Rose,\" she said brightly as they shook hands. \"Please don't tell me yours,\" she continued as Faedra opened her mouth to return the greeting. Faedra clamped her mouth shut. Rose gestured for Faedra to take a seat. She then picked a small sign off the table that read _Reading in session_ and hung it on a hook that was on one of the tent posts. Once she returned to the table, she made herself comfortable and picked up a small black velvet pouch that was lying in the center. \"Now, I want you to think of a question or a situation you would like guidance on. You must not tell me what it is; then pick out six Rune stones and hand them to me,\" Rose explained as she opened the pouch and held the open end to Faedra. Faedra thought carefully for a moment before dipping her fingers into the pouch and pulled out the first stone, handing it to Rose who placed it onto the crushed velvet tablecloth. She did this five more times until all six stones had been extracted from their pouch. Faedra watched as Rose carefully arranged them in the shape of a cross. Rose then pulled the strings on the pouch to close it, and placed it to one side. Faedra watched as Rose examined the Runes intently, and stifled a giggle when she thought back to Zo\u00eb's remark. Rose was certainly putting on a good show, umming and ahhing for several minutes, but Faedra began feeling a distinct shift in the once pleasant, if not slightly kooky, atmosphere in the tent. Suddenly, there was a very tense sensation surrounding her, and she drew her eyebrows together in a frown. Rose's eyes widened. \"No, this can't be,\" she mumbled to herself, \"it's just a legend.\" Then she drew her burning gaze from the Rune stones to Faedra. Faedra shifted uncomfortably in her seat. \"What do you see? What's just a legend?\" she asked. Rose didn't speak for a moment. She was contemplating something important. \"You,\" she stated bluntly. Faedra laughed, it escaped before she had a chance to stifle it. \"I'm sorry, but I think my friend was right. I'll not waste any more of your time.\" She started to get up to leave but Rose beat her to it. Before Faedra even got her butt off the seat, Rose stood up, rounded the table, and was standing behind her. She let out a gasp. \"What?\" Faedra demanded, turning in her seat to see Rose eyeing the back of her neck. \"It's a birthmark, what of it? Look, this is ridiculous. I'll give you ten out of ten for the dramatics, but I was hoping for a serious reading,\" she stood up and spun around so that she was now facing Rose. \"You have no idea who you are, do you Faedra?\" Rose whispered. \"I know exactly who I am, thank you very much,\" she stated obstinately, \"and I know who you are; you are a fraud... Hey, how did you know my name? I never told you my name.\" An uneasy feeling started to well up in the pit of her stomach. \"How old are you?\" Rose asked. \"Seventeen,\" Faedra snapped. Rose closed her eyes, dropped her head, and let out a heavy sigh. She had already said too much. \"Tell me how you know my name,\" Faedra demanded, \"and why you're so interested in my birthmark!\" \"I can't, you are not of age yet. I've already said too much.\" \"Not of age yet? What does that mean?\" Faedra demanded again, starting to get annoyed. \"I never imagined I would be in this position. I thought it was all just a myth, but our people have a pact with yours. You will find out soon enough. Sorry, Faedra, I can say no more, you must go.\" She moved over to the entrance and held it open. Faedra glared at Rose as she brushed past her. \"Faedra?\" \"What?\" Faedra snapped. \"Good luck.\" Faedra looked at her and shook her head. \"Come on, Faen, let's get out of here.\" She stomped off in the direction of the music to find her friends. She was almost too angry to notice the burning in the palms of her hands until it got too unbearable, so she stopped at a drinks stall to ask for some ice. \"I don't know who I am, indeed,\" she muttered as she held a couple of ice cubes that melted instantaneously. \"Who did she think she was anyway?\" she grumbled to Faen who was keeping very close to her side, much closer than usual. He was always with her, but most of the time kept several feet away. At the moment, he was glued to her leg. Faedra continued her mutterings until she found her friends dancing in a crowd that had gathered in front of a stage playing modern music this time. \"How'd it go?\" Amy shouted above the music when Faedra reached them. \"Zo\u00eb was right, she was a fraud.\" \"Well, I hope you didn't give her any money,\" Zo\u00eb shouted. \"Didn't get a chance to, she kicked me out before I even got a reading,\" Faedra complained. \"What?\" Amy and Zo\u00eb shouted in unison. \"Why did she do that?\" \"She said something about me not being of age and not knowing who I was.\" It sounded ridiculous to Faedra even as she said the words. \"See told you,\" Zo\u00eb chimed in, \"frauds, the lot of them. Well, don't let it spoil your day, Fae.\" Faedra decided she wouldn't and joined her friends in a dance. The rest of the day passed without incident and they arrived home safe, but exhausted. After dropping her friends off, she pulled into her driveway. Her Dad was still out, and she hoped he was enjoying himself with Uncle Leo and Nicki after a day on the boat. She darted up to her room, ran around the bed to her dresser, and grabbed her small hand held mirror. Holding it up in front of her, she turned her back to the vanity mirror on her dresser and examined her birthmark. She'd never paid it much attention before because it was at the nape of her neck between her shoulders. It wasn't easy for her to see, and, as her hair usually covered it, she forgot it was there most of the time. Today she had put her hair up because it was so thick; it was like wearing a scarf on a sunny day. Now she could see it clearly in the reflection in the mirror. She leaned closer to get a better look and her eyes widened with surprise. \"Wow, it must have grown. I can't remember it looking that big before. What does it remind me of?\" She drew her eyes away from the mirror to look straight ahead at her collection, and then reverted them back to her reflection again, narrowing them as she did. \"It's a fairy.\" CHAPTER FOUR\n\nThe next couple of nights Faedra did not get much sleep, it was fitful, at best. The events of the past few weeks, and more recently the past couple of days, kept repeating in her dreams. She would wake often, usually in a cold sweat. She dragged herself out of bed as she had done the previous morning, and all but crawled over to the dresser. She thought about calling in sick, but integrity fought against her and won. \"Urgh,\" she groaned when greeted by her reflection in the mirror. Dark circles framed her once sparkling eyes that were now dull and lackluster. \"If this carries on too much longer, I'm going to have to steal some sleeping pills from somewhere,\" she croaked to Faen. She fiddled with her makeup and after applying a healthy dose of concealer and foundation, started to look a little less like the monster from the deep. Faen, who was sitting beside her, looked up at her with what she considered was a look of concern. \"It's okay, boy, I'll be fine. Not sure what's going on, but I'm sure it will pass.\" She said it more as reassurance for herself than anything else. After she was done putting on the finishing touches of her 'disguise', she wandered over to the closet and picked out something smart but casual for work. She had a job at a company that shipped freight all over the world. It was located at the local airport. It wasn't a large airport but did have flights to Scotland, Ireland and various European countries. She had flown out of there herself in the past, on holiday to Spain. The view from her office almost made the abuse she was dealt worth it. Her office looked over the entire airfield, and she could see the planes take off and land all throughout the day, but she hated her boss. Jerry Thompson was the most unpleasant person she had ever met. It wasn't just his very poor attention to personal hygiene, but he also seemed to go out of his way to make her life a misery, and, quite obviously, enjoyed doing so. She often wondered why she put up with it and didn't just leave. She wasn't a quitter, that was why. Dressed and caked in make up, she almost stumbled down the stairs to the dining room. Her Dad was already sitting at the table in the kitchen having his breakfast when she walked in. \"Cup of tea, Fae?\" he asked. \"God, you look awful,\" he continued when he looked up to see his daughter. Faedra groaned inwardly, her attempts at applying make up hadn't had the desired effect. \"Yes, please, and, thanks, I love you, too,\" she replied testily to his question and subsequent observation. She was never her best when tired. A bear with a sore head was an apt comparison. Henry poured her a cup of tea as she joined him at the table. \"Are you okay, darling? Maybe you should call in sick today,\" he suggested. \"I haven't slept very well the past couple of days. I'll be fine though, I'm not about to give Mr. Thompson any more reasons to pick on me than he already feels he has.\" She ate her breakfast in silence. Today was not going to be a good day and she could already feel herself wishing it were over. Apart from the fact that she felt like a zombie, and probably looked like an extra from the _Thriller_ video, it was also the anniversary of her mother's death. She closed her eyes for a moment and gave herself an inward pep talk. Come on, Fae, pull yourself together. It's only twenty-four hours and then it will be over for another year. She always spent some time at her mother's grave on the anniversary of her death. It was a tradition of hers that she started some years ago now. She would take a blanket, a small picnic, sit down next to the headstone, and talk to her mum about anything and everything. Somewhere deep inside she knew her mum was listening. She had to believe it, it was one of the things that kept her sane. \"Morning, Faedra, you look like crap,\" Mr. Thompson greeted her as she walked in the office dead on nine o'clock. \"Another minute and you'd have been late,\" he continued in his smarmy voice as he looked down at his wrist and tapped his watch. She took a deep breath and bit her lip. \"Morning, Mr. Thompson,\" she sighed as she took her seat behind her desk. Mr. Thompson was a greasy looking middle-aged man. He was fat and balding with a shiny head usually covered with a sheen of sweat. He had beady little eyes that were positioned far too close together on his face to be natural, and, for some unknown reason, he decided it looked good to have a beard. Faedra had felt her stomach lurch on several occasions when he had come back from lunch with bits of greasy food stuck in it, and imagined him in his office picking bits off for an afternoon snack. She stifled a shudder. His clothing was always dirty, especially his shirts, that, more often than not, had splotches of spilled food on them. It was as if he didn't know what a washing machine was, or cared. Everyone in the company hated him, but they were relieved when she started working there because his attention was now directed completely on her, as it was on all the new employees before her, and would be until some poor soul was hired in below her. Something that wasn't likely to happen, as her position was the lowest on the totem pole. Faedra was the receptionist for the freight company, so her main job focus was to answer the phones, direct people to various departments, and greet people who walked through the door. She was the first person you saw when you walked in, and the last when you walked out. Mr. Thompson did throw in some filing for her to do for good measure. Just such a task would set the wheels in motion for Faedra to become very aware that something was seriously amiss. \"Faedra Bennett,\" Mr. Thompson snapped, making her jump. She had her back to him with her hands in the filing cabinet; putting away the load of files he had given her just a few minutes ago. \"How many times do I have to tell you? ANSWER THE PHONE IN ONE RING!\" he bellowed, making her jump once more. The whole office fell silent, and all heads turned in her direction. \"But, Mr. Thompson, I have my hands in the filing cabinet filing the records you just gave me and the nearest phone is all the way over there,\" she pointed to a desk a good twenty feet away. \"I don't care about your petty excuses, girl. Do what I ask you to or I'll write you up. DO I MAKE MYSELF UNDERSTOOD?\" Faedra could feel herself get hot and her cheeks redden. She was not used to getting shouted at. Tears pricked behind her eyes, but she'd be darned if she were going to show this bully that he'd upset her. She certainly was not about to cry in front of the whole office, so she managed to blink them back. \"Sorry, Mr. Thompson, it won't happen again,\" she said softly. \"Just make sure it doesn't, girl,\" he gloated and turned to leave. \"Oh, and I need the Hodgkin's report too.\" \"Yes, Mr. Thompson.\" She heard him mutter _stupid girl_ as he stormed off in the direction of his office. Heaving a heavy hearted sigh, she finished the filing and wandered past all of her co-workers - who were looking at her with sympathy - to her desk at the end of the room. She smiled sheepishly at the ones who made eye contact with her, but most just averted their gazes as she passed. She had only been in front of her computer for a few minutes, not time enough to calm herself down yet, before she heard the familiar weighty footsteps stomping down the office towards her. Within seconds his hefty form was taking up the space in front of her desk. Looking up warily, she grimaced at his demeanor. His face was almost puce; she thought he was going to have a heart attack right there and then. He better not because there was no way she was giving _that_ mouth-to-mouth. The thought made her incredibly nauseous. \"Did I not make myself clear, girl?\" he shouted. \"I'm sorry, Mr. Thompson, I don't understand what you mean.\" \"When I tell you I need a report, I need it NOW. I do not expect to have to wait until Christmas! Trust me to hire another imbecile!\" he bellowed, before snatching the report that Faedra had already printed - just not gotten it to him yet - off the printer and stormed off back down the office again. Faedra was shaken; she struggled to force back more tears, but this time they were tears of anger. Had she ever been this angry before? She couldn't remember. Her whole body was trembling and her palms that were resting face down on some paperwork were burning worse than they ever had before. This time it was not just a sensation, it was downright painful. She lifted her hands to blow on them, and, as she did, her eyes widened in horror and confusion. There on the paper were two scorch marks right where her hands had been. She scanned the office to see if anyone had noticed, but everyone had their heads down attempting to look like they were working industriously. Balling up the paper, she threw it in the bin and went to the rest room to run her hands under some cold water. She was getting very concerned about her hands now. What just happened was definitely not normal; she also knew that she couldn't tell anyone; they would think her crazy for sure. For the rest of the day Faedra managed to keep herself under the radar until it was time to go home. An enormous weight lifted from her shoulders the minute she walked out the door. She felt as light as a feather, as if she would float away on even the most delicate of breezes. After going home to change and pick up Faen, and her picnic basket, Faedra pulled into the church car park. There were no other cars there, which suited her. People often gave her funny looks as they walked by when she was nattering away to no one visible. She pulled her blanket and picnic basket from the trunk, and strolled towards the graveyard. It was a beautiful, warm evening with not a cloud in the sky. There was a slight breeze that ruffled the leaves on the trees. The graveyard was about an acre or two in size and framed on three sides by ancient oak trees, with the church standing proudly on the remaining side. She knew that the vicarage was behind the trees to her right and believed that there were fields behind the other trees. It was hard to see through them; not because they were a thick stand of trees, but because they were covered with their summer foliage. Faedra was in a daze as she meandered her way through the headstones. She had been here to visit her mum so many times that she thought she could probably find her headstone blindfolded by now. It was just as well; she was so tired this evening she didn't have her wits about her, and felt like she was on autopilot navigating her way through them. The friendly black and white collie had spotted them as they came through the gate from the car park and bounded up to greet her and Faen, giving Faedra her usual toothy grin. The collie and Faen went through their established routine of him growling softly at her, while she rubbed her head against his chin in response. This time though, instead of her running off to sit in her usual spot after Faedra had petted her, she stayed with them and followed behind until they made it to Lillith's grave. \"Here we are again, boy,\" she sighed, her voice weighted down with sadness. Faedra set down the picnic basket, threw out the blanket on the ground and sat down on it. Leaning up against her mother's headstone, she outstretched her legs in front of her. She patted her hands on the blanket either side of her legs. \"Come on you two, you can join me, you know,\" she said to the two dogs that were standing either side of the blanket and looking at her with an understanding she couldn't quite figure out. They did as she asked and lay down next to her, putting a head on each of Faedra's thighs so that they were nose-to-nose. The 'sibling rivalry' was completely gone, and they both let out a sad sounding whine. \"Hey, you two, I'm okay,\" Faedra ran her hands over both of their soft silky heads and they didn't take their eyes off her. Faedra let out a heavy sigh and leaned her head back to rest it against the cold hard granite of the headstone and closed her eyes. It felt nice and cool against the balmy warm of the evening air. A few minutes passed and she said nothing, but listened to the sounds of nature surrounding her. She could hear the dogs breathing and feel their hot breath on her hands that were now resting on her thighs. The birds chirped in the trees behind her; in the distance she could hear a horse whinny from the stables across the road. A crunching on the gravel path prompted her to open her eyes. It was the vicar and he was heading in her direction. \"Good evening, Faedra. I thought I might find you here this evening,\" he said with a knowing smile. \"Hello, Vicar.\" \"Are you feeling alright, my dear?\" he asked, his eyebrows pulled together to form a frown. \"I'm fine,\" she lied. \"Haven't been sleeping very well the past couple of nights and right now I feel a little sad, but I'll be fine.\" He seemed satisfied with her answer and smiled again. \"Well, if you need me, dear, you know where to find me. Say hello to your mother for me won't you.\" \"I will, Vicar, thank you.\" The vicar turned and headed towards the church. Faedra watched as he disappeared behind it, closed her eyes again and sat in silence for a few more minutes. She was trying to clear her head before she spoke to her mum, but the more she tried, the more out of focus she became until she could hold it in no longer. A wave of emotion swept over her and she burst into tears. She was tired and had had an awful day. \"Mum, I miss you so much,\" she sobbed. \"All this strange stuff is happening to me. I don't know why and I don't know what to do about it. I don't feel like I can tell anyone. I mean, I think I'm going crazy, so I can't imagine what other people would think. They'd probably lock me up and throw away the key.\" Tears tumbled down Faedra's face. The eyes in the woods, the fortune-teller at the fair, the abuse by Mr. Thompson, her hands, and the fact she missed her mother desperately, all came flooding out. She buried her face in her hands; her body was wracked with emotions that were out of her control for the moment. The tears were relentless and she felt powerless to stop them. She was hoping a good cry would make her feel better. A cold wet nose nudged her elbow. She ignored it. Faen nudged her again; this time she took her hands away from her face, which was now red and blotchy. She could see the blurry outline of her dog looking at her with sadness in his eyes too. Faedra wrapped her arms around his neck, just like the first time she had met him. She buried her face in his soft fur and accepted the comfort she felt when she did so. \"I wish she could give me some kind of sign that she was still with me,\" Faedra said into his neck. \"Faen, sometimes I feel so alone.\" He whimpered in response; she still had her head buried in his fur. She didn't have the strength, just yet, to leave the security and comfort she felt when he was close to her, and he was not about to move a muscle until Faedra had calmed down. A few more moments of sobbing passed, and the shudders rippling through her body started to ebb. Her breathing became less ragged. She pulled herself from Faen to wipe the tears from her eyes with a tissue she had grabbed from the picnic basket. When her eyes began to focus and the drumming in her ears from the pulse of her heartbeat calmed, she heard a familiar sound that she hadn't heard for a very long time. She looked up and gasped. Sitting on the headstone directly in front of her was a bird, not just any old bird, but her mum's favorite bird. Its name escaped her at that moment, but she knew it was fairly rare and not seen in this area very often. It looked directly at her and sang its beautiful lilting song. A surge of comfort swept through Faedra at the sight. It was the sign she had asked for. \"I knew it. Look, Faen,\" she said, pointing at the bird. \"It's Mum's favorite bird. She sent me a sign; she is with me,\" she looked up heavenward. \"Thanks, Mum, that's just what I needed.\" Faedra felt her spirits lift exponentially in comparison to how she felt when she first entered the graveyard a little while before. She regained her appetite and decided it was time to eat the sandwiches she had packed into her picnic basket. Straightening herself up, she sat cross-legged on the blanket and placed the basket in front of her. The dogs both sat up and looked expectantly at the picnic basket that was now positioned between them. \"Don't worry, you two. There's something in here for you, as well,\" she said with a smile, the first one she had managed all day. She pulled out a couple of ham sandwiches and passed one each to Faen and the collie. They wolfed theirs down in seconds and looked again at Faedra, and then at the basket. \"That's your lot, you greedy buggars,\" she laughed and pulled out an egg sandwich for herself. She loved egg sandwiches; they were her favorites. Her mum used to make them for her when she was a child, so it was only fitting that she would bring one to eat when she visited her. The little bird sat perched on the headstone the entire time; Faedra threw it a few crumbs. It hopped down onto the ground and finished up the crumbs that had been offered it. A few moments passed and their picnic was finished. Faedra felt like a huge weight had lifted off her shoulders. She leaned back up against the cool granite of her mother's headstone and closed her eyes again. She didn't want to leave just yet; although, she was incredibly tired. She wasn't sure how long she'd been asleep when she was woken suddenly by a low carnal growl. She recognized it instantly as being the same as that time in the woods a few days ago. Her eyes snapped open and fear whipped through her. She felt disoriented for a second because it was almost dark. That odd light just after the sun goes down and the night sets in. Faen and the collie were both standing to her left; their hackles were raised and they were postured ready to fight. Faedra noticed the oddest thing at that moment. The collie was looking at Faen and growling in different tones. Faen returned the collie's gaze and growled back in different tones, also. Were they talking to each other? It certainly looked like it. Faedra watched in amazement as the two dogs seemingly had a conversation right before her eyes; then they turned their attention on her and she almost jumped. The collie barked at her; it was an insistent bark, like she was instructing her to do something. But what? Faedra didn't talk dog. The unusual scene unfolding before her almost made her forget what was causing it in the first place, until the collie looked back in the same direction as Faen and continued her deep menacing growl. The two of them looked ferocious, sending shivers down Faedra's back. Although Faedra was loathed to, she couldn't stop herself looking into the trees, and the familiar icy cold feeling washed over her again. \"Oh, no, not again,\" she whispered to herself as she bent down and scooped up her blanket and picnic basket, ready to make a quick exit. \"What _are_ those things?\" She was watching, trance-like, at what looked like the same pairs of eyes she had seen in the woods the other day. Only this time there were three pairs of them. The collie barked a response to her question, then looked at Faen and snapped a bark at him, too. He turned and all but pushed Faedra in the direction of the car park. She snapped out of her trance and picked up the pace, running as fast as she could while dodging between the headstones. The older ones were dotted randomly all over their exit path. Symmetry was not something that had been adopted in the olden days, but she wished for it now. She bashed her hip into the corner of one as she miscalculated its position when running past it. \"Ouch. This is getting beyond a joke,\" she cursed to herself, not daring to look back in case those things were chasing her. She could hear the collie's growl getting fainter as they drew closer and closer to her car. They reached it, but Faedra couldn't find her keys. She had tossed them in the picnic basket when they'd arrived and now was frantically feeling around in it, trying to grab them. Faen barked several times in quick succession. \"I'm trying, Faen, I know they're in here somewhere.\" Her heart was racing; she didn't know if those things were close or not. Her fingertips brushed over the cold metal of her keys. \"Got them!\" she exclaimed as she pulled her hand out of the basket clutching onto her car keys. She opened the door and let Faen in the back, threw the basket and blanket on the passenger seat, then jumped in herself and put the keys in the ignition. \"No, no, no! Don't do this to me now,\" she cried as she turned the keys, and the car responded with a splutter. \"Come on, Sally, you can do it. You have to get us out of here,\" she coaxed her car as she turned the key again. Still there was nothing but a splutter. \"I promise I'll never call you an old banger ever again if you start for me now,\" she pleaded and turned the keys once more. The engine spluttered to life. \"Yes! Thank you,\" she patted the steering wheel. Faedra revved the engine a couple of times and then put it into gear and drove out of the car park, spraying gravel behind her as she did. \"Sorry, Vicar,\" she cried, as if he were standing right there and had witnessed her speedy exit. \"Thanks, Sally, you have my word, I'll never call you an old banger again.\" Faedra had named her car when she first bought it. Her dad had thought it cute and her uncle had made fun of her, but she didn't care. She heaved a sigh of relief as she put more and more distance between her and the church. \"I hope I'm going to get some answers soon. My life is getting just a little too weird of late,\" she thought out loud. The next morning Faedra wasn't surprised to see that the bruise that had been forming on her hip, where she had bashed it against a headstone during last night's getaway, had all but vanished. A slight reddening of the area was all that remained. She got ready for work. Only another couple of days and it would be her birthday. She was so pleased that it fell on a Saturday this year. She was planning an evening out with Zo\u00eb and Amy, and was looking forward to going out and having some fun with her friends. CHAPTER FIVE\n\nThe sun peeking through the curtains awoke Faedra on the morning of her eighteenth birthday. She stretched and rubbed the sleep from her eyes as she turned over to look at the time on the clock that was sitting on her nightstand. It told her that it was six thirty in the morning. \"Urgh, it's still early,\" she moaned. Faen was lying on the rug next to her bed and stirred when he heard her move. He sat up and looked at her, wagging his tail as he always did when he greeted her in the morning. \"Hey, boy, it's still early. I'm going back to sleep again for a while.\" She moved to turn back over, but something caught her eye as she did. Pushing herself up on her elbows, she looked straight ahead at her doll's house. There resting up against the wall of the house was an envelope that simply read, 'Faedra'. She looked around the room, not quite sure what she expected to see, maybe her dad peeking through her door. Had he put it there as a surprise for her when she woke up? She got out of bed and wandered over to the doll's house, picked up the envelope and went back to sit under the covers. The envelope had an old-fashioned wax seal as a closure on the back. \"That's odd,\" she said, pulling her eyebrows together. \"Who on earth seals an envelope like that anymore?\" She had seen plenty of examples of them in the museum, but had never seen it on a modern day letter. She opened the envelope with care and pulled out a letter. She could feel something else in the envelope and tipped it up. A ring fell out onto her comforter. She picked it up so she could examine it. \"Wow, that's unusual,\" she whispered as she held the ring between her thumb and forefinger, inspecting it from all angles. It looked very old. She didn't recognize the metal it was made from. It didn't look like gold or silver, although, it did look gold in color; maybe some type of copper mix. There was no stone in the ring; it was solid metal throughout. The main part of the ring was square and had what looked like a Celtic design engraved on it. There was a different symbol in each of the four corners of the ring and they looked like little swirls going in different directions. The band came down from the square and they, too, were engraved with several rows of etched lines. The band itself was thick. It was a ring of substance but didn't look too oversized for a female to wear. Faedra slid it on the ring finger of her right hand and it fit perfectly. As soon as the ring was in place, a warm sensation emanated up her finger and throughout her hand. She stared at it, then brought her hand nearer to her face so she could inspect it more closely. Her eyes widened as she watched the symbols glow for a few seconds and then fade back to normal again. She picked up the letter and watched as goose bumps flashed up her arms; an involuntary shiver was sent hurtling down her back. For some inexplicable reason, she had a feeling that she was not going to like what this letter had to say, but, after taking a deep steadying breath, she opened up the papers. She noticed that Faen was staring intently at her now as she scanned the top of the first page, which made her gasp. \"This is Mum's writing, I recognize it from my old birthday cards that I kept,\" she said to him and then turned her attention back to the letter and started to read. _My Dearest Faedra_ ,\n\n_If you are reading this letter, something prevented me from being with you on your 18_ th _birthday. I have probably been taken from you and your father. There are things you need to know and it is best that you hear them from me. For that reason, I wrote this letter to be given to you in the event that I could not be there in person. Before you read any further, make sure that you have Faen sitting beside you._\n\nFaedra looked quizzically at her dog. \"Mum says before I read this I need to have you beside me.\" Faen pricked up his ears, jumped on the bed, laid his head on Faedra's leg, and looked at her. His beautiful amber eyes were burning with understanding. \"You _do_ understand everything I say, don't you? And how does Mum know your name, you turned up after she had died?\" She drew in a breath as the incomprehensible happenings of the recent past started to make the tiniest bit of sense, and continued to read the letter. By now you may have been experiencing things that you cannot understand. I wish I were there to tell you myself and answer all your questions, of which I'm sure there will be plenty. I shall start at the very beginning and hope that I can answer most. Faedra, you are a direct descendant of an ancient Celtic bloodline. Thousands of years ago there was a family and they were fae. Yes, faeries do exist. This family desperately wanted to become human and live in the World of Men. The fae king at the time could see their desire, although, he could not understand it. They were so desperate that the king eventually granted them their wish, on one condition. Should he ever need their help in the World of Men, they would consent. The fae family agreed to his condition. In addition, the king allowed them each to keep one of their distinct powers. More concerned for their well-being than they seemed to be themselves, he also allowed them to keep their ability to heal much faster than normal humans. The family lived happily among men for many years. Living among the fae had become a distant memory until one day the king visited them. He was seeking a place to secure a very precious element of fae heritage and asked the family if they would look after it for him. Remembering the king's generosity and their previous agreement, they agreed to his request; the king handed them the Amulet of Azran. Let me explain a little more about the amulet. There is a book the fae use to help control nature, in all realms, not just ours. It is a very powerful book called the Book of Anohs. The amulet was created to be utilized in conjunction with the book and it has the power to control weather when the two elements are put together. On its own, it is nothing more than a pretty trinket. The king realized that if the book and the amulet got into the wrong hands, the results could be devastating in all realms, and he was not willing to take that risk anymore. _You see, there are two types of fae in Azran. There are the_ _Light Fae, also known as the Seelie, who are good, and the Dark Fae, known as the Unseelie, who are evil. The king had reason to believe that the Unseelie were plotting to try and take control of the two elements. He bound the book with powerful magic to protect it and hid the amulet in another realm... ours._\n\nThe amulet has been passed down throughout our descendants since it was given to them all those centuries ago. I was Custodian, but if you are reading this letter I have probably died and will have made sure that it was passed to you at the time of my death. You are now the Custodian of the Amulet of Azran. Faedra looked up from the letter in disbelief, all kinds of crazy thoughts swimming around in her head. \"This is ridiculous. I'm a receptionist. The only thing I'm custodian of is the key to the coffee machine so I can refill the cups,\" she muttered to Faen then continued on with the letter. First, we must get the amulet around your neck. Once you turn eighteen you must wear it always and never, ever take it off. I cannot stress how important that is. It is warded so that only the Custodian can touch it. You will find the amulet in Arianne, the fairy I gave you. If you push her wings together they will unlock a secret compartment in the horse's body. Faedra looked over to her fairies, eased herself out of bed, and crept over to her collection. She opened the glass door and plucked Arianne from the center of the shelf. She carried her back to bed and got back under the covers. Faedra sat and looked at Arianne for the longest time, staring at her in disbelief. Her heart was racing, and her hands started to tremble. She took a deep steadying breath and held the two outstretched wings between her thumb and forefinger, held her breath, and squeezed them together. The wings were stiff and she was terrified of breaking them, but with a little more pressure they closed together, and Faedra heard a tiny click. She held Arianne around the waist and lifted her from the position she had, sitting astride the majestic black horse. She peeked into the body of the horse. It was hollow and inside was a small bundle of soft golden cloth. Reaching in with her fingers, she took hold of the small golden pouch and extracted it from its hiding place. She lay the horse down on the bed beside Arianne and turned her attention to the pouch once more. Her fingers trembled again as she undid the thin gold braid that was tied around the top and tipped it upside down allowing the contents to drop into the open palm of her other hand. She sucked in a deep breath. The amulet was her mother's necklace. She had often wondered what happened to it, as she could not remember ever seeing her mother without it. But neither Faedra nor her father had ever been able to find it after she died. Now she knew why, it had been hiding in her collection, in plain sight, for over a decade. Faedra had always loved this necklace. She stared down at it, not quite comprehending that she was holding it in her hand after all this time. The amulet triggered memories she thought were forgotten, and they came flooding back to the forefront of her mind. Wonderful memories of the times she spent with her mother. The amulet was a pendant about an inch and a half in size and triangular in shape. It looked like it was made of silver and there were swirls covering the face of the piece. _Celtic no doubt_ , she thought. In the center was a beautiful yellow stone, which looked like a topaz. The facets of which sparkled in the sunlight that was spilling through the window. Faedra gazed at the amulet for a few more moments, soaking up the memories it was provoking in her mind. She got up from the bed and walked over to her dresser, opened the clasp, and put the chain around her neck. As soon as the metal touched her skin, the stone glowed, for just a second; she definitely saw it glow in the reflection in the mirror. She wasn't sure of what she'd seen when the ring had glowed. Faedra thought it was just a trick of the light. But this time she almost expected it... she was waiting for it to do something. After a moment more of gazing at the amulet, she got back on the bed, sat cross-legged on top of the comforter, and continued on with the letter. The ring you found in the envelope is a Celtic battle ring. It is over two thousand years old, and was crafted by our ancestors. Wear it, also, and never take it off. It will warn you if danger is near. Now, here comes the tricky part. Faedra raised her eyebrows at that comment. Her mother had thought that everything else she had explained so far in the letter was easy? She sighed, and continued reading. Remember I said that we are descendants of an ancient fae family, and the members of this family were each allowed to keep one of their powers? You will have one; although no one knows which power they will inherit until they become of age. You are now of age, Faedra, and your power will grow to full strength shortly. You have probably also noticed by now that you heal incredibly quickly. This does not mean that you can't die or be killed. You can, so be very very careful. Until you turned of age, powerful wards that were put on you when you were born protected you. Nothing evil could have penetrated those wards. Unfortunately, they dissipated the moment you turned eighteen and no longer protect you. Make it your duty to learn how to defend yourself. Hopefully, you will not have a need to use defensive measures, as only three people know the whereabouts of the amulet. Faen will be able to teach you all you need to know. Now, that brings me to the subject of Faen. Faedra looked at her dog, who was still sitting on the bed watching her intently. I have explained about as much as I can in a letter and I will leave the rest to Faen. I asked the day you were born that he be assigned as your Guardian if anything should happen to me. It is probably easier if Faen shows you, rather than me try to explain it. Please do not be afraid, he will look after you. Now, if I could ask you to say out loud the phrase at the bottom of this letter. I love you, my darling. Take care and learn all you can. Forever, Mum\n\nFaedra's goose bumps returned with a vengeance. She looked up from the letter to stare at her dog who was now sitting up attentively, watching and waiting. She looked down at the letter again, and back at Faen. She did this several times, her mind whirling, confusion splashed all over her face. Finally, she took a deep breath, looked down at the letter, and read with a quiver in her voice. \"Faen, please, show yourself?\" It came out more like a question than a statement. Faen jumped off the bed and stood in front of her on the floor. What happened next was a bit of a blur; actually, that's exactly what happened. Her dog blurred, and a split second later, in its place, stood a man. She threw her hand up to cover her mouth as a scream broke free from her vocal chords. She knew if her dad heard he would be up the stairs and through her door in a flash. She backed herself up against the headboard and stared with wide, frightened eyes at the stranger standing just a few feet away. Her heart pounded so hard all she could hear was the pulse in her ears. Her hands went clammy and her breathing quickened. \"Do not be alarmed, Ms. Bennett,\" Faen's voice was calm and steady. \"I will not harm you.\" Faedra couldn't speak, her throat had closed up. She could see the concern spreading across the man's face. He started to move towards her with his hand outstretched. She edged herself along the bed, pushing the bed covers away with her feet as they scrambled to push her back further until she was nearly at the other edge of the bed. The man acknowledged her fear and stepped back. She stopped moving when he did and took a breath. He took another step back and stood quietly, sensing that he would have to let Faedra try and get her head around what was happening before he could continue. It wasn't an every day occurrence to have a strange man materialize in her bedroom. He should know, he had been there every day for the past eleven years. A few moments passed in silence. Faedra did not take her eyes off the man who was now standing motionless in the corner of her room. He returned her gaze, not taking his eyes from hers either. As the sudden shock slowly abated, her heartbeat calmed and her breathing returned to normal. She regained some composure and sat up straighter on her bed, instead of embedding herself into the headboard. Cautiously, she released the hand from her mouth, and for the first time, took in the features of the man who was standing in the exact same spot where her dog had been just a couple of minutes before. He was beautiful. From head to toe everything about him was perfect, fairy-tale perfect. He didn't look much older than her, maybe twenty. He had blonde hair that looked like pure silk, and she watched as he ran his hand through it. Was he nervous too, perhaps? His aqua blue eyes shone with a brightness that held her captive. He had a strong jaw and chiseled cheekbones and stood about six feet tall. To be honest, he looked like he'd stepped straight out of an animated Disney movie, especially dressed as he was. He wore knee high brown leather boots that turned over with a cuff at the top and light brown leather breeches that hugged the contours of his legs to perfection. A cream loose-fitting tunic-style shirt with long puffy sleeves made of thin cotton, edged with gold trim skimmed the top of his thighs. The tunic had a v-shaped neckline that showed a hint of his muscular chest. There was also an ancient looking Celtic talisman that hung from a black leather thong around his neck. An impressive sword hung from a leather belt at his waist, prompting Faedra to fleetingly wonder if the artists at Disney were, in fact, fairies themselves. She blinked several times and shook the thought away to return to the matter at hand. \"Wh-who are you?\" Faedra stuttered. \"My name is Faen, Ms. Bennett.\" \"But that's my dog's name. Faen is your real name?\" \"It is. Pray tell me, you could have called me anything, where did you think of the name Faen?\" Faedra narrowed her eyes at him, searching in her mind for the memory. \"I-I, my mother,\" she remembered. \"I overheard my mum mention your name once and it stuck with me. You knew her, too?\" \"I did.\" \"You turned up the day of my mum's funeral. I was sitting on my swing crying. I wrapped my arms around your neck, and you let me hug you for ages. I remember my dad didn't have the heart to shoo you away. He let me keep you as a pet. But all this time you were sent here to do what? Protect me?\" \"Yes.\" \"What are you?\" \"I am Fae, Ms. Bennett.\" \"That's a fairy, right?\" \"You are correct, Ms. Bennett,\" he replied with an incline of his head. Faedra let out a sigh. \"Stop calling me that. You make me sound like a character out of a Jane Austin novel.\" Faen frowned. \"I do not understand, that is your name, is it not?\" \"No. I mean, yes, it is, but it sounds so... formal.\" \"Ms. Bennett, as a Guardian I am taught to treat my charge with the utmost respect.\" \"Please, Faen,\" she pleaded. \"Call me Faedra.\" \"Very well, as you wish, Ms. Faedra.\" Faedra raised her eyes heavenward, she could sense he was not going to compromise any more than that. \"Great, now you make me sound like a school teacher,\" she whispered under her breath. She looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, something having just occurred to her. She was sensing no danger from the stranger in her room, so she eased herself off the bed and moved towards him. He did not move, but just continued to watch her. \"May I ask you a personal question?\" she asked as she meandered around him, looking intently at his back. Faen followed her with his eyes as far as he could, but continued to stand very still. \"Of course.\" \"Aren't fairies supposed to have wings? You don't have any wings.\" \"I have wings, Ms. Faedra. I choose not to show them,\" he replied with what Faedra thought was a look of discomfort, embarrassment even. \"Why?\" \"I have my reasons,\" he responded with just a hint of sharpness that cut through his otherwise silken voice. Again Faedra sensed that was as much as he was going to say on the subject. \"So, let me get this straight. You can change from a fairy into a dog?\" \"Most fae have the ability to shape-shift into an animal, though not necessarily one of our choosing, and as you can see,\" he waved a hand down the length of his body, \"we tend to stick with the same coloring in both our forms.\" Faedra walked around to face him and studied his beautiful features. They were very hard not to stare at. Then something else occurred to her. Her eyes widened with horror as what she was thinking sank in. She ran over to her bed, sat on the end of it, and buried her head in her hands to hide her crimson cheeks. \"Oh, NO!\" she groaned. Faen moved then, too quickly to track with the naked eye, and was kneeling in front of her at the foot of the bed, unable to hide his look of concern. \"Ms. Faedra, what is wrong?\" he asked softly. \"This can't be happening,\" she repeated into her hands. \"Ms. Faedra, please tell me. I can help.\" \"All these years,\" she continued. \"All these years what, Ms. Faedra? Please, talk to me,\" Faen was almost pleading with her. Faedra kept her face buried securely in her hands. \"Ms. Faedra, please look at me,\" he whispered. \"Tell me what is wrong.\" A moment passed, and Faedra didn't move. Faen reached up tentatively to touch her hands. He took hold of them and pulled them away from her face. Her eyes were tightly closed, her cheeks still beet red. \"Please, look at me,\" he asked again. She opened her eyes and looked into his. He could see embarrassment and confusion warring in her expression. \"Whatever is the matter?\" Faedra swallowed hard. \"All this time, I thought you were a dog.\" \"Yes,\" he said, willing her to go on. \"I can't even begin to imagine how many times,\" she paused, \"I got undressed in front of you,\" her voice quivered. Faen looked at her with a confused expression at first, then slowly the realization of what she had just told him started to sink in. \"Oh, Ms. Faedra, I assure you that I always looked away any time that you were, um, how shall I say, not decent.\" \"Really?\" \"Really.\" Faedra exhaled, she hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath all this time. She smiled down at Faen and he smiled back at her. It almost took her breath away how his smile lit up his face. It was the first time he had smiled at her in this form. When she thought about it a bit more she could remember noticing that her dog always turned away from her when she was getting undressed. She'd never paid it much attention before, but it made perfect sense now. \"Are you sure you never peeked, not even once?\" Faen's eyes widened with alarm at her question. \"No, Ms. Faedra, never. I swear to you.\" She studied his face and decided she believed him. She let out a giggle. \"Phew.\" \"Although, the impromptu hairbrush concerts were always entertaining,\" he said, his lips curling into a wry smile. Her shoulders slumped and her cheeks flushed again as she recalled the endless times she had danced around her room. Singing at the top of her lungs into her hairbrush to whatever was playing in the CD player at the time. She bopped him on the arm; it was a spontaneous reaction. \"Faedra,\" her dad called from the top of her stairs a split second before he knocked on her door. She turned her head sharply in the direction of the door then turned back to Faen. He was sitting in front of her wagging his tail. \"That was quick,\" she whispered to him then narrowed her eyes. \"Where on earth do you put that sword?\" \"Faedra?\" her dad asked again. She looked behind her and threw the bed covers over the letter and her dismantled figurine. \"Come in, Dad,\" she answered. The door opened and her dad walked in carrying a tray with a cup of tea and a present on it. \"Happy birthday, darling,\" he announced, beaming a big grin at her. She got up and walked over to give him a kiss. \"Thanks, Dad.\" CHAPTER SIX\n\n\"You didn't have to bring me tea, Dad. I would have been down in a minute,\" she told her father, knowing full well she had forgotten all parameters of time, as well as the fact it was her birthday. \"If I can't spoil my only daughter on her birthday, I'm not much of a father, now am I? I've made you bacon and eggs, too.\" He smiled and then froze as his eyes caught sight of the amulet hanging from her neck. Faedra felt her stomach knot. It hadn't even occurred to her that she would have to explain where she got her mother's necklace from, especially since they had both been searching for it for the past eleven years. \"Your mother's necklace!\" he exclaimed. \"Where did you get it?\" \"What, you didn't leave it for me?\" she asked, thinking quickly on her feet. \"Me? No,\" he replied, narrowing his eyes at her. \"Well, it was hanging on the chimney stack of my doll's house this morning, along with this ring. She held her hand out for him to see. I thought you had sneaked up last night and put them there as a surprise.\" _Please fall for it_ , she thought desperately. It was the only story she could think of; he had to fall for it. \"Well, that's just plain odd,\" he raised his eyebrows. \"I've never believed in ghosts, but you know, Fae, every now and then I sense something quite odd in this house. Maybe your mum put them there.\" Faedra inwardly released a sigh of relief. That was close. \"Could be,\" she agreed, with just a little too much enthusiasm. \"Well, come on, let's go and have some breakfast before it goes cold. I even cooked some up for Faen, too.\" She looked over at Faen and winked, a knowing smile curving her lips. Faen's ears pricked up at the sound of the word bacon. \"Come on, boy,\" she cringed at her words. A boy he most certainly was not. Henry still had hold of the tray and turned to carry it back down the stairs, followed closely by Faedra and Faen. \"Not quite sure why I brought this up to you,\" he muttered. \"Just thought it would be a nice gesture.\" \"It was a wonderful gesture, Dad, thanks.\" They wandered into the kitchen, and Faedra's heart swelled. \"Oh, Dad, you didn't have to go to all this trouble.\" He put the tray down on the table and she wrapped her arms around him to give him a big hug. Laid out across the table were plates of scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, and pancakes. All of her favorite breakfast foods were there. She noticed three plates set out on the table; she looked with curiosity at her father. \"I told you one was for Faen,\" he answered her questioning look. He leaned over to pick the plate off the table and lay it on the floor in front of his daughter's shaggy white dog. Not being able to help herself, the newly appointed Custodian giggled. The image of the beautiful prince-like fairy that was in her room just a few minutes before, and was now eating off a plate on the floor, was just too ironic. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry, and decided laughing was the better option. \"What's so funny, young lady?\" her dad asked, a bemused expression creeping across his face. \"You wouldn't believe me if I told you,\" she said with a sigh. Faedra could hardly believe it herself. Looking down at her beloved dog, she wondered whether it had all just been a daydream. They sat at the table and tucked into the breakfast that her father had lovingly prepared for her birthday. Today was going to be a very unusual day, of that she had no doubt. \"Open your present,\" her dad said, passing her the colorfully wrapped gift. She took it and opened the wrapping with care. She always hated to tear the paper and wondered why; it wasn't as if she was likely to use it again. Inside was a square velvet box. She opened it and gasped. \"Oh, Dad, it's beautiful. You shouldn't have.\" She picked up the bracelet and gave it a closer look. It was a silver bangle, which had a Celtic design that ran the whole circumference of it. \"Thank you. I'll wear it always.\" Along with the Battle ring and the Amulet of Azran. She was getting quite a collection of Celtic jewelry given to her that day. \"You're welcome, sweetheart. I'm glad you like it. So what are your plans for today?\" her dad asked. She finished her mouthful before she answered. Her mum had always taught her it was rude to talk with your mouth full of food. _Well, I was going to go shopping with Amy and Zo\u00eb and buy an outfit for going out this evening, like any normal eighteen year old on her birthday. But I found out I'm the Custodian to an ancient fae amulet, and my dog turned into a fairy, so I have a feeling those plans are going to be cancelled._ She was relieved her dad couldn't read minds. \"Haven't really thought about it, I'll probably go and take Gypsy out for a ride,\" she answered him with a smile. She needed more time alone with Faen. She hadn't anywhere near had all her questions answered yet. They were piling up so fast she thought her head might explode if she didn't get them out soon. \"Well, as long as you've got something planned and you're not going to be spending the day alone.\" _How ironic_ , she thought, _I'm never going to be spending the day alone again._\n\n\"Your Uncle Leo asked me to go and help him with something. I hope you don't mind, but I'll be gone most of the day,\" Henry continued, pulling Faedra from deep inside her thoughts. \"Huh? Oh, no problem, Dad, that's fine, I'll have plenty to do.\" \"Good. Well, I'll just go and let your uncle know I'll be there in a little while.\" Henry got up from the table to go and use the phone. \"You have got a lot more explaining to do,\" she told Faen as soon as her dad was out of earshot. Faen's ears drooped and he raised a furry eyebrow. When her dad returned to the table, they finished their breakfast. Faedra helped him clear up and load the dishwasher. \"I'm off now then, darling,\" Henry announced and leaned down to kiss his daughter on the forehead. \"I'll see you later.\" \"Okay, Dad. Have fun with Uncle Leo. Tell him hello from me, and I'll see him and Nicki soon.\" \"Will do. Bye then.\" Henry disappeared around the corner; she heard the door close behind him. She looked at Faen who was still in his dog form and shook her head. Maybe it was all a daydream. She got up, padded through the dining room and went up the stairs to her bedroom, followed by her faithful companion. When she reached the top of the stairs, she opened her door and turned to look at him. \"Oh, no you don't. You're staying right here; I'm going to get dressed.\" And closed the door behind her, leaving him sitting on the top stair. She rested back against the closed door for a moment, looked at the messy covers strewn all over her bed, and blew out a long breath. \"I have a feeling my world has just been turned upside down,\" she mumbled to herself as she wandered over to the bed to straighten it out. She picked up Arianne and the horse and slotted them back together, taking care not to break them, and replaced the reassembled figurine in the cabinet. She picked up the letter, folded it, and placed it back in its envelope, then slid it under some other papers that were inside her nightstand. She would figure out what to do with that later. She was sure she would have to read it over several times more before everything sunk in. There was a scratch at the door. \"You're not coming in, Faen, and that's final. I'll be out in a minute.\" She wandered over to her closet and turned to look out the window. It looked like it was going to be a warm, sunny summer's day, and she chose a t-shirt and shorts, throwing them on quickly. She had to admit to herself, she could not bear to be parted from her dog for very long, and was itching to have some more questions answered. When she opened her door, she was startled and took a step back. She was expecting to see furry Faen sitting there waiting, but it was Faen in his true form. He was standing, waiting for her in the doorway, and had a very imposing presence that took her by surprise. \"This is going to take a bit of getting used to,\" she told him. \"I apologize, Ms. Faedra, I startled you. That was not my intention.\" \"No worries. So what now?\" she asked. She was not quite sure how to continue from here. \"Our priority is to find out what your power is and how to control it,\" he said very matter-of-factly, as if it was the most normal thing in the world to inherit a power on your eighteenth birthday. \"And I believe that would be better done outside. Things have a tendency to get broken upon initial attempts.\" He stood to the side and gestured for her to pass. She did, and walked down the stairs, and they headed outside. It was a beautiful day; the sun was shining and it was pleasantly balmy. Faen sat down in the shade of an impressive oak tree that still had a swing hanging from a large bough. The same swing Faedra had sat on when they first met eleven years ago. She took the same spot now, letting her legs dangle freely in the warm breeze. Faen leaned his back up against the gnarly trunk and focused his attention on her. She was looking at him a little differently now. She was not so dumbstruck by his beauty, but was more contemplating the fact that he was even there at all. She couldn't help but keep looking around expecting her dog to be right next to her. A strange feeling of loss crept like tendrils around her heart. She would never be able to have the same relationship with her dog again. He would now, and forever, be this incredible man that was sitting before her, even when he was in his dog form. Faen could see that she was trying to digest the information she had received so far this morning; he wasn't sure how much more she could handle in one day. He knew she was strong. He'd spent eleven years watching her grow from strength to strength, but he had also seen her vulnerable side, and he didn't want to push her too far. So they sat in silence for a while; he would let her talk first when she was ready. He would be patient. He had all the patience in the world for the precious young girl he had watched grow up into a beautiful young lady. It sounded like Henry was going to be out for most of the day, so there was plenty of time before she was due to go out with her friends this evening. Faedra drew in a breath, as though she were getting ready to say something, thought better of it, and exhaled again. A few moments passed and she did the same thing. She was itching to know what those eyes had belonged to in the woods and at the graveyard, but knew she would not like the answer, and was putting off the inevitable. Finally she bit the bullet. \"What were those things in the woods and at the graveyard?\" she asked. \"Redcaps,\" he replied. \"What are redcaps?\" \"They are Unseelie, evil and murderous. There are not many Unseelie left. The few that remain usually wreak havoc in realms other than Azran since the king has tried to wipe them out. They can be mercenary and will hire themselves out if the prize is right. Do not worry, you were warded, and they could not have hurt you. Jocelyn and I just did not want them to get anywhere near you. Their features would certainly have frightened you.\" \"But I'm not warded anymore,\" she stated as she started scanning the perimeter of her garden with growing concern. \"You are safe here, Ms. Faedra. Your house and grounds have been warded for centuries, nothing can get past the property boundaries if it has evil intent,\" he continued. \"But I can't stay in here forever, I'm going out with my friends tonight to celebrate my birthday. What do they want with me anyway and how did they find me? It said in Mum's letter that only three people know the whereabouts of the amulet, and only two of them know about me.\" Faen's face mirrored the look of concern that Faedra was feeling. \"I do not know what they want or how they found you. You, the king of Azran, and I are the only ones who are supposed to have knowledge of the amulet. The king, and I are the only ones who know about you.\" \"Forgive me for not sounding very confident in that, when some murderous evil fairies have been coming after me, before I even know who I am.\" \"I will teach you to defend yourself, Ms. Faedra. I will not leave your side again,\" he said, trying to reassure her. She hung her head, not wanting to ask the next question, but needing to know. \"My mum didn't die of a mysterious illness did she?\" She looked over and studied his features. Her heart ached when she saw the sorrow and regret on his face. \"No,\" he replied, \"she did not.\" His eyes reflected his sadness as he remembered lifting Lillith's battered body from the hard cold gravel pathway behind the church. She had put up a good fight but had been overpowered. Instead of killing her swiftly, the redcaps poisoned her. Leaving her to die a slow painful death. He didn't understand why. They were usually so swift with their killings, which only led him to believe that they were doing someone else's bidding. As yet, he had not discovered for whom that was. Because of the speed with which she healed, Lillith's bruises had almost disappeared by the time he got her home. So her husband and daughter were left wondering what had made her so sick, and why it happened so suddenly. \"Were you her Guardian, too? Weren't you supposed to protect her?\" Faedra's voice took on a demanding tone. \"Yes, Ms. Faedra, on both counts.\" \"Well, you didn't do a very good job, did you?\" Faedra snapped. Her voice laced with the bitterness she had carried for so long because of losing her mother at such an early age. Faen's face fell, and he hung his head. \"Your mother sent me to run an errand. I should not have left her, but she insisted. I will be eternally remorseful for my actions that day,\" he looked up and shot a determined glare at Faedra. \"You can be sure, Ms. Faedra, I will not make the same mistake twice.\" Faedra averted her eyes from his. She felt a little ashamed of her outburst. Being mean was not a natural occurrence for her, but she never had anyone or anything to blame for her mother's death before. The feeling of needing to place blame was suddenly overwhelming. \"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound, well, you know,\" she spoke softly again. \"Do not concern yourself; it was no more than I deserved. Your mother was a wonderful, caring person. She was a very talented Custodian and could fight like no human I had ever seen before. Her sword skills were beyond measure.\" Faedra shook her head. \"My mum knew how to fight? With a sword?\" \"Yes, the best I have ever seen in a human.\" \"Whoa,\" she breathed. \"She should have been the one to teach you, but she had found out something, and was on her way to tell the King. She was intercepted before she got to the portal.\" \"So you're telling me my mum was... murdered?\" Faen hung his head again, averting his gaze. \"Yes, Ms. Faedra, she was.\" In an instant, the need to blame someone was fiercely overshadowed with a need for revenge. A feeling that shook Faedra to the core. She had never felt such a strong emotion before and it scared her. She slid down from the swing and stood in front of Faen with her hands, that were balled into fists, resting on her hips. \"Show me!\" she demanded. \"You tell me I have a power. Show me how to find it and use it!\" Faen looked up at the determined young lady who was standing over him. Her eyes flashed with a passion he had never witnessed in her before, a passion for revenge. He rose in one fluid movement. In the blink of an eye, he was standing right in front of her, inches from her face. She blinked back her surprise at the swiftness with which he could move, but held her position and did not flinch or step back. _That's a promising start_ , he thought _, she stood her ground. Moving like that would make most humans jump out of their skin_. He held her gaze steady with his. In another blink of an eye he was behind her, but somehow she anticipated the move, had turned immediately, and was facing him again. Her eyes flashed with anger this time. He rubbed his chin. _Lightning reflexes, another good sign._\n\nHe wanted to try something else, just to test his theory on her reflexes, and made to grab her by the throat. Instantaneously, she ducked, avoiding his grip and kicked his legs out from under him. Instead of falling to the ground, he just hovered on his side in mid-air as if he were relaxing on an invisible platform. Propping himself up on his elbow, he gave her a wry smile. She scowled at him. \"What are you doing?\" she snapped. \"Stop messing about and start teaching me how to defend myself.\" Then she thought for a moment about what she had just done. \"Ms. Faedra, I think you are going to be a natural at this, just like your mother.\" He smiled as he lowered his feet to the ground and stood up again. She considered her reaction for a moment. It had all happened so fast she hadn't even thought about it. \"How did I do that?\" she asked. \"As I said, you are going to be a natural at this,\" he repeated. \"Now, let us begin trying to discover what power you hold. I have observed you blowing on your hands repeatedly over the past few weeks. Your power could be connected with them.\" \"Of course, that would make sense. Thank Goodness I'm not going mad, although I have to wonder if this is all a dream, and I'm going to wake up any second.\" \"Be assured, Ms. Faedra, it is not a dream. Now, concentrate on your hands and see if you can feel anything unusual,\" he instructed. She looked at her hands and channeled all her thoughts to them. Nothing happened, not even the slightest tingle. \"Nothing happened,\" she said in dismay. \"Try again,\" he instructed, circling her now. She closed her eyes this time and concentrated hard. Still nothing. \"Try again,\" Faen repeated. She did, and again, and again for about an hour, but still nothing. \"I need to take a break,\" she whispered. \"Try again,\" Faen insisted. \"No. I need a break.\" \"The redcaps will not give you a break, Ms. Faedra. Try again.\" She squared her shoulders at him and held her hands out for him to see. \"Well, I must be broken then because it's not working. I obviously don't have this so called power.\" \"Yes, you do. Try again,\" he was incessant. Frustration was starting to get the better of her. \"Faen, I do not have any powers!\" she shouted as she flicked her hands out in defeat. Her eyes widened in utter disbelief as she watched two balls of light shoot from her palms. The two balls were on a collision course with Faen's head. He twisted his torso and the balls flew past him, narrowly missing his ear. They exploded against the tree trunk leaving scorch marks in the bark. She closed her hands and held them to her chest. \"Careful, Ms. Faedra, you nearly took off my ear,\" he said with a smile. He looked at her with the proud admiration of a parent whose child had just received an 'A' in math. \"Sorry,\" she squeaked. \"Oh, do not be. That was very impressive for your first time,\" he praised. \"This is very advantageous. You can control energy; electrical energy it would seem. Humans are made up of electrical impulses, and your power gives you the ability to mold that energy and send it outside of your body. When you have had more practice, you will be able to mold outside sources of energy too.\" She gawped at him; it was all she could do. She hadn't woken up from any dream yet, so she had to try and accept the fact that she had just flung two balls of light across the yard and nearly blown up the tree. \"Can you remember what you were feeling when your power materialized?\" he asked. \"Could you try and reenact that again, but with a little more control this time?\" She could remember, she felt anger and frustration. \"I'll Try.\" She closed her eyes holding her palms up. Faedra imagined her mum being attacked by the redcaps. Anger seared through her. She opened her eyes in shock when she realized it wasn't the anger that seared her, it was the energy she was sending from all over her body into the palms of her hands. She stared at the balls of light she had created that were now bobbing above each of her palms. \"Very good, Ms. Faedra,\" Faen smiled. She looked up at him and smiled back. The balls of light fizzled out and disappeared. This power seemed to be connected to negative emotion, and that wasn't something she was used to feeling. She didn't like the idea that she would have to make herself angry or frustrated to be able to use it. \"Faen?\" she asked. \"I don't want to have to be angry to conjure my power. I don't like feeling that way.\" \"Do not worry, this is just the beginning. You will learn to control your power much more easily as time progresses. At present, heightened emotion enables you to pull your power forward. In time, you will learn to control it without negative emotion. Although, it will always be strongest when your feelings are running high. That is just the natural order of things. Not much different to the 'fight or flight' response humans have to danger. It will be most powerful when the need for it is greatest.\" They decided to take a break for a while. Faedra lifted herself back up onto the swing and watched as Faen lowered himself to the ground to lean against the oak tree. \"What power did my mother have?\" she asked. \"Your mother was telekinetic. She could move things with her mind.\" His reply sparked a memory that Faedra had almost forgotten, but, in a flash, it was there again, clear as day. She had walked into the dining room one morning when she was little. Her mother was doing some dusting and humming to herself. She had her back to Faedra and hadn't heard the little girl walk in. She was standing on a chair reaching up to try and dust the light hanging from the tall ceiling, but couldn't quite reach it. She opened her hands and the duster floated up to the light and started dusting by itself. Faedra had let out a gasp causing her mother to turn to look at her. The duster had fallen gracefully to the floor. Lillith had flushed, picked up the duster and gone about her business as if nothing had happened. Faedra had never been quite able to believe what she'd seen, so put it to the darkest recesses of her mind. She thought of something else, too. She was going to ask the question when Faen mentioned it, but got caught up in another thought, and had forgotten about it until now. \"Faen, you mentioned earlier that you and Jocelyn were keeping the redcaps away from me. Who is Jocelyn?\" He sighed. \"She is my little sister.\" Faedra's eyebrows shot up. \"You have a little sister?\" \"Yes, I do,\" he replied stoically. \"She is the black and white dog you see at the church. She guards the portal to the Land of Azran.\" Could sibling love and rivalry be the same for fairies as for humans, she wondered. Faedra laughed, and Faen narrowed his eyes at her. \"Well, that growling thing you do with her makes perfect sense now,\" she responded to his frown. \"My friend's little brother gets on her nerves all the time, but she still loves him, even if she can't stand him sometimes.\" He didn't respond. \"Wait, you said she guards the portal. There's a portal at the church?\" \"Yes.\" \"Wow, we can get to your world at the church?\" \"Yes.\" \"So how come the vicar couldn't see her that day when I asked him if she was his?\" \"She used glamour to hide herself.\" \"Ooh,\" Faedra shuffled excitedly on the swing, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. \"I know what that means! It means you can choose to make other people see what you want them to see, doesn't it? I remember that from an episode of _Charmed_.\" Faen gave her a martyred look, he remembered that episode of Charmed, also. Along with all the others in the seven seasons he had watched with her. It was her favorite show, and she never missed a single one. Faedra practiced using her power for several more hours, watched by Faen as he relaxed against the ancient oak tree. He was impressed by how swiftly she was becoming adept at focusing her thoughts and creating balls of light in her palms, but she had not yet mastered, apart from that very first time, the art of being able to throw them at a target. They dissipated into sparks just a few inches from her hands, and he could tell she was getting tired. It was, after all, her energy she was throwing away each time, and she had to replenish it with something to eat or she would get weak very quickly. \"I think you have had enough for one day, Ms. Faedra,\" he said as he rose in that fluid motion of his and was, in the blink of an eye, standing before her. \"You need to eat, you are growing tired. Remember, this is your energy you are expelling. You need to replenish it often.\" \"Just one more try?\" she asked. He didn't answer. Before she even had time to comprehend it, he was gone and her dog was sitting in front of her. She heard a noise and looked up to see her dad's car coming down the driveway. CHAPTER SEVEN\n\nFaedra and Faen strolled over to where her dad had parked his car, and greeted him as he opened the car door. \"Hi, Dad. Did you have a nice time with Uncle Leo?\" she asked. \"Actually, we had a very nice time,\" he replied with a smile as he got out of the car and planted a kiss on his daughter's forehead. \"How about you? Did you go for a ride on Gypsy?\" She'd forgotten all about her horse and the ride she was supposed to take that day. \"No, I didn't in the end,\" she said, playing for time until she could come up with an excuse as to why she hadn't. \"I just ended up relaxing in the garden. I didn't want to wear myself out and be tired this evening.\" He gave her a thoughtful look. \"Well, I'm not sure how much relaxing you did, darling. You look exhausted.\" \"Do I?\" She feigned ignorance and made up another excuse. Truth was, she did feel exhausted after using up all that energy practicing with her power for most of the day. \"I'm just hungry. I was going in to get myself a sandwich when you drove up.\" They all headed to the front door. Henry opened it and gestured for Faedra and Faen to enter first. \"What time are your friends picking you up this evening?\" \"They're coming around about seven.\" \"I know I haven't really mentioned this before because you are always so sensible, but I feel, as your father, I need to say something.\" Faedra smiled. She had been expecting the 'I know you are legally old enough to drink, but don't over do it' speech. \"Don't worry, Dad, Amy is designated driver tonight, and I promise I'll only have a couple. I have no intention of waking up with a throbbing headache tomorrow morning.\" Henry looked visibly relieved by her response. Faedra wandered through the dining room towards the kitchen to make herself a sandwich and caught a sideways glance of her reflection in the mirror hanging on one of the walls as she walked past. She stopped dead and reversed back a few steps until she was standing in front of it. Faedra looked with surprise at the person staring back at her with a shocked expression. \"Oh, my God, I'm nearly gray,\" she gasped as she took in her features. Her skin had taken on a pallid grayish tinge and there were dark circles developing under her eyes. \"No wonder Dad thought I looked exhausted. I look like I've got one foot in the grave.\" She rushed into the kitchen and made herself a plate of sandwiches, wolfing them down as if it was the first thing she'd eaten for days. \"Steady on,\" Henry said as he walked through the door and caught Faedra stuffing a whole sandwich in her mouth giving her chipmunk cheeks. \"You'll get indigestion if you eat that quickly. Anyway, wanted to let you know that I'm going out with your uncle tonight, so I'll be leaving around six thirty.\" She acknowledged him with a nod of her head, her mouth still full to overflowing with the sandwich she had just stuffed in there. She looked over at the clock on the oven. She had a couple more hours to go before her friends arrived; that should give her plenty of time to get ready, and hopefully, to re-energize. Faedra certainly didn't want to go out looking like she was on her last leg. She prayed that the sandwiches would do the trick. They did. A half hour later she dared herself to look in the mirror again. Her usually radiant skin and sparkling eyes stared back at her. She heaved a huge sigh of relief and made a mental note to take snack breaks while practicing with her power in the future. She went to her room, grabbed her bathrobe, and made her way to the bathroom to take a shower and get ready for her evening out with friends. She was looking forward to it. When she had finished with her shower, she wandered back to her room, her hair piled on top of her head, wrapped in a towel. Faen had waited patiently outside the bathroom and was following her up the stairs to her bedroom. When they got to the top of the stairs he lay down and didn't attempt to enter her room this time. \"Thank you,\" she whispered as she closed the door. She padded over to her dresser and commenced her ritual of putting make up on and drying her hair. The former didn't take long at all; she had almost perfect skin, so just a dusting of powder, a little eye shadow, mascara, and lip-gloss, and she was done. The latter took considerably more time, as her hair was so long and thick. She leaned forward, turned her head upside down and continued on with the arduous task. A while later when her hair was dried and styled, her face glowing, and natural, she wandered over to her closet. Due to the fact that she hadn't done what most teenage girls do on their eighteenth birthday and go shopping for a new outfit, she looked with deliberation at the clothes that already existed there, and decided on a pretty royal blue dress with thin straps. It had a fitted bodice that nipped neatly in at the waist flowing into a full skirt that skimmed her hips, and came to just above her knees, accentuating her figure perfectly. The color complimented her skin and hair, and she felt really good in it. \"I'm off now, Fae,\" she heard her dad call from the bottom of the stairs. \"Okay, Dad, have fun tonight.\" \"You, too, darling. Hey, did you know Faen was out here?\" he asked in surprise. \"Yes, Dad, I'll let him in a minute.\" She heard her dad mutter something about never knowing Faen to be shut out of her room before as he walked out of the dining room. She sighed. She had to admit it did feel kind of odd not having him in with her, but that dynamic had completely changed now, and would never be the same again. There was a heavy feeling in her heart at the thought. Her dad's car door slammed. She watched from her window as he drove up the driveway and out of sight. She wandered back to the closet and took one last look at her reflection in the full-length mirror that was attached to one of the doors. That'll do, she thought with a smile and wandered over to her door to let Faen in. She never knew which form he would be in now, but guessed that because her father had left he would probably be in his true form. She was right. Faen was standing in her doorway when she opened it, all six feet of him. He didn't make her jump this time; she looked up at his face and smiled. She wasn't sure, but as his eyes skimmed over her, his usually stoic features melted for just a split second to reveal something more like warm approval, but then it was gone in an instant. She wondered why he was so loving with her when he was in his dog form. Always wagging his tail, always looking pleased to see her. But in his true form he seemed distant, almost as though being there was an inconvenience. She brushed the thought aside. It seemed like they were stuck together for the time being, whether either of them wanted to be or not. At the very least, until she had learned all she could to defend herself against the Unseelie. \"You look very nice, Ms. Faedra,\" he broke the silence, and pulled her from her reverie. \"Thank you.\" \"Where are you going tonight?\" he asked. \"The Old Brewery House in the village,\" she narrowed her eyes at him. \"Why?\" \"Because I am going with you, of course,\" he replied. \"Oh, I don't think so,\" she said defiantly. \"It's a girl's night out with my friends. You can't come.\" \"I will be there whether you like it or not,\" he reiterated with a firmness that was undeniable. \"I told you, I will not make the same mistake twice. Do not concern yourself, I will blend into the background, no one else will have to know I am there.\" She looked him up and down. Blending into the background was not something Faen would accomplish, especially dressed as he was. She sighed. \"Okay, I understand that you want to stay close to me, but you will definitely not blend in dressed like that.\" And she gestured down his body with her hand as if showcasing something unusual. He looked himself up and down, and returned his gaze to her. \"What's wrong with what I am wearing?\" he asked. \"You look like you have walked straight out of a Disney movie,\" she replied somewhat sarcastically, then kicked herself for sounding so rude. He looked perplexed. \"Faen, what you are wearing is very old fashioned. You have seen how humans dress nowadays. You need to wear something more... modern. \"Oh, modern,\" he replied. \"I can do modern.\" And with one of his blurs he was standing in front of her in a complete change of clothes. She took a step back and sucked in a breath. She hadn't expected him to look so good in modern clothing. \"Ms. Faedra, you look shocked. Are you alright?\" \"Absolutely fine,\" she squeaked, as she took in the ultra modern Faen. From top to toe he was dressed in designer clothing. Shiny black boots with a square toe. Jeans that were belted at his waist with a black leather belt, accentuated with a buckle that looked like a silver Celtic rose. He wore a black t-shirt that fit him like a glove, skimming every contour of his torso and upper arms. She swallowed hard, it was an involuntary response. \"Will this work?\" he asked. \"Yes,\" she breathed, \"that will work just fine.\" Then she noticed the design on his belt buckle and lifted her wrist to examine the bangle her father had given her earlier. \"Your buckle, it's the same design as my bracelet.\" Faen looked at her and the corners of his mouth turned up very slightly in a knowing smile. \"You did that on purpose, didn't you?\" She was distracted by the crunch of gravel as a car appeared coming down the driveway. When she turned back to him he was holding a tiny clay pot with a cork stopper in the palm of his hand. \"You will need this,\" he said, offering her the pot. \"What is it?\" \"Rub a little on your eyelids. You will be able to see all fae now, even if they are trying to hide themselves with glamour.\" She did as instructed and rubbed some of the ointment over her eyelids. She figured she could use all the help she could get. A warm buzz lingered on her eyelids for a second, but when she opened her eyes and looked around, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. \"Thank you.\" Faen nodded a 'you're welcome.' Then they both turned their heads when a loud rapping could be heard from the front door. \"That will be Amy and Zo\u00eb. Stay here until I'm gone. You know where the Old Brewery is; I'll see you there,\" she made to leave and then thought of something else. \"Oh, and Faen, please try to look inconspicuous.\" \"I will try, Ms. Faedra.\" She grabbed her purse and almost ran down the stairs. Faen watched from the window as Faedra got in the back of her friend's car. As soon as they were out of sight he was outside. Although the pub was a few minutes down the road by car, he arrived before they did. \"Good grief the car park is full tonight,\" Faedra commented as they pulled in. \"It's Saturday, Fae, what do you expect?\" Zo\u00eb replied. They got out and looked up at the outside of the pub. Actually, it was more than just a pub. It was a Georgian house that had been built in the late eighteenth century for a wealthy landowner. It had since been turned into a hotel with a very nice bar. The beautiful old building still retained many of its original features. Because of Faedra's love of all things old, she enjoyed coming here, if only to soak up the atmosphere and imagine what it must have been like to live there when it was originally someone's home. \"Come on, dreamy,\" Amy snapped her from her thoughts. \"Let's go in and get you your first official drink.\" She responded with a smile and they trooped in through an open door way. The heavy oak door had been propped open with an ornamental doorstop. It was such a balmy evening; the owners had decided to let the fresh air in. As they entered the bar, Faedra stopped dead upon seeing Faen relaxing at a table in the corner of the room. She narrowed her eyes at him. How did he get here so quickly? \"What's wrong, Fae?\" Zo\u00eb asked looking over to where Faedra had turned her attention, then looked back at her with a confused expression. \"There's nothing there.\" \"What? Sorry, nothing I'm fine,\" she spluttered, and continued to the bar, glancing back at Faen who was giving her a wry smile. She narrowed her eyes at him in response. \"Where'd Amy go?\" she asked upon noticing her friend's disappearance. \"Probably to the bathroom,\" Zo\u00eb responded nonchalantly. A couple of minutes passed, and they had their drinks in hand. Faedra had decided on a nice glass of red wine. \"Hey, you guys, you have to come and see this,\" Amy said as she burst through the door. \"They have a new statue back here, it's so cool.\" She came over and grabbed Faedra by the arm. Faedra slid reluctantly off her bar stool and allowed herself to be half dragged by her friend through the door towards the bathrooms. \"Where? I can't see one,\" Faedra said when the corridor they were in was empty, except for a row of floor to ceiling windows that ran the length of it to reveal the beautiful courtyard outside, complete with fountain. \"It's just through there,\" Amy pointed to the double doors up ahead. \"Amy, I hope you haven't been snooping around again,\" Faedra said with a frown. \"Of course, I have, I always snoop,\" she was proud to admit. Faedra raised her eyes heavenward. Amy could be so brazen sometimes. Amy and Zo\u00eb got to the doors before Faedra; they each took a handle and pulled the doors open. Faedra peered into the darkened room. In a heartbeat the lights came on and a chorus of \"SURPRISE!\" rang out loud and clear. She nearly jumped out of her skin, and Zo\u00eb surreptitiously grabbed her glass of wine, for which she was grateful, otherwise, she would have been wearing it all down the front of her dress. Sprawling in front of her were friends and relatives, spreading all the way to the back of the large banquet room. They wore excited expressions on their faces. Most were blowing on party horns and throwing streamers at her; right at the front stood the perpetrators. Her father, flanked by her Uncle Leo and Nicki. She should have known. That was what her father had been so busy doing all day, organizing a surprise party when she had expressly told him that she didn't want a big deal made of her birthday. _It was already more of big deal than he could ever imagine,_ she thought derisively. She stood frozen to the spot for what seemed like an eternity, but was probably only a few seconds. She wasn't quite sure how to react. She felt numb. All these people were here for her, but the one person she wished could have been, wasn't... her mother. She regained her composure. She wasn't about to embarrass her father, or herself, in front of all these people by throwing a hissy fit. She took a deep breath and plastered a smile on her face. One she would have to fake for the rest of the evening, of that she had no doubt. Everyone cheered when she smiled. She saw her father heave a sigh of relief. The music started and everyone dispersed and started to mingle. When she thought no one was looking, she narrowed her eyes at her father and made a beeline straight for him. He flinched, and braced for the worst. Uncle Leo and Nicki stood their ground next to him. \"Dad, you promised,\" she stated when she reached him. \"Faedra, it wasn't your dad's idea,\" Leo interrupted, \"it was mine.\" She shot him a puzzled look. \"Why, Uncle Leo? You knew how I felt.\" She couldn't bring herself to be mean to her uncle, and, surprisingly, she felt hurt, not angry. \"I did it for your mother,\" he stated. She stepped back like someone had just punched her in the gut and continued to look at him in bewilderment. \"Lillith made me promise to hold a big party for your eighteenth birthday. She was most insistent about it. So if you want to blame anyone, Fae, blame your mum.\" Obviously, she could never blame her mum for anything. She stared at her dad and uncle, tears pricked behind her eyes. Her mother had wanted her to have a party for her birthday, and she was going to make sure she enjoyed herself. \"Sorry,\" she mumbled at the floor, feeling a little ashamed of herself. \"No apology needed, you big goof,\" Leo said, grabbing her in a bear hug. \"Just make sure you enjoy yourself.\" Faedra had a good look around the room when her uncle released her from his iron grip. There were banners all over, announcing 'Happy Birthday' and '18 at last.' A long buffet table, filled with food, stretched the length of one wall. Helium-filled balloons tied to little weights, floated above each of the tables that surrounded the dance floor. Streamers hung from the rafters of the exposed oak beams that were holding up the roof. A DJ was playing music at one end of the room, and people were already on the dance floor dancing. \"You did all this for me?\" she asked her dad, uncle and Nicki. They nodded. \"Thank you.\" She opened her arms for a group hug. \"Go on now,\" her dad said after they were finished with their hug, \"go and enjoy yourself.\" And without further ado Amy and Zo\u00eb each took an arm and dragged her towards the dance floor. Faedra enjoyed dancing to all the latest music on the charts, and some of the older stuff that she liked to listen to, also. It seemed like a constant stream of people came up to wish her a happy birthday. She greeted each one graciously, and thanked them for coming. Although she had told her dad that she would only have a couple of drinks, they kept being put in her hands by friends and relatives who wanted to buy her one for her birthday. She had managed, very discreetly, to dispose of some of them in the various potted plants that were dotted around the edge of the banquet room. But when she'd been caught in conversation with someone, she found it hard not to take a few sips and was starting to get a little tipsy. The music slowed down and she made her exit off the dance floor. She watched as Amy and her new boyfriend were slow dancing their way around it; Zo\u00eb and her long-standing beau were doing the same. They looked really happy and she smiled at her friends who were enjoying the moment with their respective partners. She turned to go and find someone to talk to and bumped straight into Faen's chest. She took a step back in surprise and looked up at him. She hadn't seen him since that time in the bar and wondered if he was still around. To be honest, she'd been so distracted by everything going on, that she hadn't even thought to look. \"May I have this dance, Ms. Faedra?\" he asked politely. She squirreled around in her mind for a moment. She'd never danced with a man before, except for her dad, and that was when she was little and stood on his shoes while he twirled them both around. She didn't think that counted in this instance. \"Um, I don't know how,\" she admitted, sheepishly. \"I do,\" Faen replied, holding out a hand for her. \"May I?\" She felt her cheeks flush and her heart pound. Not only was she a disaster with her power, she was now going to embarrass herself on the dance floor, too. Faen took hold of her hand in one of his, placed her other hand on his shoulder, then placed his other hand around her waist. She was too nervous to giggle, but she felt like they should be on an episode of Dancing with the Stars. That image disintegrated almost immediately as Faen led her with grace and fluidity around the floor. The other couples that had been dancing were now turning their attention to her and Faen, and had moved to the edge of the dance floor. She noticed that people who had been mingling all over the banquet room were now forming a circle around them, watching them intently. She also noticed that they were now the only couple dancing. Faedra couldn't ever remember feeling this alive. She felt like she was floating above the dance floor, it didn't even feel like her feet were touching the ground. She looked up at Faen and focused all of her attention on his eyes that were doing the same to hers. She was locked in a moment of sheer tranquility and wondered if she would ever come down to earth again. She did, with a bump. As soon as the music finished, there was a loud applause that emanated around them. She tore her gaze from Faen's and looked around her. The whole party had been captivated by their dance, and she scanned their faces. On most, she could see pure delight, but when she got to her father, his features screamed concern. On her friend's, Amy and Zo\u00eb, pure confusion. _Oops_ , she thought, _none of them know about Faen._\n\nHeck, she'd only found out about him just over twelve hours ago; she'd certainly never thought of a story to tell them when just such a thing like this occurred. But then, in all fairness, she hadn't been prepared for a surprise party, either. She had been prepared for sitting in the bar, having a few drinks with her friends, while Faen sat inconspicuously in the corner and kept an eye on her. He'd failed miserably on the inconspicuous aspect of the evening, and she made a mental note to show him what it meant in the dictionary when they got home. She looked at her father like a deer caught in the headlights. As he stalked towards her, her friends followed behind him. She would have to think of something quickly. \"Oh, no,\" she whispered. \"Stay calm, Ms. Faedra,\" Faen whispered back, putting a calming hand on her shoulder. The crowd that had accumulated around them, was now back to mingling and dancing. Faen had led Faedra off the dance floor after their dance, and they were now standing to one side of it. \"So, who's the dark horse then?\" Amy said to Faedra, while raking her eyes up and down Faen. \"Are you going to introduce us?\" her father said, with a politeness that was laced with just a hint of venom. He had never seen his daughter with a man, especially one as good looking as this one, and she had never mentioned a boyfriend. His father senses were on full alert. Faedra scanned their faces again and swallowed hard. She could feel herself starting to tremble. Faen sensed it, too, and gently squeezed her shoulder. Her father was not doing a very good job of masking his concern; her friends were just positively brimming with excitement for her. It was about time she had a boyfriend... she could read it in both of their expressions. \"Um, everyone, meet, uh, F-red.\" she caught herself at the last second. Every pair of eyebrows shot up in unison, including Faen's. \"Frederick, I mean. This is Frederick. He is a new boarder at the stables. We just met, recently.\" Her hands were getting clammier by the second. Faedra didn't like to lie and it wasn't something that came easily to her. \"Pleased to meet you, Frederick,\" Amy said as she took hold of his hand and shook it with just a little too much enthusiasm. \"Yes, pleased to meet you,\" Zo\u00eb reiterated with a much more graceful shake of his hand. Faen did the noble head bob that he always did when acknowledging people. It was so old-worldly, and so completely Faen. \"Frederick,\" her father said, taking Faen's hand in a firm handshake. He eyed Faen cautiously and gave him the 'you lay one finger on my daughter and I'll swing for you' glare. \"You can be assured, Mr. Bennett, my intentions are nothing but honorable,\" Faen responded to her father's unspoken warning. Faedra cringed, looked up at him, and gave him a silent 'no one says stuff like that anymore, you'll give yourself away'. He just smiled calmly back at her and it took her breath away, as usual. CHAPTER EIGHT\n\nFaen had caught the interest of Uncle Leo and Nicki, too; they now wandered over to meet him. Faedra was feeling more and more uncomfortable with her family surrounding them. They were all very polite, but there was no doubt in her mind, it was a thinly veiled inquisition. She started to relax as Faen charmed the pants off them. Answering their questions without so much as a hint of subterfuge, or annoyance. Faedra thought if she had been questioned like him, she would be feeling exasperated by now, but she was impressed by how quickly he could think on his feet. Obviously, all his answers were lies. She excused herself to go and use the restroom. She needed a break from the surrealism that was surrounding her at that moment and wandered down the corridor to where they were located. As soon as the door closed behind her, the sound of the music muffled. Once inside the restroom, she looked at herself in the mirror. She was feeling a little tipsy after having one too many drinks handed to her. Wandering back towards the party, she stopped to look out of one of the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the corridor. The courtyard was lit up with floodlights that cast a warming glow over the fountain. There was seating surrounding the fountain; the whole picture looked inviting. She decided she needed some fresh air to try and clear the fuzzies that were addling her brain and went to sit out there for a moment. She would be on the soft drinks for the rest of the night she told herself sternly. She stepped outside into the welcoming warmth of the summer night air, wandered over to one of the benches, and sat down. The sound of the music was reduced to a muffled beat in the background now. She leaned back against the bench and soaked in the atmosphere of the courtyard. The fountain was very pretty in its own austere way. It was an uncomplicated structure, but grand in its simplicity. The water trickling from the top tier, fell into the tier below it, which then cascaded down to the basin at the bottom. People had thrown coins into it. The coins glinted in the light from the floodlights that illuminated the water; she wondered if any of their wishes had come true. A noise coming from beyond the courtyard towards the rear vehicular entrance of the hotel, pulled Faedra from her thoughts. It was black as pitch over there, out of reach from the floodlights in the courtyard. She didn't think much of it; it was probably just a guest and there were plenty of people milling around this evening. Although, she noticed now that she was completely alone in the courtyard. \"Hello?\" she called into the darkness. \"Faedra,\" a gravelly voice responded. She didn't recognize it, but that didn't mean much either. There were a number of the party guest's partners here tonight that she had never met before. She rose from the bench and wandered over to where the voice had come from. \"Hello, is anyone there?\" she asked again, squinting her eyes, trying to force them to see into the darkness. She felt a warming sensation on her ring finger and looked down at it. The symbols on the ring were glowing brightly. _Wear it also and never take it off. It will warn you if danger is near._ She remembered what her mother had written in her letter. The fine hairs on the back of her neck raised and goose bumps flashed up her arms. A chilling cold enveloped her, a cold like she had felt in the woods. She turned to leave but was not quick enough. She didn't see it coming; doubted if anyone could have, it happened so fast. No longer were her feet on solid ground. They were now dangling at least a foot above it. Something was holding her around the neck and she grabbed at it in desperation, trying to pull off whatever was holding her. Her eyes widened with horror when her hands were grasping at nothing but thin air and realized that nothing physical was holding her. How could she fight against an imperceptible force? She kicked out with her feet in all directions, hoping feebly that she could make contact with something and maybe knock it off balance. But again, she made contact with nothing, no one. A spine chilling cackle erupted at her futile attempt to free herself from whatever was holding her captive. \"We have waited patiently for this moment,\" the voice spoke again with revelry. Whoever it was, they were certainly enjoying themselves. She looked around wide eyed, trying to see who else made up the 'we'. But she couldn't even see what was holding her, let alone anyone else that may have been lurking in the shadows. Faedra could feel the ring on her finger heat up even more. It didn't hurt, but it was a powerful reminder that she was in very grave danger, a fact that hadn't escaped her attention. \"Who are you?\" she croaked through the stranglehold on her neck. Her question was answered in an instant, as a pair of eyes glowed in the darkness below her. She felt sick, a deep retching, nauseous feeling resonated from the pit of her stomach. \"Oh, God, a redcap,\" she continued through restrained vocal chords. There was another gravelly cackle and it turned Faedra's blood to ice. The force holding her began to move her over towards the light from a streetlamp that was behind the wall of the back entrance to the hotel. Whatever it was that was holding her, backed her up until the circle of light from the streetlamp illuminated them both. Faedra looked down, terror-stricken, as the figure holding her gradually came into view. Fear couldn't even begin to describe what she was feeling when her eyes sent what they were seeing to her brain. It was grotesque. One of its long sinewy arms was held upwards towards her. Spindly fingers with yellowed, claw like nails were shaped as though they were gripping something invisible. Then she realized they were... her neck. She was hovering at least three feet up and away from the hand that was held out towards her. The creature couldn't have been much more than four feet tall, but what it lacked in stature, it made up for in repulsiveness. It wore a long, dirty brown leather tunic that came to mid thigh and was belted at the waist. What looked like steel boots adorned its feet and they made a small clanking sound as it walked. She remembered the sound from the woods when they had been running, but hadn't been able to put her finger on it at the time. It had an ominous looking dagger thrust through its belt that was slightly rusty and stained with blood. Its other hand had hold of a menacing looking weapon with a huge axe blade at the top of a long handle that stood at least a foot taller than the redcap, and was finished off with a spike at the end. It, too, looked well used and blood stained. Its face was gnarly, like old elephant hide, with black soulless eyes that no longer glowed now that they were in the light. A long crooked nose protruded out morosely from the center of its face, and the jagged, uneven fangs it had for teeth, jutted out from its lower jaw and were yellowed and rotting. On its head it wore the article for which it was named, a red cap. It fit its head like a glove, and although she didn't want to admit to it, she thought it looked like skin, but not its own skin, someone else's. It glistened moistly in the light from the streetlamp. \"What do you want from me?\" Faedra croaked, scanning the area. She still couldn't see any more of them. \"Why, the amulet, of course,\" the redcap spat back at her in disgust, then turned his attention to the necklace dangling from her neck. \"Why?\" \"I don't ask why, I just get to keep my prize...you,\" it cackled with delight. In a flash, it had forced Faedra to her knees. She was now almost eye level with the hideous creature as she kneeled in front of it. She wrinkled her nose when it leaned in close to her and wafted a breath over her face. It smelled repugnant; she almost threw up right there and then. As much as she wanted to, she couldn't close her eyes. Faedra stared frozen in time at it, as it examined her closely. \"I can understand why she wants you dead,\" it whispered with spine chilling contempt. \"Who wants me dead?\" Faedra squeaked. \"That is of no consequence, Custodian,\" it replied, its gravelly voice scraping at her skin like a rough piece of sand paper. He laid his axe-like weapon on the floor and took hold of the amulet with his free hand. Faedra wasn't sure what happened next, but the creature was flung across the darkness. A howl screeched through the air as it made contact with what she assumed was the dumpster. She made to get up and run for her life, but the creature was back on her in a flash. The redcap held her neck with its actual hand this time; much more violently than before. It held the palm of its other hand for her to see. \"The amulet is warded; only you can touch it. It would seem no one else can while you live. So, it looks like I'm going to have to kill you right here to take it from you. We were looking forward to having much more fun with you than that, but,\" and it shrugged its shoulders, \"needs must.\" There was a glint in its eyes when it said it. Faedra moved her eyes downward to look at its hand. She couldn't move her head, it was being held too tightly. The palm of its hand had been seared with the pattern from the amulet, burning a permanent brand into its skin. Her mind whirled as the oxygen was being cut off to her brain. She couldn't die, not here, not now. \"Faen,\" she shouted through her constricted vocal chords. Nothing more than a hushed whisper emanated from her mouth. \"Faen, help me,\" she said again, futilely hoping that he could somehow hear her or sense that she was in danger. She looked over towards the courtyard, and her heart sank. It was still empty. She was quickly sinking into blackness; no, she couldn't let this happen. _Do something Faedra_ , she commanded herself. _You need to do something now, or you will die. Right here, right now._\n\nThe thought of what it would do to her father, to find his only daughter's battered remains, lying lifeless behind the hotel, sparked something deep within her. Her fear turned to anger, which in itself, turned into the searing sensation of energy flowing through her body. The streetlamp above her flickered. Faedra opened her eyes and summoned all the energy she could from her body, then her mind started reaching outside of her skull, searching for other sources. The light above her flickered again, and she took hold of its energy, too, pulling it inside her body and molding it with her own. The bulb in the street lamp shattered, sending a shower of sparks raining to the ground like one of those fancy fireworks she enjoyed watching on Bonfire Night. She looked straight into the redcap's eyes. \"Not tonight, you don't,\" her whisper was barely audible as she channeled all the power she was controlling through her palms and slammed it directly at its chest. The intensity of it threw the redcap violently back against the dumpster again. She couldn't control the immensity of the force she had created and it sent her flying backwards, also. Her whole body was picked up by it and she was hurled into the wall behind her with brutal propulsion. She caught a glimpse of Faen exiting through the door into the courtyard. He conjured his sword from nowhere and was spinning it in his hand as he moved towards her. There was a blood-curdling crack as her head slammed against the hard stone of the brick wall. She fell limply to the ground. \"Faedra!\" she heard Faen shout, just before everything went black. Faen moved with lightning speed to the darkness of the area behind the hotel. The street lamp was broken now, so the only light emanating there was the dim glow from the floodlights in the courtyard. He moved with stealth over to the redcap. It looked unconscious but he wasn't taking any chances, and ran it through with his sword. Faen mumbled something and the redcap shimmered and disappeared. He stood up alert, his sword held ready for battle. He scanned the area for anything else, but couldn't sense anything untoward. In the next heartbeat, he was kneeling over Faedra's lifeless body that was now lying face down on the ground. \"No, no, no, not again. For the love of the Gods, not again,\" he cried as he carefully turned her over. She felt limp in his hands, just like Lillith had eleven years ago. He examined her face. She had a gash on her forehead; blood was trickling from it down the side of her face. He gently moved a lock of hair away from the gash so he could take a better look. It didn't look too deep and it started to heal right in front of his eyes. He heaved a sigh of relief. She was not dead if her body was healing. \"Faedra, can you hear me?\" he asked, his voice soft as silk. She groaned in response. Her eyes flickered open for just a second as she took in his features and could see the agonized look in his eyes. It nearly broke her heart. \"I am taking you home,\" he said, and she felt the ground disappear beneath her. Faedra attempted to try and comfort Faen with a smile, and then sank back into the black abyss once more. Faen made it to her home within moments of lifting her from the cold hard ground. He lowered her cautiously to her bed. He had to check and see if any bones were broken because, if they were, they had to be set straight or they would heal crookedly. He took each of her limbs and gently straightened them one by one. He watched as the bruises disappeared almost before they even had a chance to develop. After she turned of age, the healing process her body possessed became even more efficient. He took hold of each hand and examined her fingers. Nothing seemed to have been broken and he rested them down on either side of her body. He leaned forward and coaxed the tangled strands of hair away from her face and waited. The energy he had just witnessed her expend probably had as much to blame for her state of unconsciousness than her head being slammed against the wall. He went down into the kitchen and rummaged through the cupboards until he found what he was looking for. He filled a large glass with water, then filled it almost half way with sugar, stirring it until it dissolved. He returned to Faedra's room with the glass and placed it on her nightstand. A few more moments passed. Faedra sucked in a deep breath, as if she had been underwater and just come up to the surface for air. Her eyes flew open; wide and scared. She scanned her surroundings and saw Faen sitting beside her; she threw her arms around him. \"You are safe now, Ms. Faedra,\" he said softly, in an effort to calm her. \"Here, drink this; you need to regain some of the energy you expended,\" he said, handing her the glass from the nightstand. \"What is it?\" she asked. Although, she trusted him implicitly, she still wanted to know what she was putting in her body. \"Sugar water,\" he stated. She drank it without further comment. \"Did you see what I did?\" she exclaimed enthusiastically, after she had finished the entire glass. \"Yes, it was most impressive, Ms. Faedra.\" She looked around again, a little disoriented. \"Wait. How long have I been gone from the party?\" she asked, looking down at her torn and dirty dress. \"About fifteen of your minutes, I estimate,\" he replied. \"Oh, good grief, I have to get back there.\" She pushed herself past him and headed for the closet. She certainly couldn't return dressed like this; her father would freak out. \"That is not a good idea.\" \"I don't care, Faen. My dad will be worried sick. I don't even have my cell phone; it's in my purse that is still on a table back at the party.\" She ran over to the home phone that was sitting in its charger on her nightstand, picked it up and started dialing. Faedra made sure to put in the couple of digits needed so that the number wouldn't show on his caller ID. She hoped he would think she was calling from her cell. She couldn't stand the thought of him worrying about her. \"I'll call him from here.\" \"Hello,\" Henry answered. She could hear the music in the background. Good the party was still in full swing. \"Hey, Dad, it's me.\" \"Fae? Where on earth are you? I was starting to get worried.\" \"Don't worry, I needed some fresh air and went for a walk in the village.\" \"On your own?\" he exclaimed. \"No, Faen's with me,\" she cringed as soon as she said his name, and Faen shot her a strained expression\n\n\"You went home to get your dog?\" her dad asked incredulously. God, she hated lying to her father, and she was hopeless at it. \"I thought he may need to go for a wee,\" she said cringing again. \"I'll be back in a few minutes.\" \"Fae, you do the oddest things sometimes. I tell you, that dog knows he has you wrapped around his paw.\" She raised her eyes to the heavens. _Oh, if only he knew_. His tone changed then. \"Is Frederick with you? He disappeared about the same time you did.\" \"Yes, Dad, he's with me. He didn't want me walking alone, so he asked if he could join me.\" She listened as her dad grumbled something into the phone, but, just at that moment, a loud song started up in the background and she couldn't make out what he was saying. It was probably for the best. \"I'll see you soon,\" she yelled over the din. \"You are going to have to be more careful what you say in the future, Ms. Faedra,\" Faen said, stating the obvious. She turned to him and squared her shoulders. Whether or not he had looked concerned about her when she was lying in his arms almost dead, he certainly didn't now. He was back to his usual stuffy demeanor, and right now was the wrong time. She had almost been killed tonight, certainly had the stuffing knocked out of her, and she just about had enough of the self righteous fairy that was intruding on her life. \"Well, excuse me for not having my brain firing on all four cylinders after having it slammed into a brick wall just a few minutes ago,\" she snapped. She had been expecting a full-blown throbbing migraine after that incident, but, as yet, nothing had materialized, for which she was relieved. Faen raised an eyebrow at her outburst but said nothing for a moment. \"Fred, Ms. Faedra?\" he looked at her questioningly. \"Do you believe I look like a 'Fred'?\" Faedra's shoulders slumped. No, he most certainly did not look like a Fred. \"Give me a break, Faen, it was the only other F-word I could think of at the time,\" she said, raising her eyebrows at him. \"But I changed it quickly. I don't think Frederick's too bad, though.\" Faen was quiet again, watching with interest as Faedra continued to look in her closet for a suitable replacement. She picked a similar styled dress, but this one was a deep forest green with a cream embroidered trim around the hem. She hoped not too many people would notice. Who was she kidding? This dress looked nothing like the one she was wearing that was now ruined. She held it up and looked over at Faen, eyebrows raised. Faen shot her a puzzled look. \"Out,\" she snapped and looked towards the door. \"Oh, yes, of course, Ms. Faedra,\" he uttered before his swift exit. Faedra mumbled something about 'ungracious fairies' under her breath as she changed into her other dress. \"If you insist we go back to the party, I will not leave your side again,\" he stated without compromise through the door. \"Whatever,\" she retorted. \"Even if you have to go to the bathroom!\" he added for good measure. She scowled at the door. \"Okay, I'm ready,\" she said as she opened the door a few moments later to find him waiting patiently, as usual. She had changed into her other dress, tidied her hair, cleaned the blood from her face with a moist wipe, and touched up her makeup, all with such incredible swiftness it surprised even her. There was just a tiny red mark on her forehead where the gash had been, and she covered that easily with a little concealer. \"So, do I get to go flying again?\" she asked when they were standing outside. She had missed the first experience due to a lack of consciousness. \"If we are to arrive swiftly, yes.\" \"Which brings me to my next question,\" she paused for effect. \"And that would be?\" Faen responded. \"If I have on this ointment that is supposed to enable me to see through glamour, how come I still can't see your wings?\" That particular point was needling at her now. Faen gave her one of his wry smiles. \"That would be because, how would I say, I ramped up the frequency of mine, so to speak.\" \"Not fair,\" she mumbled. He just inclined his head in his annoyingly gracious way and held out his arms. \"May I?\" he asked. \"Oh, go on then, if you must,\" she replied nonchalantly, trying very hard to hide the fact that she was super excited that she was about to go flying with a fairy. Faen scooped her up in his arms. She wrapped hers securely around his neck, and they glided gracefully across the field to the village. It took her breath away. \"What if someone sees us?\" \"They won't. I have hidden us.\" Faedra watched as they skimmed above the rooftops of the houses in the village. It was an exhilarating feeling with the warm breeze blowing on her face and through her hair. Although, all too quickly, they were on the ground again, and walking back through the front entrance to the Old Brewery. Faedra took a deep, steadying breath as they got closer to the party. She knew she had some explaining to do. She had just been for a 'walk' in the village with a man no one had ever met before, and she had changed her dress. \"Well, here goes nothing,\" she whispered to herself as Faen leaned forward opening one of the doors to the banquet room for her. Her father was on her in a flash. \"Why did you go wandering off without telling anyone?\" he demanded. Then looked down at her dress and narrowed his eyes at Faen who was glued to her side, just like he said he would be. \"I spilled red wine on my other one, Dad, so I nipped home to get changed. I didn't want to spend the rest of my birthday in a stained dress.\" He didn't look entirely convinced of her story, but didn't say anything more on the matter either. \"Well, you're back now. Please just let me know if you decide to go on a walkabout again. You know how I worry about you.\" \"I know, Dad, I'm sorry, it won't happen again.\" But something told Faedra that maybe it wasn't a promise she was going to be able to keep in the future. She suddenly yearned for the uncomplicated life she had lived until this morning, where she knew exactly who she was and where she was going. CHAPTER NINE\n\nFaedra was hoping that no one noticed the fact that she had devoured almost half of the contents on the buffet table upon her return. She had no idea how many calories her body literally burned earlier that night, but her body was screaming at her in no uncertain terms to replenish them. She was starving and couldn't get the food down quick enough. \"Feeling a bit peckish tonight are we?\" Amy said jovially as she crept up behind Faedra, making her jump. \"That must be at least your sixth plate of food.\" _Rats, someone did notice_. \"It's my Birthday,\" Faedra replied blankly; she couldn't for the life of her think of anything else to say. \"Well, remember, a moment on the lips, lifetime on the hips,\" Amy said with a smirk. Faedra narrowed her eyes at her friend; Amy just shrugged in response and gave her a wink. The party wound down gradually after that. Faedra said more \"goodbyes\" and \"thank you for comings\" than she cared to remember. It was half past midnight before they got home. Faen was waiting in his dog form at the front door when they arrived. He had left as Frederick the same time she and her father had. \"That was a wonderful party, Dad,\" Faedra said as she gave him a hug. \"Thanks.\" \"You're welcome, darling. I'm glad you enjoyed yourself. Well, it's been a long day, I'm off to bed. Goodnight.\" He kissed her on the forehead and made his way to bed. \"Night, Dad.\" Faedra and Faen made their way to Faedra's room, too. She was exhausted and looking forward to a good night's sleep. She wasn't going to forget her eighteenth birthday in a hurry, that was for sure. After she changed into her pajamas, she let Faen into her room. He was still in his dog form. She climbed into bed and fell asleep almost instantaneously. Faen took his usual position on the rug beside her, but he didn't fall asleep. He was on full alert, listening to every creak and groan the old house made at night. He knew that the house was warded and nothing could get to Faedra here, but he was extremely concerned about the blatant attack on her at the hotel. He had no idea why the redcaps were interested in her or who they were in allegiance with, but he was determined to find out. He was pulled from his thoughts by a noise that Faedra was making above him in her bed. He sat up and watched her for a moment in the glow of a soft light he had created over her head. She was still asleep, but her body was starting to move agitatedly under the covers. Her hairline was wet with sweat, and her eyes, under their lids, were moving about erratically. She was having a nightmare. It didn't surprise him. She had battled a redcap and lived to tell the tale. Not many fae could say that, let alone a human. He blurred into his true form and stood over her. Maybe he could calm her dreams if he could comfort her somehow without waking her up. He frowned when he realized he didn't know how. Tentatively, he moved his hand towards her face. His fingers hovered above her forehead for a moment, then he drew them away again. He hated to see her in distress, but felt powerless to do anything about it. Her face contorted and she started mumbling incoherently. The mumbling got louder and louder until he thought she was going to scream. It was an automatic response; he put his hand over her mouth just as she did, in fact, scream. He managed to muffle it, knowing that it would have woken her father if he had not. Faedra was flung from her nightmare by the built in shut-off mechanism that everyone has in their brain to wake them from a nightmare before it gets too intense and you can't escape it. Her eyes were wide with fear again as they looked down at the hand that was covering her mouth, then up at Faen in confusion. \"You are safe, Ms. Faedra. You were having a nightmare. You screamed and it would have woken your father,\" Faen's voice was a soft whisper. Faedra nodded her head in understanding; he lifted his hand from her mouth. She sat up and looked at him with a blank expression. At first she felt numb, but then it started, a slow tremble from the center of her body that quickly intensified to a violent shake. Her teeth started to chatter and her whole body shook uncontrollably from head to toe. She was suddenly freezing. Her lips turned blue and felt numb, but there was sweat beading on her forehead. Faen could see what was happening. He had not witnessed it in the fae, but he had seen it in humans. She was going into delayed shock. He'd been amazed at the resilience Faedra had shown after her attack earlier on, but she'd been so focused on getting back to the party so her father would not worry, that she hadn't given herself time to digest what had just happened to her. Now, several hours later, her brain and body were telling her it was time to do just that. \"Ms. Faedra,\" he whispered calmly. \"I believe you are experiencing what humans call delayed shock.\" Faedra just stared at Faen, almost like she was looking through him and didn't quite see or hear him. He raised his hand and rested it on her forehead. She felt like ice to the touch. He grabbed her bathrobe from the chair and wrapped it around her shoulders. \"Can I get you anything?\" he asked with growing concern. \"Is there anything else I can do?\" She was still shivering fiercely when she looked him in the eye. \"I... don't... want... you. I... want... my... dog.\" Her words came out in a forceful staccato. He didn't hesitate. In the blink of an eye, he had blurred into his dog form and was sitting beside her on the bed. She looked at her dog for a split second before throwing her arms around his neck and burying her head in his soft welcoming fur. Faedra closed her eyes and held him tight, hoping to get some comfort from him. Hoping that warmth would soon seep back into her soul. Her brain was telling her that the dog she loved so much was still the detached fairy she couldn't quite work out, but she didn't care. Her heart told her that this was her best friend. That he had always been there for her, wagging his tail when she was happy, letting her do just this when she was sad. Right now, she was downright terrified and confused, and her brain was having a hard time processing it all. So burying her face in Faen's fur was exactly what she needed at that moment. She regained her composure with surprising alacrity. Only a few moments had passed before the shivering abated. The shock surging through her felt like it was flowing out through her body and melting into the bed covers. She pulled back from Faen and looked deeply into his molten amber eyes. \"Thank you,\" she whispered and laid a delicate kiss on his cold wet nose. \"You can come back now, I need to talk to you.\" He blurred back to his fae form. The soft amber eyes that were gazing at her only a second before, where now a startling liquid blue, and she drew in a breath. She felt as if someone had just torn her friend away from her. She straightened herself up, ready to get down to business. \"It wanted the amulet,\" she stated. \"Why would it want the amulet?\" He shook his head. \"I do not know what a redcap would want with it. They are killing machines, nothing more, nothing less. As long as they have fresh blood on their caps, they are happy.\" Faedra cringed. She remembered the way its cap had glistened moistly in the light from the streetlamp and realized that must have been someone's fresh blood. Her body gave an involuntary shudder. \"They must be working for someone. Although they are mostly solitary creatures, they have been known to band together and do someone else's bidding, if the prize was right,\" he continued. \"Who else would want the amulet? The letter said it was no more powerful than a pretty trinket without the Book of Anohs, and that's supposedly under immense protection. Can anyone get their hands on the book?\" she asked. \"The book is bound under heavy protective magic. Only the Keeper of the Book and the king have access to it,\" he replied. \"Did the redcap say anything else?\" \"Yes,\" she whispered, and lowered her eyes. \"What?\" \"It said, 'I can understand why she wants you dead',\" she spoke flatly, bringing her eyes back up to meet Faen's. She watched a look of concern flash across his face, but then it was gone again. \"Who would want me dead, Faen? No one is supposed to even know about me. What could I have possibly ever done to any of your kind that they would want to kill me?\" What he did next surprised her. He leaned forward and cupped her face in his hands. His eyes, now just a few inches from hers, shone brightly with their intensity and determination. \"I do not know, Ms. Faedra, but I will find out, and I will keep you safe. Of that, you have my word.\" He let his hands linger for just a fraction more than was needed. Then his eyes flickered as though he were snapping himself out of a trance, and he pulled them away. \"There's something else, too,\" she continued. \"In the graveyard I saw three pairs of eyes; tonight I only saw one creature. That means there are still two more of those things out there after me.\" She swallowed hard. \"Tomorrow you will stay within the property boundary. You will be safe here. I will go and try to find out all that I can. Now, you must sleep, Ms. Faedra. Your body needs to rest.\" He looked at the light he created over Faedra's pillow and it disappeared, throwing the room into darkness. Fear gripped her by the throat. \"No, don't,\" she cried as she grabbed for his arm. The light came on again instantly, shining a soft glow over her features. Her eyes were frightened and pleading. He looked at her with understanding and nodded his head. \"As you wish, Ms. Faedra,\" he said with a warm smile. He could hardly blame her for being scared of the dark now. She lay her head back down on the pillow. She didn't know if he spent the rest of the night watching over her as man or dog. She was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. The morning came far too quickly for Faedra's liking. She rolled over to look at her clock. \"What time is it?\" she mumbled to herself as she stretched. \"Ten o'clock in the morning, Ms. Faedra.\" She nearly jumped out of her skin, and looked to the end of her bed. Faen was sitting there, dressed in his fae attire once more. Her shoulders slumped. \"It wasn't just a bad dream after all, was it?\" she asked dejectedly. \"No, Ms. Faedra, it was not.\" She could hear the muffled sounds of the television coming from the living room below her. Her dad had probably been up and around bright and early and let her sleep in. He likely thought she would be suffering from a hang-over this morning, but she was pleased to be feeling surprisingly clear headed. She heard the latch lift on the living room door. \"Fae, are you awake?\" Henry called up the stairs. \"Just about,\" she called back. \"You have to come and see this. Something really weird is happening.\" Faedra looked at Faen with a 'what now?' expression plastered all over her face. Extricating herself from the bedcovers, she threw her bathrobe on over her pajamas. Faen blurred into his dog form and jumped off the bed to follow her out the door. She stopped dead at the top of the stairs. He hadn't been anticipating that and bumped right into the back of her legs. She turned slowly to look out of the window. Faen nudged her leg - he couldn't risk changing into his true form outside of her room - to ask her what was wrong. She looked down at him then back out of the window. \"Look,\" she pointed out the window. He stood on his hind legs, rested his front paws on the windowsill and looked in the same direction as her. \"The leaves are turning. It's still summer, they shouldn't be turning for another couple of months yet.\" They looked at one another, turned, and nearly fell over each other going down the stairs in their haste to get to the living room. Her dad was sitting in his chair, cupping a mug of tea in his hands. He was glued to the television, completely mesmerized. \"It's the same thing on every channel,\" he stated, tearing his eyes away from the screen for just a second then returning them directly. \"They thought at first it was a group of activists spraying weed killer. Like that time, a few years back, when the activists burned fields of genetically modified crops in protest. But now it's happening all over the world, and no one can explain it.\" Faedra perched herself on the edge of the sofa. Faen sat by her feet; they were both very still. They watched while the news anchor described the phenomenon unraveling all over the world. It had started last night in England, but quickly spread throughout Europe, then to Asia, Australia, and now America. Crops were dying. Huge swaths of agricultural fields were being wiped out. \"If this continues, the world will be facing a famine of global proportions,\" the newsreader's grave voice told the viewers. Faedra's jaw dropped. She caught sight of something out of the corner of her eye and turned to look outside. The leaves were starting to fall. Something was very very wrong. She looked down at Faen, and he looked up at her. They subtly nodded heads as if they were having a conversation only they could hear. Faedra jumped up and headed back to her room, followed closely by him. \"Where are you going in such a hurry?\" Henry asked. \"This is serious stuff going on here,\" he continued, pointing at the television. \"I know, Dad, but it's a beautiful day outside and I'd like to take advantage of it. I'm going to take Gypsy out for a ride. Besides, there's nothing I can do about it,\" she inwardly cringed at how callous she sounded. \"Oh, the frivolity of youth,\" he muttered, but she was already charging up the stairs to her bedroom. \"What on earth's going on?\" she spoke in a harsh whisper to Faen as he blurred between forms. Faedra wondered if he could hear when he was half in, half out, so to speak. \"This is very grave, Ms. Faedra.\" Apparently, he could hear between forms. \"I have to get to Azran and see Elvelynn.\" She looked at him incredulously. \"No, _we_ have to get to Azran,\" she stated without compromise, \"and who's Elvelynn?\" \"It is too dangerous for you outside of your home. Elvelynn is the Keeper of the Book of Anohs.\" \"The redcaps chasing me are here, not in Azran and you promised me you wouldn't leave my side, remember? How can you keep me safe if you're not around?\" Faen could see by the determined glare she was shooting at him, he didn't think he was going to win this battle, and, besides, she did have a point. He was not happy at the thought of leaving her alone either. \"Okay, you may come with me,\" he conceded, \"but we have to hurry.\" She ran to her closet and tore out some clothes. She looked at him; they were in a hurry and she didn't have time for formalities. \"Um, just turn around a minute,\" she instructed. He did so without hesitation. She threw her clothes on at breakneck speed and was ready in about thirty seconds flat. Faen blurred again into his dog form. They ran back down the stairs and into the living room, trying to steady their pace in front of her father so he wouldn't be too suspicious. \"We're off now, Dad. See you later,\" she said as chirpily as she could muster and leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. \"But you haven't had any breakfast.\" \"I'll grab some on the way,\" she called over her shoulder as she and Faen exited to the porch. \"It's Sunday, there isn't...\" they were gone, \"anything on the way,\" Henry continued to himself and shrugged his shoulders. His daughter was certainly starting to act strangely the past couple of days. Faedra and Faen jumped into her car; she heaved a sigh of relief when the engine roared into life on the first try. Well, it was more of a meow than a roar, but she wasn't complaining. Faen blurred into his true self and climbed over to sit in the front seat beside her. They drove in silence for a few moments, passing a couple of cornfields as they did. Faedra glanced over at the corn that should have been lush and green but was now brown and dying. \"Someone's stolen the Book of Anohs, haven't they?\" she asked with trepidation. Faen didn't respond. \"Haven't they?\" Faedra insisted. \"We do not know that for sure, Ms. Faedra.\" \"Well, it would explain why someone wants the amulet and seems quite happy to kill me to get it.\" \"Yes, that would be a logical conclusion,\" he agreed, then sighed. \"Can this car go any faster?\" \"You tell me, Faen. You've ridden in it since I got it, you should know.\" Where had she gotten all this sarcasm from all of a sudden. A few days ago she would never have dreamed of being rude to anyone, but she was firing off at Faen left, right and center. Maybe it was the fact that she was worried about a pending global famine, or it could just be the effect he had on her. She couldn't quite decide which and kept the thought to herself. \"Oh, no, it's Sunday,\" she cried as they pulled into the church car park. It was full. \"Yes, Ms. Faedra, we have already surmised that fact,\" he shot her a bewildered glance. \"Which means that there will be loads of people around. People that might see something they shouldn't.\" She was exasperated. Did she have to spell it out for him? \"They will only see what I wish them to see.\" \"And what about me?\" \"As long as we are touching, the glamour will hide you too,\" he explained as if she should already have known that fact. \"Oh.\" Faedra sandwiched her little old car in between a couple of bright, shiny new ones. Faen got out of the car and was around to her side, opening the door for her before she had even pulled the keys out of the ignition. His manners were impeccable; she certainly couldn't fault him for that. \"Thank you.\" She at least hadn't forgotten her manners either. \"You are most welcome,\" he nodded his head graciously. \"Um, Faen, you are wearing your old worldly clothing again. You'll stick out like a sore thumb, not to mention that carrying a lethal weapon in England is against the law.\" She eyed his sword intently as she tried to sound as diplomatic as possible under the circumstances. \"No one can see me, Ms. Faedra.\" \"Great, so now I look like I'm talking to myself?\" She closed the car door and shoved the keys in the front pocket of her jeans. He gave her one of his wry smiles and took her hand. \"No, now only I can see you talking to me.\" She looked down at their intertwined fingers and found herself at a loss to understand why someone who irked her the way he did, had the ability to send bolts of electricity up her arm and straight to her heart. He looked down and caught her staring at their hands. \"Is there a problem, Ms. Faedra?\" She felt her cheeks flush. \"No, no problem.\" \"Then come, the portal is this way. We must find Elvelynn.\" He started with determination in the direction of the graveyard gate. Faedra held her breath as a couple of people walked straight past them, but didn't even glance their way. \"People can't hear us either?\" she asked. \"No, they cannot.\" As soon as they entered through the gate, the friendly black and white collie bounded over to see them. Faedra beamed at it when it gave her its usual toothy grin. It felt good to see a friendly face. \"She is of age now, Jocelyn, you may show yourself.\" When Faen spoke, his voice was laced with just a hint of irritability. Faedra stood upright sharply. In the blink of an eye, the collie shimmered in front of her and was replaced by the most beautiful girl she had ever set eyes on. She noticed that when Jocelyn changed form, it was a distinct shimmer, compared to Faen, who blurred into his form. She fleetingly wondered if it had anything to do with being a male or female fae. She took a step back and gasped. Faedra couldn't help herself; she wondered if all fae were as beautiful as these two. Jocelyn stood a few inches shorter than Faedra, and looked younger, too. Although, she knew in actual years she was probably much older. But she estimated that Jocelyn looked about fifteen or sixteen years old. She had flawless, luminescent skin that almost sparkled in the sunlight. Striking, liquid blue eyes, like her brother's, with long dark lashes that framed them to perfection, smiled at her warmly. Jocelyn also took on similar coloring to her dog form. Her hair, that was long and sleek, flowed halfway down her back. It was almost all black with the exception of a band of white blonde at the front of her head, which had been braided into delicate braids. The braids had been intricately woven through the remainder of her hair creating a unique lace effect pattern. She wore a gorgeous black and white dress with a fitted bodice and flowing skirt that came to mid-calf with a handkerchief style hem. But the thing that took Faedra's breath away, was that Jocelyn did not care to hide her wings like her brother did. Faedra realized that she had been quite blatantly gaping at them with her jaw dropped for a moment now. She snapped it shut and hoped she hadn't looked too rude. Jocelyn's wings, that rhythmically opened and closed at a slow steady pace, reminded Faedra of someone subconsciously tapping a foot or drumming their fingers on a table. Her wings weren't beating fast enough to lift her from the ground, but, rather, she looked like a resting butterfly that opened and closed its wings while perched on a petal. They reached at least two feet taller than her shoulders and each one spanned another good body width wide, to either side of her. They were made up of four sections. The upper, larger sections were white. The lower, smaller sections were black and shaped into a teardrop at the lower outside corner just like one of those exotic butterflies that she had only seen in a book, or on the Animal Channel. Her wings, as a whole, had a luminescent quality to them, also, and shimmered in the sunlight. \"Wow,\" Faedra breathed. \"Hello, my name is Jocelyn.\" Her voice was high pitched and musical. Jocelyn spoke with excitement dripping from every word. \"It is so good to be able to actually talk to you at last. I cannot believe you have finally turned of age. I was starting to get so impatient, I nearly gave myself away on several occasions,\" she giggled and a flush came to her cheeks. \"Err...\" Faedra started to talk, even though she was somewhat speechless at that moment. Faen interrupted, but that didn't stop her from scowling at him for being rude to his sister. \"Jocelyn,\" Faen said bluntly, \"there will be plenty of time for small talk later, we need to see Elvelynn.\" \"Ooh, Elvelynn,\" Jocelyn squealed. \"I have not seen Elvelynn for an eternity. Can I come with you?\" \"You saw her not more than a moon's phase ago, and, no, you cannot come with us. We are going on business.\" \"Oh, Brother, please. You have to let me come. Can I come, please?\" The musical sound of her voice as it went up and down the octaves as she spoke, reminded Faedra of a cat walking on a piano keyboard. \"The answer is still no.\" Faen was frowning at her now and moved to walk Faedra past her. \"But I'm bored!\" she exclaimed with a pout as she stomped her foot. Faedra's eyebrows rose at her outcry. \"Wow, fae get tantrums too?\" she whispered to Faen. \"Only the spoiled ones,\" he replied. \"Please?\" Jocelyn made one last attempt with shiny tear pricked eyes. That did it; Faedra was on her side. She always was a sucker for anyone who cried, and she had taken an instant liking to Faen's little sister. She also knew she would probably get a lot more conversation from the young fairy than she would from her brother and had visions of this being another very long day. \"Oh, go on, Faen. Let her come with us. It will be one more person to watch over me. Especially if I'm as prized as you seem to believe I am.\" He hesitated, sighed, and frowned. \"Alright, Jocelyn, you may journey with us to Elvelynn's. But you must come straight back here and continue your duty.\" \"Yes,\" Jocelyn cried in victory as she clapped her hands together a couple of times then held them up to her lips like she was getting ready to pray. Her eyes sparkled with excitement. \"Thank you, Brother. I will not get in your way, I promise.\" She planted a kiss on his cheek and he rolled his eyes. CHAPTER TEN\n\n\"Are you alright, Faedra?\" Jocelyn asked as they moved forward down the path. \"You look a little pale.\" \"I think I'm about to have a meltdown,\" Faedra replied. \"Don't be silly, Faedra, you are human. Humans do not melt, not that I have ever witnessed.\" \"It's a figure of speech, Jocelyn. Two days ago I was a normal \u2013 well, I admit some odd things had been happening to me, but that's beside the point \u2013 seventeen year old. Then yesterday, bam, I turn eighteen and, all of a sudden, I find out that I descend from an ancient Celtic bloodline, who were once fae themselves. My dog morphs into a man in my bedroom, scaring the living daylights out of me, and turns out to have been a fae all along. I am Custodian of an ancient fae amulet that has the power to control weather. An evil, murderous redcap attacks me, and more are still after my blood. If that's not enough, I'm about to step through an invisible door into another world, your world. So please excuse me if I quietly have a meltdown.\" She admitted to herself that she was being a tad melodramatic at that point. \"My dear Faedra, there was nothing much quiet about that,\" Jocelyn snickered. \"You get the gist, though?\" Faedra grinned. Jocelyn gave her a warm smile, put an arm around Faedra's shoulders, and gave her a squeeze. \"I think we are going to be great friends,\" she stated. Faen rolled his eyes again and held up his arm to direct Faedra towards the portal. \"Come, the portal is up ahead.\" Faedra couldn't see anything, even when she squinted her eyes. All she saw was the gravel path laid out ahead of them. They had only walked a few yards when Faen and Jocelyn came to a stop. Faedra had no choice in the matter, her hand was still being held by Faen's. She had to confess it reminded her of the way she used to feel when her father held her hand as a child. It was strong and sure, and made her feel safe, and dare she admit, cared for. Jocelyn stood on the path in front of them and said something in a language that Faedra was sure she had never heard before. She looked with bewilderment up at Faen. \"She was speaking an incantation to open the portal,\" he replied to her unspoken question. \"But if you need an incantation to open it, and it's definitely not in English, why would you need to guard it?\" she asked Jocelyn. \"Because, my dearest Faedra, some silly person got drunk one night,\" Jocelyn replied. Although she spoke in her usual musical voice, Faedra could sense she was somewhat disgruntled by that fact. Faedra looked at her blankly. \"Many years ago a man was walking through the church-yard as a short cut on his way home from the pub, he was very drunk and talking to himself. When he got to where the portal was his slurred speech sounded similar to the incantation. The portal opened and he walked straight into Azran.\" Faedra's eyebrows shot up. \"I bet that caused a stir.\" \"Somewhat,\" Jocelyn continued. \"He had been walking around Azran for a while, watching us flying around and going about our business before one of the king's sentries spotted him. They carefully extricated him through the portal back to your world, but the vision stuck with him. Luckily, because he was so drunk, no one believed him, but it started, what do you call it, an urban legend?\" Faedra nodded. \"I've heard about that legend. Wow, so that really happened?\" Jocelyn nodded. \"Every now and then someone will try and see if there is anything to the legend and try and get through the portal. No one has succeeded since, but the king decided that he was not willing to take the chance on another human accidentally stumbling into our world. I was assigned to guard it and make sure only those who should, could pass.\" Faedra thought it best not to admit to the fact that she had considered trying it out when she was younger, but had never gotten around to it. \"It's open,\" Jocelyn said, motioning for them to follow her. A second later, she disappeared right in front of Faedra's eyes. Faen stepped forward to continue after her but Faedra was glued to the spot, staring at where Jocelyn had just vanished. Her heart started to pound, and she found herself feeling incredibly nervous. What would they find on the other side? Did it hurt traveling between realms? Would she be able to get back home? She felt Faen give her hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze. She searched his eyes and found reassurance there, too. \"You will be fine, Ms. Faedra. I will not let go of you.\" She gave him a feeble smile and allowed him to lead her forward. At that moment she had an epiphany. She knew without doubt that she would follow him to the ends of the earth, his or hers, it didn't matter anymore. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. \"We are through, Ms. Faedra,\" Faen whispered in her ear. _Well, that was quick,_ she thought. _Somewhat of an anticlimax really._ She was thankful that there was no pain, just a tingle that shot through her whole body, but was gone almost instantly. She exhaled and opened her eyes. Her jaw dropped again. She had a feeling that was going to be happening quite frequently in the foreseeable future. They had just walked through an ornate stone archway. It was similar to the one at the entrance to the cathedral grounds near her home in Norwich. They were now standing in a tropical paradise. Although Faedra had never actually been to a tropical paradise, this is how she imagined it would look. Minus the ornate stone archway that looked somewhat out of place standing alone in the vegetation. They were surrounded by lush forest, and flowers of all shapes and colors carpeted the ground. The air smelled so sweet she thought she would be able to stick out her tongue and taste it. Up ahead, a waterfall cascaded into a deep aqua pool of crystal water, which flowed into a stream that meandered past where they were standing. She looked into it and could see brightly colored fish swimming around. A couple of the fish jumped up out of the water and made small splashes as they dove back in. \"You live _here_?\" she asked Faen and Jocelyn, her voice full of wonder. \"Welcome to the Land of Azran, Ms. Faedra,\" Faen announced with grandeur. Jocelyn looked very pleased with Faedra's response to her world. A world she was obviously very proud of. A rustle in the bushes distracted them and all three turned their heads at the same time. Faen drew his sword halfway out of its sheath and then slid it back in when the creature making the rustling noise appeared. He was a little man with a squat face and big pointy ears. He had rosy cheeks and kind eyes, a leprechaun perhaps. \"Todmus, my friend.\" Faen walked over to greet the little man. \"Mr. Faen, it's always a pleasure to welcome you back to Azran,\" Todmus said with a sincere smile. \"Todmus, we need to travel to the City. Do you have three horses we can borrow?\" Faen asked the little man. \"Yes, Mr. Faen,\" he snapped his fingers. \"They will be ready momentarily.\" Then he cast his gaze over to Faedra; his eyes grew wide when they rested on the amulet. \"So the legend is true?\" \"It is, Todmus, but I know I can rely on your discretion in this matter.\" \"You can trust me, Sir. I did not see or hear anything.\" \"Thank you, Todmus. You have long been a faithful friend and loyal citizen.\" Faen said as he patted the small man on the back. \"This way, Sir,\" Todmus motioned for them to go through the small opening in the bushes. Faen went first and Jocelyn last, sandwiching Faedra in the middle. Faedra had a feeling she was going to be a fairy sandwich on several occasions throughout their journey to Elvelynn's. They walked a short distance on a narrow winding path through some dense vegetation, until they came to an opening. There waiting for them were three pure white horses. Faedra sucked in a breath. \"Oh, beautiful.\" she breathed as they wandered over to the horses. She stood beside one and stroked its neck. It's hair felt as soft as silk to her fingers. Faen wandered up beside her. \"Here, put this around your neck,\" he said as he conjured a beautiful silk scarf out of nowhere and tied it gently around Faedra's neck. \"Not everyone in Azran is as trustworthy as Todmus.\" Faedra looked down at the scarf, it covered the amulet nicely. \"Thank you.\" Faen inclined his head and gave her a leg up to mount her horse. She watched as he walked around to his horse, rose gracefully in the air, and lowered himself onto his saddle. Jocelyn, with a couple of beats of her wings, did the same. \"Err, if you can fly, why are we riding?\" Faedra asked.\n\n\" We have much ground to cover to get to Elvelynn's. We will ride part of the way and fly the rest,\" he answered. Without further ado, he kicked his horse into a gallop and flew off at speed down the dirt trail that exited out the opposite side of the clearing from which they had entered. \"Come on,\" Jocelyn squealed with excitement, and the two of them galloped off behind her brother. Jocelyn and Faedra fell into a steady pace behind Faen, who kept the lead. They continued at a gallop for what seemed like several miles until Faen adjusted their pace to a steady canter. The lush forest flew past them in a blur of green. \"I don't know how much longer my legs will be able to take this,\" Faedra admitted to Jocelyn after a while. \"Most people think that the horse does all the work but my muscles are starting to feel like jelly.\" \"Brother,\" Jocelyn called out to Faen. \"We need to steady to a walk for a while.\" Faen didn't question her. He brought his horse down into a trot then slowed to a walk, Faedra and Jocelyn followed suit. \"Thank you,\" Faedra said with relief to her friend. \"Do not mention it,\" Jocelyn replied with a warm smile. Faen kept the lead several yards up ahead of them. Faedra noticed his head scanning the woods from side to side. It was obvious that he was keeping a lookout for anything untoward, which left her and Jocelyn able to talk. They fell into easy conversation. Jocelyn was very amiable; Faedra felt like they had been friends for a long time, and, in an odd way, they had. \"Jocelyn?\" Faedra asked after a lull in their conversation. \"Yes?\" \"What's with the wings?\" she continued, nodding in Faen's direction. Jocelyn drew her eyebrows together in confusion. \"I do not understand.\" \"Your brother, he hides his wings. Haven't you noticed?\" \"Glamour does not work on us, Faedra. I see his wings just as I always have, but he hides them from you?\" \"Yes. He won't let me see them, but won't give me a reason why.\" She gave her brother's back a knowing smile. \"That is very interesting.\" \"It is? Why?\" \"What do you think of Azran so far?\" Jocelyn said lightly, trying to steer the conversation down a different path. \"Don't try and change the subject, Jocelyn. Why is it interesting?\" Faedra pressed. Jocelyn sighed. \"I should not have said anything.\" \"Oh, don't you start. I've been hearing that a lot lately,\" she thought back to Rose at the festival. \"I'll keep pestering until you tell me.\" Jocelyn looked thoughtful for a while. She was trying to find the best way to explain what she wanted to say. \"It is very rare for a fae to have feelings for a human, but if that should ever happen we tend to be very cautious about it,\" she paused and looked to see how Faedra was digesting the information so far. Faedra was engrossed, hanging on Jocelyn's every word. \"Go on,\" Faedra encouraged. \"Well, if we were to have feelings for a human, we would want to know that those feelings were mutual before we would show our wings.\" Faedra looked at her in obvious confusion. \"Let me see, how do I explain this?\" Jocelyn continued. She looked around as if she would get the inspiration from the trees or the sky. \"Ah, yes, I know. In The World of Men it would be like someone who is rich, having feelings for someone who is poor. The rich person would want to make sure that their feelings were reciprocated because of who they really were and not just because they had lots of money. Therefore, they might have a tendency to hide that fact until they knew for sure that the poor person liked them despite of, and not because of, the fact they were rich.\" \"Ah, I think I understand what you are getting at,\" Faedra nodded in response to Jocelyn's explanation. \"You see, our wings have a tendency to, how shall I say, enchant humans.\" Faedra gazed at Jocelyn's stunning wings again for the umpteenth time. She had to admit she was having a hard time taking her eyes off them. They were indeed enchanting. \"I see what you mean,\" she agreed. She let the information sink in for a moment. Faedra was one of those people that would get the punch line of a joke a minute after everyone else had finished laughing at it. \"Hold on a minute,\" she searched Jocelyn's face while she spoke. \"Are you saying that Faen has feelings for me?\" Jocelyn just smiled warmly. \"But you must be wrong on this one. I know for a fact that he doesn't,\" Faedra stated bluntly, looking at Faen's back. \"Are you so sure, Faedra?\" Jocelyn asked. \"Yes, I'm sure. He always acts as though it's an inconvenience to be lumbered with looking after me,\" Faedra insisted. \"My dear Faedra, my brother has been with you every step of your life for the past eleven of your years. He has had the very rare opportunity to spend time with you when you thought no one was watching. You have been at your most uninhibited in those times. You, shall we say, have completely enchanted him.\" \"So answer me this then. Why does he act so detached around me all the time?\" \"I cannot answer that, Faedra, but I am sure he has his reasons.\" Faedra turned her eyes forward to gaze at Faen who was still several yards ahead of them. She thought for a while about what Jocelyn had just divulged to her, then shook her head. No, she must be mistaken. They rode in silence for a while. Faedra was in a daydream, still trying to absorb what Jocelyn had told her. She wasn't quite sure how long they had been riding in silence, but was torn from her thoughts by a gasp that came from beside her. She turned to look at Jocelyn and was shocked to see the look of horror on her friend's face. \"What it is, Jocelyn? What's wrong?\" Faedra asked, but she didn't need Jocelyn to answer. She could see for herself what had shocked her friend. \"Oh, no, not here, too.\" Her heart sank as she observed that the forest around them was dying. Some of the trees still had green leaves, some had leaves that were turning, and some were already devoid of all foliage. They had walked from summer to winter in just a few paces. Up ahead of them all the trees were bare, the grass was brown, and the flowers were wilted and shriveled. The air didn't smell sweet anymore either. There was a dank mustiness to it now, and Faedra could taste its sourness on the back of her throat as she breathed in. Up ahead she could see an opening in the trees. When they eventually reached it, they came to a stop side-by-side. She gaped open-mouthed once more. They were standing on the edge of a valley. Laid out below them, and as far as the eye could see, was brown, dying countryside. There was a city in the distance. It looked like a good-sized city, with a castle that stood proudly in the middle. She could sense that this view would usually have held such radiance that it probably would have taken her breath away. As it was, she wanted to weep at its lifelessness. Jocelyn did weep; big fat tears rolled down her cheeks and splashed onto her dress. \"Oh, Brother, what has happened here?\" Jocelyn asked Faen. \"I do not know, Jocelyn, but I fear the worst,\" he replied stoically. \"The castle, it does not sparkle anymore,\" she cried. Faedra looked at the castle in the distance. It did indeed have a lackluster appearance. She could see the remnants of its grandeur and imagined it sparkling when it was in its previous condition, but right now everything, including the castle, looked insipid. \"We fly from here. The horses will find their way back to Todmus,\" Faen announced as he stepped down from his horse with a grace that was not lost on Faedra. Faedra took both of her feet out of the stirrups and jumped down from her horse as she always did back home. Not the most graceful of dismounts, but the one she had been taught from her very first riding lesson, and old habits die hard. Jocelyn lowered herself down with a couple more beats of her wings. They stood still, hardly daring to breathe as they looked over the dying valley spread out ahead of them. Before Faedra even had time to register what 'we fly from here' meant to her, there was an arm wrapped around each of hers and she was being launched off the side of the valley wall, which up until this point, she hadn't considered to be that steep. \"You could at least warn me when you are going to do stuff like this,\" she squeaked as her heart lurched into her mouth and her stomach did cartwheels. The wind blew in her face and whipped through her hair. Jocelyn had hold of one arm and Faen the other, and they were looking ahead, concentrating hard. She had to admit, it was the most incredible feeling to be flying outside of a plane. A bit like being on an amusement park ride without being strapped in. She couldn't decide at that point if the queasy feeling in her stomach was a product of just being launched off the side of a hill, or the fact that her heart was saddened by the devastation below them. They were flying low to the ground now and she could see close up how dead everything looked. The queasy feeling developed into a definite knot in her stomach, and her question was answered. Thoughts of the book flew through her mind almost as quickly as the ground passed beneath her. The realization that something had happened to the book was quickly taking shape and that didn't bode well for anyone in any realm, least of all hers. Remembering what her mother had said in the letter, that combining the book and the amulet would give the user the ultimate power to control not just plant life, but the weather, too. Whomever had the book made it very clear that they were going to get their hands on the amulet, too; only that could not be accomplished unless she were dead. She closed her eyes and tried to change the subject that had now taken on an obsessive quality in her brain. She felt herself being moved and opened her eyes to see that Faen had taken hold of her. He was carrying her as he did last night when they had returned to the party. She quickly wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a questioning look. \"Jocelyn was growing tired,\" he answered. \"She is not used to carrying extra weight when she flies.\" \"Sorry, Jocelyn,\" Faedra called over her shoulder. \"There is no need to be, Faedra, I am not as strong as my brother. I am glad I was able to help him up to that point,\" she said with kindness. Faedra now understood why they had made part of the journey on horseback. They had an extra body to carry. She assumed it would be much like her trying to carry someone a great distance, and knew for a fact that she wouldn't have had the strength to do it for very long, either. \"We don't have too much further, Ms. Faedra,\" Faen said looking ahead. Faedra looked in the same direction and could see the city looming closer in front of them. A huge wall encircled the city in a protective manner. It looked medieval, but in a much more beautiful and less rugged way. As they got closer, Faedra could see another ornate stone archway just like the portal, but this one was several times bigger. Jocelyn slowed and lowered herself to the ground just in front of Faen who did the same. He lowered Faedra to the ground, but her legs instantly collapsed underneath her. They had turned to jelly, what with the galloping and the flying, she wasn't sure how much more her body could take that day. In a flash, Faen scooped her up before she had a chance to hit the ground. \"Sorry, Ms. Faedra. I had forgotten the affect flying with us has on humans,\" he said apologetically. \"Your legs should return to normal in just a few minutes.\" They stood in front of the archway for a moment, almost hesitant to proceed any further and have their suspicions confirmed. As though, if they didn't have them confirmed, everything would go back to how it was. After a moment, they walked forward. Faen was still carrying Faedra and Jocelyn stood closely by their side. The three of them a united front against whatever lay waiting for them on the other side. Faedra looked up in awe at the underneath of the archway as she was being carried through it. A beautiful mosaic of a fairy kneeling down to admire an exotic flower just like the ones near the portal, adorned the ceiling. They got to the other side of the arch and stopped. Faedra turned her attention to the scene unfolding before her. What she imagined after seeing the mosaic, as once being a peaceful and calming place to live, was in utter turmoil. \"I think my legs will hold me now,\" she whispered to Faen. She couldn't be sure, but she thought she felt him tremble. This was his home and it was in disarray, it must be having some effect on him. He lowered her to the ground keeping a steadying arm under hers until he was sure she was stable enough to stand on her own. All three stood side-by-side, just as they had on the edge of the valley, and watched the chaos unfold before their eyes. People were running in all directions, panic and desperation on their faces. Some were crying, some were carrying small children, some had stopped and were looking around with dazed expressions. What were once quite obviously areas of lush greenery, like miniature parks and gardens, were now brown and dying. The city seemed to be dying from the inside out. A lump developed in Faedra's throat. She was determined that if there was any way she could help restore this majestic place to its former glory, she would move heaven and earth to do so. CHAPTER ELEVEN\n\nFaen and Jocelyn started walking with an urgency Faedra could physically feel in the air. \"Elvelynn's is this way,\" he said to her as they made their way through the panicking inhabitants of the city. Faedra stuck out like a sore thumb in her World of Men clothing, but no one noticed her. They were all too busy trying to make sense of what was happening to their home. There were many different kinds of people running around them. She realized now that not everyone who lived in Azran were what she considered to be fairies. She also recognized what she thought were elves, dwarves, a few pixies and a leprechaun or two amongst them. It wasn't hard to figure out that these peaceful souls had never experienced fear or confusion before, and it broke her heart to see the pain on their faces. As they made their way through the streets, the pandemonium started to settle as the residents made their way into their homes. She looked around to see shutters closing hastily over windows, and doors being slammed shut. It wasn't too much longer before she could see that the three of them were the only ones left walking down the cobbled lanes. An eerie hush lay over the city like a blanket, and it caused the fine hairs on the back of Faedra's neck to stand to attention. \"It is just around the next corner,\" Jocelyn said, breaking the unearthly silence. They turned the corner, and out of all the houses that lined the street, Faedra knew instantly which one belonged to Elvelynn. It was the only one with a door and windows that were still wide open and welcoming. It was quite obvious that the inhabitant was not at home. \"Stay here,\" Faen commanded as they approached. Jocelyn and Faedra did as he asked, and watched as he drew his sword and stepped with caution through the open door. His sword, which he held out in front of him with both hands, entered first. A moment later he was standing in the doorway, his sword back in its sheath. \"There is no one here,\" he said with disappointment. \"It is safe to enter.\" Jocelyn and Faedra didn't hesitate, they walked up to the front door and entered the pretty house. There had once been a climbing rose framing the front door to welcome guests, but this was now all shriveled and dry. Once inside, they could see that a struggle had taken place. Faen was standing beside an armoire that was intricately carved with Celtic knot work. The doors were open, and one of them was hanging at an angle on a single hinge. There was nothing inside. \"I take it that's where the Book of Anohs should be,\" Faedra whispered, although she wasn't quite sure why she was whispering. The atmosphere had such a hushed quality to it she didn't dare speak any louder. Faen hung his head. It was all the answer she needed, and a shiver ran down her spine. She looked around the room; it, too was in disarray. The chairs were overturned, there was broken glass on the floor, a wilted flower laying in amongst the jagged shards from where a vase had been knocked off the table, and smashed to the ground in an obvious struggle. \"Elvelynn,\" Jocelyn spoke with a catch in her voice, and tears welled in her eyes. \"They would have to kill her to get the book.\" Faedra's heart sank. Jocelyn had lost someone she quite obviously loved, and she knew first hand how that felt. She put a comforting arm around her friend's shoulders. \"I'm so sorry, Jocelyn.\" \"Come, we can do no more here,\" Faen said. \"We need to get to the castle. Maybe the king knows something that will help us.\" They turned to leave, but Faedra stopped short of the door. She could feel something but didn't understand what it was at first. \"No. Wait,\" she said and looked all around her. She could feel the amulet heat up under her scarf and moved the scarf aside to see the stone in the center of it glowing. \"What is it, Faedra?\" Jocelyn asked. \"I'm not sure,\" she held the amulet in her hand. \"Mum didn't say anything in her letter about the amulet glowing.\" She looked at her ring. It was not glowing so there was no danger near, but she knew something was wrong, she could sense it. What was it trying to tell her? _Think Faedra, think,_ she told herself. She closed her eyes and concentrated hard on the feelings surging through her body, then a window in her mind opened and she could see a vision as clear as day. \"If whoever stole the book had to have killed Elvelynn to get it, wouldn't they have just left her body? Why would they have taken it with them?\" Faen and Jocelyn looked at her in confusion. \"She's still here, I can sense her, and she's still alive.\" \"Where?\" Faen said as he stepped closer to her. \"Hold on,\" she closed her eyes again and scanned the room in her mind. \"There.\" She pointed over to the corner of the room as she opened her eyes. They all looked over to where Faedra was pointing, but there was nothing there. Faedra ran over and lowered herself to the floor, her face just fractionally above it. She was trying to look through a crack in the floorboards. \"She's under here,\" she cried, her heart swelling with hope. Faen looked for something to pry the floorboard with and grabbed a poker that was resting up against the fireplace. He ran over to where Faedra was lying on the floor, asked her to move aside, and shoved the poker hard between the boards. He pried it open until he could get his hands under and pulled the board up. They had not been nailed down, so once the first one was up Jocelyn and Faedra helped lift some more until they had uncovered what the floorboards were hiding. \"Oh, Elvelynn,\" Jocelyn gasped in horror, putting her hand to her mouth. The body of an old woman lay crumpled unnaturally in a small hole in the floor. She had her hands tied behind her back and had been gagged. Her wings had been broken when she had been shoved into the tiny space. Her eyes, that were full of pain and fear, looked up at the three of them in desperation. \"Stand back,\" Faen instructed as he kneeled down and lowered his arms into the hole. He gently moved them under Elvelynn's broken body and eased her up and out of her tiny prison. He carried her over to a chaise that was positioned next to the fireplace and, after laying her down, removed the bonds from her hands and the gag from her mouth, taking care not to cause her anymore distress. She was barely conscious and mumbling something that was incoherent. \"Who did this to you?\" Faen whispered in Elvelynn's ear, but the only reply he got was unintelligible. \"Why isn't she healing?\" Faedra asked. \"You can all heal just like me, can't you?\" \"She has been tortured and poisoned. The poison disables us from using our ability to heal. It makes the torture much more effective,\" he explained gravely. \"This is the work of redcaps. She would have died fairly soon if you hadn't found her. We need to get her to Bedowen, he is the only person who can help her now. He may be able to find an antidote to the poison. If he can, she will be able to heal herself in time.\" He scooped Elvelynn up in his arms and carried her through the door. Faedra took one last look around at the chaos in the room before she followed them. \"Jocelyn, take Faedra and wait for me outside the castle,\" he instructed his sister. \"I am going to fly Elvelynn to Bedowen's house; I'll meet you there shortly.\" He hovered above the ground for a second, turned, and flew away. Jocelyn took hold of Faedra's arm. \"The castle is this way,\" she said, pointing in the opposite direction. \"How was the amulet able to tell you that Elvelynn was still alive and where to find her?\" Jocelyn asked a few moments later as they wandered down the empty streets. \"I don't know,\" Faedra answered. \"Maybe because the amulet was constructed to be used with the book. And because Elvelynn had been in possession of the book for so long, it saw them as one and the same. Other than that, I have no explanation. All of this is so new to me; I have to keep pinching myself to make sure I'm still awake.\" They carried on through the deserted streets in silence. Faedra knew there was nothing she could say to comfort her friend. People had tried to comfort her with words all the time after her mother had died, but she had wished they would stay silent. Nothing they said ever gave her any comfort; their words just reiterated the fact that she had lost someone she loved, and that person was never coming back. She prayed that Bedowen would be able to help. Elvelynn had looked like a helpless, sweet old lady, but she knew for the room to have been turned upside down the way it was, she must have put up a good fight. They walked down streets and around corners for what seemed like most of the afternoon. It was a labyrinth of lanes and alleys, not dissimilar to some she had seen in an old town in Spain that she had visited on holiday once before her mum died. Eventually, they turned a corner, and Faedra found herself once again gaping in awe. The street came to an abrupt end and they were standing on the edge of a huge spacious courtyard. A lavish marble fountain stood in the center. Cascading water was flowing from jugs that were held by statues of fairies, into a basin that had been carved into a marble garden. Ornate stone pillars held up an archway that lined both sides of the courtyard, and even though the once lush vegetation that adorned the courtyard was now brown and lifeless, it was still impressive, even in its starkness. Further behind the fountain, there was an enormous double door. Faedra let her eyes wander above the doorway to admire what was beyond it. An immense castle towered above it, and them. Its walls were made of white stone that she could imagine sparkling in the sunlight like Jocelyn had described, but even though it had lost its luster for the time being, it was still majestic in every way. She didn't even want to hazard a guess as to how big it was, but it certainly dwarfed the one back home in Norwich. This one had more beautifully spiraling turrets than she cared to count, with a flag swaying in the breeze from each one. A great swath of burgundy material with what she assumed was a royal crest emblazoned in gold, hung from the main balcony of the castle, and she imagined that that must be where the king held court. \"Wow,\" she mumbled, \"you guys don't do anything by halves do you?\" Jocelyn replied with a smile and looked up at the castle, too. \"It is pretty impressive, is it not? Come, we shall wait for Faen by the door.\" They walked past the fountain on a floor of mosaic artistry that was so big it must have taken eons to create it. When they reached the door, Faedra sat down on the ground and leaned up against the wall. She yawned and let her head fall back to rest against the wall and closed her eyes. The sun was getting low in the sky, promising the close of another day in a few short hours, and she was beyond tired. Faen was not long in arriving. He made his appearance shortly after they did. \"What did Bedowen say?\" Jocelyn asked anxiously as soon as his feet touched the ground. \"He thinks that he can keep her stable until he can find an antidote for the poison, but it might be a while. Unfortunately, she cannot help us identify who did this to her and won't be able to in time for us to find the book and reverse this damage.\" He looked sourly at the dead vegetation around the courtyard. \"We need to go and see the king and find out if he knows of anything that can help us.\" Faedra got to her feet as Faen walked up to the doors and rapped hard on them three times. Slowly the two solid doors, that must have been at least twenty feet high, opened allowing the three to walk through before they closed again. They were now standing in another spacious, beautifully landscaped area in front of the castle. At one time, it would have been the most elaborate flower garden. Home possibly to every kind of flower that existed, but not now, everything had wilted and died. They walked up the path that led to the entrance to the castle, up some steps to another set of solid doors, and stood before them. Faen rapped hard three times on these, too, and again they slowly opened, allowing them entry. Faedra looked around to see if she could see any security cameras. She didn't expect to see any, of course, but it was bugging her that they had just gained entry to a castle without there being any kind of visible security. For goodness' sake, there weren't even any guards around. The place seemed deserted. As they walked through this set of double doors however, all that changed very quickly. As soon as the doors opened, the silence swiftly changed to an inarticulate din that was coming from further down the marble corridor they were now standing in. They walked towards the noise and it grew louder and louder until Faedra could make out that it was lots of angry, concerned voices. They turned through another set of solid oak doors, which were already open this time, and walked straight into a cavernous room that was crammed with people all talking at once. There were lots of them, nearly filling the sizeable room, and this time they noticed her. Some of them eyed her with scrutiny, others looked at her with confusion, some with concern, and others with a knowing expression. She noticed that some of them looked out of place, too. A distinct feeling of unease swept over her, and she subconsciously moved closer to Faen until she was almost touching him. The setting sun was streaming in through vast stained glass windows that lined the walls and depicted scenes from nature. Floating chandeliers bobbed about overhead, casting sparkles of light on the inhabitants of the room below them. Faen pushed his way through the crowd, and as people caught sight of him, they parted to either side like a wake made by a speedboat. Some doffed their hats, others acknowledged him with an incline of their heads, but one thing was for sure, Faedra could see he was very well known, and very well respected. Jocelyn subtly guided Faedra into doing the fairy sandwich thing again as they fell in line behind Faen and followed him in single file until they got through the crowd. Once through the hoards of people, they positioned themselves just behind and to either side of him. Faedra saw the king then for the first time. He was sitting up rigidly on a throne at the other end of the room and they carried on walking until they reached the steps that led up to the throne. Faen came to a stop and kneeled in front of the king. Jocelyn did some sort of a curtsy, and Faedra tried and failed miserably to do the same. She had never been before royalty and had no idea of the formalities, but tried her hardest to not insult the king by her lack of etiquette. At least she was giving it her best effort. \"Your Majesty,\" Faen spoke with respect and looked up at the king who gestured with his hand for Faen to stand. Faedra had noticed that the room was now silent. Even though it was fit to bursting with people, you could hear a pin drop. \"Guardian, I knew you would come. I fear my worst nightmare has come to fruition.\" \"Your Majesty, we found Elvelynn. She lives.\" \"She lives? But I sent sentinels to her house to see if she was there and they found nothing. Where was she?\" \"Ms. Faedra found her,\" he answered and gestured a hand in Faedra's direction. \"She had been tortured and poisoned, and they had left her under the floorboards to die. She is with Bedowen now.\" Faedra thought she may have been mistaken, but she could swear there was just a hint of pride in Faen's voice when he said it. \"Ah, Lillith's daughter, of course,\" the king said in dulcet tones as he rose and stepped down from his throne. He was a commanding figure, moving with grace and assurance. He had the face of authority; experience seeped from every fiber of his being. She could tell just by looking at him that he was much much older than he appeared. He wore sumptuous robes made of heavy velvet that were forest green in color and edged with the obligatory gold trim. The same crest she had seen on the huge banner draped from the balcony outside, was embroidered onto his robes also. Faedra gulped and gave him a feeble smile as he came to a standstill in front of her. His presence alone was compelling enough to fill the entire hall they were standing in. The king took Faedra's chin in his hand and moved her face gently from side to side, examining her features with interest. At first Faedra felt incredibly uncomfortable, if not just a little intimidated, but when she dared herself to look into the king's eyes, she saw only sadness there. \"You are the image of your mother, my dear child,\" he spoke in a whisper so that only she could hear. \"You cannot even imagine what your being here means to me.\" She gave him a puzzled look, but he'd already let go of her chin and had turned to stand in front of Faen. \"Come,\" he said to all three, \"I need to speak with you in private.\" He gestured to a door to the side of the room and walked ahead. As they made to follow him, the room once more erupted into a frenzied hubbub. The people here obviously wanted some answers, and as yet, Faedra doubted that the king had been able to give them any. They followed the king through an elaborately carved wooden door and into another vast room. The walls were lined from floor to ceiling with bookshelves full of books, an immense library by anyone's standards. Faedra glanced at a few as they followed the king to where he had seated himself behind an imposing oversized desk in the center of the room. \"You have Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream?\" she blurted in surprise, without giving a thought to the company she was in. She had just not imagined that the fae king would read Shakespeare. Especially the one about fairies, and wondered what he thought of it. She blushed when she turned to see Faen and Jocelyn looking at her incredulously, and decided it may be wiser not to ask. \"Indeed, my child, I found it very,\" the king paused, \"intriguing. Now, shall we get to the business at hand?\" \"Yes, of course,\" Faedra blustered as she walked over to join them. \"Sorry.\" \"No need, my dear. I understand that this is all, shall we say, new to you. You just turned of age yesterday, did you not?\" \"Yes, Sir, I did.\" He rose and stepped around the desk until he was standing in front of Faedra once more. She had to physically stop herself from taking a step back when he suddenly brought his hands up to her neck. Her eyes widened with concern and were met with a warm smile, which made her relax a little. He untied the scarf and let it hang open around her neck, uncovering the amulet as his did so. She was surprised when he lifted it from her skin and held it in the palm of his hand to examine it. He looked at it with the warm expression you would give a dear friend who you hadn't seen for a while. \"Well, I have to tell you, my dear child. You are the first Custodian since I passed the amulet to be hidden in the World of Men, to find themselves in this predicament. There has only been one other Custodian, in all that time, who has ever entered the Land of Azran,\" he stared deeply into her eyes for a moment. She couldn't quite read the emotion behind his gaze, then he sighed, averted his eyes, and laid the amulet carefully back against her skin. He turned and resumed his position behind his desk. \"Sire,\" Faen said as soon as the king was seated, \"do you have any idea who may have taken the book?\" The king shook his head. \"Unfortunately, I do not, Guardian, but the situation is more involved than just the stolen book.\" He hung his head and took a deep breath as if fighting to keep his composure. \"Is the same thing happening in the World of Men as it is here? \"Yes, Sire, it is,\" Faen replied. Faedra and Jocelyn listened intently, watching Faen's every gesture and expression as the king continued. \"My daughter, Vivianna, was visiting with Elvelynn at the time of the attack. She was taken, along with the Book of Anohs,\" he explained. \"I am so very sorry, Your Majesty,\" Faen replied. \"There is more,\" the king continued, looking gravely over at Faedra, which caused goose bumps to appear on her arms. \"They have demanded I hand over the amulet in exchange for my daughter's safe return.\" He handed Faen a piece of paper with some writing on it that Faedra had never seen before. \"We cannot hand over the amulet, Sire. You know the implications of that. It is not just nature that would die.\" \"I know that, Guardian. Do not concern yourself, I have no intention of handing over the amulet or...\" and he stopped mid-sentence and glanced at Faedra. The hairs on the back of Faedra's neck bristled. She knew exactly what he was about to say. If he had to hand over the amulet, she would still be attached to it. She was the only one who could use it, or she would have to be dead for someone else to. \"You are the best I have, Guardian. I am entrusting you with finding the book and bringing my daughter safely back to me.\" \"Yes, Sire, you have my word,\" Faen assured the king. Faedra couldn't stifle it anymore and another loud yawn escaped. Three pairs of eyes all turned to look at her; she could feel her cheeks burn. Here they were talking about the impending doom of goodness knows how many realms, plus the kidnap of a princess, and she could hardly keep her eyes open. \"I'm sorry,\" she mumbled through her embarrassment. \"You are tired my child, tonight you will all feast and rest. You will need your energy for the journey ahead.\" The king clapped his hands and two beautiful fairies appeared at his side. \"See to it that they all get plenty to eat and the best rooms in the castle,\" he commanded. They nodded their understanding and flew to hover either side of the group of three. Faedra looked at them, and although she admired their staggering beauty and was entranced by the way their wings beat rhythmically to keep them flying, she also realized how quickly she had become accustomed to being surrounded by fae. It dawned on her now that she hardly even noticed their wings anymore. They were as much a natural part of them as their arms or legs were. \"This way please.\" One of the fairies said in a lilting voice, and gestured towards a different door from the one they had entered through, much to Faedra's relief. She hadn't much liked the idea of having to walk back through the rabble that was waiting for them in the great hall. \"Good luck,\" the king said as they exited the library room. \"If anyone can find the book and return my daughter, I know you will be the one to do it.\" Faen inclined his head in that gracious way he always did when acknowledging someone, and continued out the door. CHAPTER TWELVE\n\nThey followed in silence behind the two fairies that the king had assigned to them. For the second time since they arrived, Faedra noticed that it was only her footsteps that could be heard on the hard marble floor beneath them. She looked over at Jocelyn and then to Faen to see if they were hovering above the floor, but they weren't. They were walking just as she was, but they stepped so lightly their footfalls were whisper quiet. It didn't help that she was wearing her riding boots that had fairly hard soles. She started to feel embarrassed about the way her footsteps reverberated off the walls of the grandly decorated corridor they were walking down, and made a conscious effort to soften her steps. It was not easy; she almost had to walk on tiptoes. Try doing that when you need to keep up with others who are moving with definite purpose in front of you. They turned a corner and walked down another corridor. Faedra could feel that Faen was deep in thought. She wasn't quite sure what would be going through Jocelyn's mind, though she had a pretty good idea her friend was wondering how Elvelynn was doing. They carried on down the corridor until it came to its conclusion at another big wooden door. One of the fairies pointed at it and it opened up before they reached it. All three followed the fairies through the door into a vast bustling kitchen. Yet again Faedra looked around in awe. The kitchen was almost the same size as the great hall they had been in earlier, although, the ceilings were not as tall. Down the center of the room stood a long, solid oak table. Faedra guessed that it stretched about thirty feet long by about three feet wide, and along either side of it little people like Todmus were lined, busily preparing food. Some were rolling dough, some were chopping vegetables. She saw one woman making a pie, and another peeling potatoes. Each of them had a specific task and they were going about it with studious enthusiasm. There must have been at least thirty people working in perfect harmony, making the table its own little industry. She scanned the rest of the room. From the ceiling hung vast cast iron racks from which pots and pans of all shapes and sizes hung. Down one wall of the kitchen were sinks and draining boards. A hoard of workers were busily scrubbing pans, drying them, and stacking them in neat piles. On the opposite side of the room, the wall hosted several huge fireplaces, easily big enough for her to stand up in. A couple of the fireplaces had fires blazing in them with a hog turning on a spit above the flames. A couple of little men bustled about tending to the fires and keeping them hot enough to cook the meat roasting above. Another of the fireplaces did not have an open fire, but was home to an immense cast iron oven, easily ten times the size of the old fashioned stoves she had seen in history books back home. No one had even given them a second look when they entered. The workers were so engrossed in their chores, and Faedra felt slightly relieved about that. She was feeling more and more like a fish out of water as each moment passed, but the minute she stepped foot into the vast kitchen a feeling of calm swept over her. Even though the kitchen teemed with life and people were going about their business with an energy that was almost palpable, there was just something about being in a kitchen that brought everyone to the same level. The fairies motioned for them to follow down to the end of the table. They spoke to a couple of the women working there who looked up to acknowledge the three, nodded their heads, and shuffled themselves, and the food they were preparing, further down the table to make room at the end. Three chairs appeared out of nowhere and the fairies gestured to Faen, Faedra and Jocelyn to sit and make themselves comfortable. Faedra noticed that Faen waited for her and Jocelyn to be seated before he sat himself. Within a few moments, a couple of the little people walked up and placed plates full of food on the table in front of them. \"Thank you,\" Faedra spoke to them as they bustled around her, laying an empty plate, cutlery, and a goblet before her. She was responded to with a warm smile and a gracious head bob, just like the one Faen was famous for. They didn't speak but the fact that they gazed intently at the amulet hanging on show around her neck, and then quickly averted their eyes, did not escape her, but it did not make her feel as nervous any more. She had accepted the fact that the amulet was now as much a part of her, than she was of it. She turned her attention to the plates of food the dwarves had placed in front of them, and recognized a rumbling deep from within her stomach. She was starving. There was a plump, steaming hot chicken, surrounded by dishes of steaming, brightly colored vegetables. A dwarf with a pitcher made his way around to all three of them, filling their goblets to the brim. He lingered next to Faedra, shooting a quick glance at the amulet before scuttling off into the pantry again. Faen gestured for Faedra and Jocelyn to help themselves to the food first. _Ever the gentleman_ , Faedra thought as she gave him a warm smile and leaned in to pull a leg from the chicken. Dark meat was definitely her favorite. She scooped some vegetables onto her plate and tucked in. \"Do you have any idea where we go from here?\" Faedra asked Faen between mouthfuls. \"Tomorrow we journey into the pine forest to summon Kernunnos,\" he replied, after careful thought. \"How will Kernunnos be able to help, Brother?\" Jocelyn asked with interest. \"Um, would someone care to enlighten me as to who Kernunnos is?\" Faedra asked, slightly disgruntled. She only started learning about this stuff yesterday, and although she understood that she was at the bottom of an extremely steep learning curve, it irked her how everyone talked as if she already knew what they were talking about. Most of the time she felt horribly in the dark, and she didn't like that feeling at all. \"Kernunnos is Lord of the Woods,\" Faen stated, before turning back to Jocelyn to answer her question. \"My dear Jocelyn, I believe Kernunnos can help us because he is closer to nature than any other entity in our realm. Because of what the book controls, he may be able to sense its whereabouts through nature here or in other realms. I am hoping he can point us in the right direction. At the moment, it is the only hope I have to start looking for the book.\" A thought suddenly occurred to Faedra. All color drained from her face and she had trouble swallowing the food in her mouth. Jocelyn noticed her sudden change of demeanor and her look turned to one of concern. Faen noticed the unsettled glance that Jocelyn was focusing across the table and turned to see what had caused such a rapid change in her expression. Faedra's face was as white as snow as she looked blankly into space. \"Whatever is the matter, Faedra?\" Jocelyn asked. Faedra brought her focus back and looked at Faen. \"Dad thinks I've gone riding. I've been gone all day, and now it's nighttime. He'll be worried sick; he has no idea where I am.\" She spoke with fear and desperation in her voice. It was breaking her heart to think of her dad panicking over her disappearance, and there was no way to let him know she was safe, cell phones didn't work between realms. \"Do not worry, Ms. Faedra,\" Faen responded reassuringly, \"your father will not know you are missing. The time in Azran ticks differently than in the World of Men. We can spend much more time here if needs be. You will still have only been gone a few hours.\" \"Are you sure?\" she asked, not quite being able to believe what he was telling her, and imagining her father's panic stricken face on the phone to the Police. Faen gave her a warm smile. He knew the great lengths she had gone to over the years to prevent giving her father any cause to worry about her. A quality he admired and respected. She cared more about those she loved than she did about herself. \"I am sure,\" he replied. \"Your father is blissfully unaware of your whereabouts and I will make sure it stays that way. We will return to the World of Men in plenty of time before he would start to wonder where you have gone to.\" She heaved a sigh of relief and the color returned to her face. \"Thank you,\" she whispered. He inclined his head. After they had finished their meal, the two fairies appeared. \"We have prepared your rooms for you.\" they sang in unison and gestured for the three to follow. They all got up and continued behind them. Faedra was looking forward to being able to flop onto a bed and finally get some sleep. She was exhausted and imagined that what she was feeling must be similar to jet lag. She had never been on a long haul flight but her friends had, and how they had explained it to her, it had sounded just like she felt. They followed the fairies up umpteen spiraling stairs, along what seemed like miles of corridors until they eventually stopped. The fairies pointed to three doors that were adjacent to each other. \"You will find everything you need to make your stay comfortable,\" they sang. \"If you find you need anything further, you only have to ask. One of us will attend to your needs directly.\" \"Thank you,\" Faen, Faedra and Jocelyn replied together. The fairies disappeared around a corner and they were alone in the corridor. \"Well, goodnight,\" Faedra said. \"Goodnight, Ms. Faedra.\" \"Goodnight, Faedra.\" Jocelyn and Faen exchanged their goodnights. They all entered their rooms in synchronization, as if the move had been choreographed. Faedra closed the door behind her, leaned back up against it and sucked in a sharp breath. \"Oh, wow!\" she breathed as she scanned the room that sprawled out in front of her. The room was easily the size of the entire ground floor of her house and was furnished with the finest ornate, elaborately detailed furniture that she had ever laid her eyes on. At one end of the room, an immense marble fireplace took center stage, filling nearly the entire wall, and was complete with a blazing fire crackling within it. A deep burgundy chaise trimmed with gold, sat in front of the fire just waiting to invite someone to sit there. Wood paneling stretched all the way around the room to about half way up the walls. Above the paneling, rich wallpaper lined the walls and elaborate gold sconces with opaque glass lampshades protruded, a soft glow emanating from each one. She looked above her as she now noticed she was drenched in a soft glow. A small chandelier bobbed above her head, showering her with soft sparkling light. She stepped to the side, it followed. She stepped forward, it followed. \"No way,\" she gasped, as she realized where she went the chandelier followed, lighting a path for her every step of the way. On the other side of the room was a four-poster bed that she imagined to be the size of her entire bedroom. It was made of rich mahogany and the posts were carved with intricate spirals. It had sumptuous, velvet burgundy drapes the same color as the chaise. A gold satin comforter covered the bed. Faedra wandered over to it and ran her fingers along the heavy velvet material, and then onto the soft satin comforter. A pair of cream silk pajamas had been laid out for her on the bed. She held them up to her to determine if they were the right size; they were. She smiled, why ever would she have thought otherwise? She wandered past the bed to a pair of glass doors that stood the height of the wall, at least ten feet tall. They were framed in gold with gold handles. She opened them and walked through onto the balcony where they led. She looked down to one side and saw the city below that was lit only by the silvery light of the moon, casting its eerie light on the buildings it watched over. She looked in the other direction and could see the valley stretch out until it met with a mountain range that loomed in the distance. She wondered in which direction they would travel tomorrow to reach the pine forest. A shiver ran through her and she walked back inside. There was a chill in the air and she was only wearing a t-shirt and jeans. The doorway next to the glass doors led to a lavish bathroom. Mirrors lined one entire wall. The rest of the room was made out of marble and accessorized with gold fittings. Steam rose from the water filling a sunken bath that had quite obviously been run for her. Fluffy towels were stacked in a neat pile next to the bath and a toothbrush had been placed next to one of the two basins. They weren't kidding, they had certainly thought of everything to make her feel comfortable. She undressed and slid into the warm water. A sigh of epic proportions escaped as she submerged herself up to her neck. Once she had bathed she dried herself. With a towel wrapped around her torso, she wandered back to the bedroom and dressed into her pajamas, laying her clothing neatly over the back of a chair that was placed next to the bed. She had to wear them again the next day so she made an effort not to get them too crumpled. She lifted the covers and slid between the sheets that felt like pure silk. The sconces turned themselves off and the chandelier above her head dimmed to blackness. She sat up with a start. \"No, please do not go out completely,\" she said with an urgency that surprised even her. She'd never been scared of the dark before and cursed the redcap for making her feel this way. For a split second, she wondered who she was kidding. The lights weren't intelligent; they wouldn't respond to a spoken request. But all the lights came back on in an instant, then dimmed to a soft glow. \"Thank you,\" she spoke to the room as a whole and lay her head back down on the pillow. Unfortunately, instead of falling asleep as soon as her head touched it, she was wide-awake. She lay motionless for a few minutes with her eyes closed trying to will herself to sleep. She moved to one side then to the other. Nothing. She was still wide-awake. After about an hour of tossing and turning, she threw back the covers and sat up in exasperation. _This is not fair,_ she thought, _why can't I sleep? I'm so tired._ She went through a list of possibilities. The bed was comfortable, that wasn't it. It wasn't dark, that wasn't it either, then it dawned on her and a light bulb came on above her head. And it wasn't the chandelier. She had not slept on her own since she was six years old. Faen had always been right there sleeping on the rug beside her bed, every night, for more than eleven years. She turned, hung her legs over the edge of the mattress and slid her feet into the slippers that had been left for her beside the bed. She made her way through the door and wandered down the corridor. Faedra stopped in front of the next door down, put her hand up to knock, hesitated and pulled it back. She did this several times, until finally, she tapped lightly on Faen's door and opened it. She poked her head through the opening and peeked around the door. It was dark inside, no sound of movement. \"Faen?\" she whispered as she entered the room and clicked the door shut behind her. \"Faen?\" she whispered again. She heard a rustle coming from her left and turned her head just as a soft light appeared over Faen's head as he sat up in bed. She noticed he did not have a shirt on and there was a catch in her breath as she let her eyes scan his perfectly formed torso. He noticed her gaze and looked down at himself. Almost instantaneously, he materialized a soft cotton shirt from nowhere to cover his chest. He looked back up at Faedra who was standing over by the door looking rather uncomfortable. \"Ms. Faedra? Is something the matter?\" Faen asked in response to the look of sadness on her face. His features were soft, his expression welcoming, and his hair mussed. He ran a hand through it to try and smooth it down. He had such a presence here in his home, somehow different to when he was in her home. Faedra wondered if he felt as much of a fish out of water in her world, as she did in his. She took a hesitant step forward. She was eighteen now, an adult. Not to mention Custodian to a very powerful fae element. Faedra's brain was telling her she should feel silly not being able to sleep without her dog, but the dreadfully lonely sensation welling within her was overwhelming. She swallowed hard and looked down at her feet. _He's going to think me stupid and childish._\n\n\"Ms. Faedra, whatever is the matter?\" he asked again. \"I, um, I'm so tired, but I can't sleep,\" her voice cracked with emotion, \"then I realized why.\" She looked up at him, tears pricking behind her eyes. \"Why?\" he prompted. \"Because for more than eleven years now, you have slept beside me and I... err... miss you.\" His expression changed to one of compassion that Faedra had not seen on his face before, but had seen in the eyes of her dog many times. He patted the bed beside him. \"Come,\" he simply said. She breathed in with relief. She hadn't realized until that point that she'd been holding her breath. She moved swiftly to his bed and climbed up to sit crossed legged to the side of him. \"Would you like me or your dog?\" The question took her by surprise. She thought about it for a second. \"You, please,\" she whispered and smiled at him sheepishly. Faen returned her smile with a warm one of his own that he didn't hand out very often. \"Very well then, I shall stay,\" he said with an incline of his head. The soft glow of the light above illuminated just the two of them in the immense bedroom. Everything else was shrouded in darkness. Faedra leaned forward and carefully picked up the talisman hanging around his neck. She noticed a catch in his breath as her fingers brushed against his skin, and brought her gaze up to meet his. His eyes were full of emotion. They locked onto hers, not letting them go. After a silent moment, she managed to tear her gaze from his and looked at the talisman she had laid in the palm of her hand, moving it under the light. She had noticed it before, but never really looked at it closely. It was round, and looked like it was made of ivory; although, it had an iridescent quality to it that she had not seen in ivory before. A leather thong threaded through a hole at the top, held it around Faen's neck. The center of the talisman was carved with a beautiful Celtic design and a band around the outer edge had lots of symbols carved into it. \"This is beautiful. What is it made of?\" \"The horn of a unicorn.\" \"Wow, really?\" she shook her head in amazement as he nodded. \"I recognize these symbols, but I can't think where from.\" \"They are runes. You probably saw them when you were at the festival.\" She nodded her head. That was where she had seen them before; when Rose had seen something of her destiny in them, but refused to tell her what. \"Of course.\" She lay the talisman gently back against his skin. \"Can I ask you a question?\" she said. \"Of course,\" he replied. \"Are you immortal?\" Faen chuckled at her question. \"No, Ms. Faedra, I am not. Although, fae do live much longer than humans, so that is where the myth probably stems from. We die of old age just like you do. We can be killed, but not very easily, and not by human hands.\" Then he thought about his last comment and rephrased it. \"I should say, not by human hands, present company excluded.\" Faedra's eyebrows shot up. \"You mean I can kill a fairy? Not that I would want to, of course,\" she added hastily. \"Well, there is no point having a power if it does not protect you and the amulet against the very creatures who are likely to come after you to get it.\" \"Good point,\" she agreed. \"So how old are you then?\" He raised an eyebrow. \"You said a question, Ms. Faedra.\" \"Oh, come on, Faen, you know me inside and out, and I hardly know anything about you. Apart from what dog food you prefer and that you like to be scratched behind your ears,\" she gave him a wry smirk. He conceded. \"Very well, you may ask me some more questions. What do you wish to know?\" \"Your age?\" \"Oh, yes, hmm let me see now. We age much slower than humans do, about ten times slower I believe, so that would make me about two hundred and three of your years.\" \"No way!\" Faedra exclaimed. \"You only look about twenty.\" He smiled. \"So how long do you live then, bearing in mind that you don't get killed by a rogue Custodian?\" \"Oh, about a thousand of your years, give or take a few,\" he smiled again. Faedra gaped at him in disbelief and he nodded his head to reiterate his statement. She shuffled up the bed and turned to lie down on top of the covers next to where he was sitting. She looked up at the soft glowing ball of light that was bobbing gracefully above them. \"Tell me about my mother,\" she shifted her attention from the light to Faen's face. His smile faded and sadness filled his eyes. \"What do you wish to know?\" \"Well, I was only six when she died. It was so long ago that I can't remember too much about her; I get scared that, given a few more years, I will forget everything about her.\" \"I didn't actually know your mother very well,\" he started. \"I was only assigned to her a few months before she was killed.\" He dropped his eyes and Faedra could tell he still carried much regret over what had happened. \"What I did know of her was that she was a very caring woman. She loved all living things and adored the ground you walked on. She would have gone to the ends of the earth for you, Faedra. She loved you that much.\" \"She was also very dedicated to her role as Custodian and took it very seriously. She had spent many years training in the sword skills, and, as I said, she was one of the best sword fighters I have ever seen. I know for a fact, she would have been very proud of how you have grown and matured. You have taken to being Custodian very much in your stride, a natural she would have said. She was a natural; very capable of looking after herself. As I said before, I was only assigned to her so that she could teach me, and I failed her.\" He looked with determination into Faedra's captivated eyes. \"I will not make the same mistake twice.\" Faedra gave him a knowing smile. \"Thank you.\" \"You are very welcome.\" \"Faen?\" \"Yes.\" \"You have to stop blaming yourself for my mum's death. It wasn't your fault. I don't blame you. I blame the redcaps, and one day I will have my revenge on them.\" He gave her a weak smile. Faedra sensed that he wasn't about to stop blaming himself for the death of her mother, but, in time, she would convince him that he was not to blame. A loud yawn escaped before she could stifle it, and her eyes grew so heavy she was fighting to keep them open. \"Ms. Faedra, you are very tired, you need to sleep.\" \"I know, but I don't want to go back into that big empty room...\" She was asleep before she finished her sentence. Faen looked at her for a long moment and sighed a contented sigh. He brushed the back of his fingers over her cheek, then leaned over and grabbed some of the excess piece of comforter that hung over the edge of the bed, wrapping it around her. He lay down beside her watching her breathing steadily in and out for a few minutes as she slept soundly next to him. Then he couldn't help himself; he wrapped a protective arm around her before he fell asleep with her safely tucked up against him. Making sure to leave the soft light glowing above them in case she woke up in the night. She didn't. CHAPTER THIRTEEN\n\nFaedra opened her eyes and stretched. She couldn't remember sleeping that well for a very long time. She turned her head to see Faen looking at her. He was lying on his side, propping his head up on his arm. \"Good morning, Ms. Faedra,\" he greeted her with a warm smile, \"I trust you slept well.\" \"Morning, Faen. Yes, I did thank you,\" she answered, returning his smile with one of her own. \"Well, we better get moving. We have another long day ahead of us today,\" he pushed his covers back and gracefully slid off the bed. Faedra was still lying on top of the covers. She looked down at the piece of comforter she had been cocooned in and peeled it back. She smiled; he had allowed her to fall asleep next to him and made sure she didn't get cold. The sound of water running from the bathroom caught her attention. She better get a move on and go back to her room to wash her face and get dressed. \"I'm going back to my room to get changed,\" she called as she slid off the bed. Faen poked his head around the bathroom door, he was brushing his teeth. Faedra couldn't help herself, she laughed. Faen frowned. He couldn't speak, his mouth was full of toothbrush. \"I'm sorry,\" she chuckled. \"I just never pictured that fairies brushed their teeth, or needed to do any of the mundane personal grooming that we humans have to, for that matter.\" He smiled around his toothbrush and shrugged his shoulders. \"Meet you out in the corridor in a few minutes?\" He nodded and disappeared back into the bathroom. When she arrived back in her room, she noticed that the bed had been made and her clothes were neatly laid out on it. They had been cleaned and pressed, and her boots polished and set beside the bed. She quickly changed, then went into the bathroom to do the mundane personal grooming that humans do. Several minutes later, she headed out the door. Faen and Jocelyn were already waiting there for her. \"Hi, Jocelyn. Did you sleep well?\" she asked. \"Yes, thank you, Faedra, and you?\" Faedra glanced at Faen who was watching her intently. They exchanged a subtle smile. \"Yes, thank you, I did,\" she responded. \"Come,\" Faen said with a sweeping motion of his arm in the direction of the kitchen. \"We must eat first, then begin our journey to the pine forest.\" Luckily Faen seemed to know where he was going because, without a doubt, Faedra would have gotten herself hopelessly lost in the maze of corridors in this seemingly endless castle. After a while, they made it to the kitchen and Faedra was ravenous again. She had noticed her appetite had increased substantially since she acquired her power, but she hadn't used it for more than a day now and was wondering if it was normal for her to be eating as much as she was. Maybe it was still residual energy conservation from when she had had to use her power to fight off a redcap. They ate a hearty breakfast and were each given a knapsack full of food, and an oilskin pouch full of water, which they slung across their bodies. They made their way through the castle to the main entrance. Faen rapped hard on the door again and it swung open gracefully. They walked through it and were greeted by a handsome fairy in uniform. \"The king has given you these horses,\" he told them, holding out his hand in the direction of where three beautiful horses stood. They were black as midnight with thick silver manes and tails that shimmered in the sunlight. Faedra was speechless, she had never seen such stunning creatures. Their immaculate coats shone with a luster not from her world. One of them snorted and pawed at the ground. \"I'll take him,\" she said as she walked past Faen and Jocelyn. She had no doubt in her mind that she was about to have the ride of her life. Faen raised his eyebrows in surprise. \"What? You think I can't handle him, don't you?\" \"On the contrary, Ms. Faedra. I have seen you ride. I have no doubt that you are perfectly capable of handling that stallion,\" he replied. \"What is it then?\" she asked, narrowing her eyes at him. \"It is nothing, Ms. Faedra.\" Truth was, he was starting to see the little girl he'd watched growing up, turn into a tenacious young woman with just a hint of vulnerability about her, and he thought that she every bit deserved the title of Custodian. If he didn't know any better he would imagine that it was pride seeping from his every pore right at that moment. The uniformed fairy gave Faedra a leg up, and as soon as she was on the horse's back he reared, then came back to the ground and pawed again. Faedra felt an electric excitement surging through her as she felt the intense energy of the beautiful beast she was sitting on. \"Come on you two, what are you waiting for? We have a Lord of the Woods to find.\" Faen and Jocelyn glanced at each other with a look that said 'oh, dear, what have we unleashed'? They mounted their horses. All three galloped off through the courtyard, out of the city, and headed in the direction of the pine forest. They rode for hours across the dying landscape. Although Faedra was saddened by the devastation around her, she had never felt this alive before. The horse beneath her was a powerhouse of muscle and speed, and they flew like the wind. Her legs didn't turn to jelly this time. Instead, she embraced the power she was feeling from the magnificent beast she was riding. To the point she could feel her whole body was tingling with electric energy. After a few hours of riding, Faedra could see a browning forest loom up ahead. They all slowed down to a trot and, gradually, a walk. They came to a stop at the edge of the forest and gave the trees a long hard look. \"Oh, Brother, even the evergreens are dying,\" Jocelyn's voice rang with sadness as they all looked down at the thick carpet of brown pine needles that had fallen from the dying trees. \"We will find the book, Jocelyn. We will reverse this,\" Faen promised her, his voice sounding almost as sad as his little sister's. \"Come, we must find Kernunnos.\" He moved his horse forward. Faedra and Jocelyn fell into line behind him as they all entered the forest. Faedra found the forest eerie, and, after a while, she realized why. There were no sounds of life here. No birds were singing in the trees, no wildlife scuttling about on the ground, or squirrels chasing each other along the limbs, jumping from one tree to the next. There was nothing, just an unearthly silence, except for the soft hoof falls the horses were making as they ventured deeper and deeper into the forest. They followed Faen for about another hour until they came across an opening between the trees in the heart of the forest. They stood on the edge of the clearing for a moment. It was almost a perfect circle, and right in the center stood an ancient, gnarly pine tree, much taller and wider than any pine tree Faedra had ever seen. They dismounted and left the horses. Faedra wondered if they should tie them up but Faen assured her they would not go anywhere. He told her the horses were 'assigned' to them and would not leave until they were permitted to. She wished Gypsy were so obedient, thinking back to that day in the woods when her horse left her there without so much as backwards glance. Faedra and Jocelyn followed behind Faen as they cautiously made their way towards the huge pine taking center stage in the clearing. He stopped about ten feet away from it, closed his eyes, and held his hands out, palms facing upwards, and started chanting. \"Open glade in dark wood,\n\nfertile tree in clearing stood. Lord of the Woods, your help we need,\n\nrespect and honor, ours to heed. Appear to us, this we plea,\n\nKernunnos hear, we summon thee.\" Faedra held her breath. Nothing happened. \"Was something supposed to happen?\" she leaned over and whispered to Jocelyn. Jocelyn shrugged her shoulders. \"I do not know. I have never seen an invocation before,\" she admitted. \"Quiet,\" Faen turned his head and snapped at them. \"This will only work in absolute silence.\" Faedra mouthed a sorry to him and closed her lips tight. Faen repeated the invocation again, a little louder this time and with a lot more passion. Still nothing, but Faedra kept her mouth shut this time and just looked all around her, having absolutely no idea what to expect. Again Faen repeated the invocation, with yet more emphasis and passion. This time it worked, and Faedra realized at that point that she had watched The Wizard of Oz far too many times. She'd been expecting the tree to grow limbs that looked like arms, and a big gnarly face to appear in the bark of the trunk and start shouting at them, but that couldn't have been further from what actually did happen. It suddenly grew darker, not a pitch black dark, but a setting sun through the trees kind of dark, causing an ethereal glow to cloak the clearing. A mist appeared from the trees surrounding the clearing. It smelled strongly of a musky essential oil that she recognized as being patchouli, and crept low to the ground in tendril-like wisps until it had filled the entire space. Faedra scanned the perimeter of the clearing but could see nothing but the mist encircling them. Her attention turned back to the ancient tree in the center when she heard a creaking sound that seemed to be coming from within. An opening appeared in the bark, narrow at first, but then expanding into an archway, from which an incredibly self-assured looking man walked, with a stunning white stag at his side. Faedra swallowed hard. She didn't know what she was expecting the Lord of the Woods to look like, but the man walking towards them was definitely not it. He glided with ethereal grace to stand in front of Faen, who kneeled before him. He was tall with dark brown, shoulder-length hair and neatly trimmed beard flecked with gray. He had dark olive skin and deep forest green eyes. He looked wise beyond his years, and Faedra didn't even want to hazard a guess as to how old he actually was. He wore robes that flowed around him with a fluidity that reminded Faedra of when she used to watch the rock pools at the beach. Every time a wave would come and recede away again, it would leave the water in the rock pool swirling around until the next time. His robes were colored with the various hues of woodland, including russet, deep forest green, and autumn gold. \"Rise, Guardian,\" he commanded, and Faen did as he asked. \"You summoned me?\" \"I did, My Lord,\" Faen responded, and bowed his head with respect. \"Someone has stolen the Book of Anohs and we need to find it before whomever it is destroys our realm and the World of Men, and possibly many other realms, too.\" \"And how do you think that I may help, Guardian?\" Kernunnos asked. \"I believe that because the book controls nature, and you are in essence, Lord over an immense part of nature, I was hoping you may be able to sense where the book is located.\" \"Hmm,\" Kernunnos rubbed his chin and walked over to Faedra, who gulped again. \"And you, my child are not from this realm,\" he caught sight of the amulet. \"Ah, a Custodian. Well, now I understand why you stand before me.\" Faedra swallowed hard. The King of Azran didn't hold a torch to the presence that Kernunnos exuded. He finished scrutinizing Faedra and walked back to stand before Faen. Then he closed his eyes and held his arms outstretched. He stood there in silence for a few moments, and when he opened his eyes again they were completely white, no eyeball, nothing, just white. Faedra took a step back as she sucked in a breath and covered her mouth with her hand. \"I see giant white horses several hundred feet tall, a hill that is perfectly round, near a spire so high it touches the sky. A circle of stone surrounded by A's is where the book can be found.\" He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again they had returned to their normal color. \"But what does that mean?\" Faen asked, confused by the cryptic clue. \"I can only tell you what I see, Guardian. My powers do not give me a road map.\" \"Do you know in which realm we may start to look?\" \"I do not. I am sorry I cannot give you clearer directions.\" \"Thank you, My Lord. You have, at least, given us something to work with,\" Faen bowed his head. \"Good luck, Guardian,\" Kernunnos said as he turned toward the tree. Then he paused, turned back to look at Faedra, and inclined his head. \"Custodian,\" he acknowledged, before continuing to walk back into the tree. As soon as the archway in the tree sealed up behind Kernunnos and his stag, the mist cleared and the sunlight once again rained down upon them. Faen scratched his head. \"I was hoping for more precise direction than that,\" he said. \"There are no horses that large in any realm.\" \"Horses, horses,\" Faedra mumbled to herself, pacing back and forth as she meandered closer and closer to the edge of the clearing. She was holding her chin in her hand, her brow furrowed. \"Surrounded by A's? Why does that sound so familiar?\" she continued her pacing for a few more moments, mumbling under her breath, trying to connect the pieces of information to something buried deep in her memory. \"Oh, my God!\" Faedra blurted. The others turned to look at her stunned expression. \"I think I know where it is.\" \"Where, Ms. Faedra?\" Faen asked urgently as he and Jocelyn walked over to where she was pacing. \"I'll take you there. It's in my world,\" she said with excitement. \"No, it is too dangerous. Tell me where it is, and I will go,\" Faen insisted. \"Like heck you will. I'm going with you.\" \"No, you are not,\" Faen raised his voice. He didn't do that very often. \"Yes, I am.\" Faedra shot him a warning glare. \"No, Ms. Faedra, you are not.\" \"Yes... I... Am!\" Jocelyn sighed and sat herself down on a nearby boulder. She could see this was going to take a while. She watched the argument unfold before her, moving her head from Faen to Faedra as if watching a game of tennis. \"You are making me angry,\" Faedra growled several minutes into their back and forth battle. With a glare that could kill, she opened up her palms to reveal two glowing orbs of blue. Faen looked down at her hands and scoffed. \"You would never use those on me,\" he said, with a look that oozed arrogance. Who was she kidding? Of course, she wouldn't, and she threw them at a nearby tree where they exploded on impact, shattering the bark, and sending fragments of wood showering over Jocelyn. \"Sorry, Jocelyn,\" she called as she noticed her friend sweeping bits of bark off her dress and picking it out of her hair. Then she turned on Jocelyn's brother again. \"I do not need to be wasting my energy on you, either,\" she scowled at him. \"You'll upset Kernunnos,\" he goaded as he looked over at the splintered tree. She glared at him again and balled her hands into fists, resting them on her hips, squaring her shoulders as she did. She lifted her chin in defiance, and they stood in silence for a while, a frosty stand-off that neither was willing to concede to. Eventually, Jocelyn broke the angry silence. \"Um, you two, the fate of all realms rests with you, and all that,\" she said with concern. They turned together and glared at her. She put her hands up \"Okay, okay, just thought I would mention it.\" They went back to glaring uncompromisingly at each other, and a few more moments passed. \"Sometimes, Ms. Faedra, you can be impossibly stubborn,\" Faen spoke first. Faedra raised an eyebrow at him. \"And sometimes, MR. Faen, you can be impossibly arrogant,\" she snapped back at him. They continued staring at each other. Then Faedra noticed a subtle shift in the way Faen was looking at her. The frustrated expression he was wearing melted away and was replaced by one of consideration. He leaned in and cupped her face. Before her brain even had time to react, he had planted his lips very self-assuredly on hers, which sent a tingle of electricity throughout her face, down her neck and along her spine. Her eyes widened with surprise, and she found she couldn't move. She was frozen to the spot, but her senses were heightened to the point that they were almost crackling with their intensity. Then she surprised herself. She accepted his kiss and kissed him back. Her hands that had been balled into fists just seconds ago were now tangling themselves through his silken hair. After a moment he pulled away, but still held her face in his hands, and a wry smile curved the corner of his mouth. \"Very well, Faedra,\" he made sure to exaggerate her name as he inclined his head, \"you may come with us,\" he whispered. His face was still so close to hers she could feel his warm breath on her face as he spoke. In that instant their paradigm shifted. She was no longer his charge, he no longer her Guardian, although, she could sense he would always be her protector. They were now partners with one goal; to retrieve the Book of Anohs and return Vivianna, the king's daughter, safely back to Azran and her father. \"Yay,\" Jocelyn cried, clapping her hands excitedly, pulling Faen and Faedra from their reverie. They both turned to look at her. Faen looked at his sister with a puzzled expression, pulling his eyebrows together. \"Well, it is about time, Brother,\" she stated. He looked back at Faedra who was still reeling from their kiss. They looked at each other and chuckled. Jocelyn stepped down off the boulder, walked over to them and put an arm around each of them. \"Well, now that we finally have that out of the way, I assume we need to make our way back to the portal,\" she said with a smirk. Faen looked up at the sky; the sun was sinking and it wouldn't be long before darkness enveloped the land again. \"We will make camp here for tonight. It will be dark soon, and not all of Azran is safe to travel at night,\" he explained. \"We will leave at first light.\" \"Come on, Faedra,\" Jocelyn said as she took hold of Faedra's arm, \"let us go and find some firewood.\" They headed into the trees. \"Do not go out of sight of the clearing,\" Faen called out to them in a protective, big brotherly way. \"We won't,\" Jocelyn called back. They didn't need to go but a few feet in, as there were plenty of small branches and kindling lying all around them. They bent down and scooped up sticks, holding them in their arms as they did so. \"I guess you were right about the 'wings' thing,\" Faedra mentioned after they had been searching for a few minutes. Jocelyn smiled warmly. \"I know my brother better than he would like to think I do,\" she said. \"He still hides them, though,\" Faedra sighed. \"Give him time, Faedra. He has never felt about anyone the way he feels about you, and he didn't even realize that until a few minutes ago.\" Faedra looked through the trees into the clearing where Faen was collecting rocks to make a small fire pit. \"Neither did I,\" she whispered under her breath. \"It will be worth the wait, Faedra. His wings are the most spectacular that I have ever seen. If you think mine are beautiful, they do not even come close to my brother's.\" Faedra smiled weakly at her friend. \"I think we have enough, don't we?\" she said, holding out her arms that were now full of sticks and small branches. Jocelyn looked at Faedra's bundle and then at her own. \"I think so.\" They headed back to the clearing and dropped the wood next to where Faen was placing rocks in a neat circle. He was being extra careful to make sure that the fire could not spread. Everything surrounding them was so tinder dry, the whole lot could catch fire very easily. The sun sank beyond the horizon, and darkness replaced it. They grabbed the rolled-up bedding that had been attached to the back of each saddle - the king had thought of everything \u2013 and unrolled their 'beds' around the campfire that Faen had started with a click of his fingers. They sat down beside the warming flames that licked up into the night. Occasionally sparks would ascend up into the sky when a knot in a piece of wood crackled and popped. Faedra sat peacefully while Faen and Jocelyn spoke in hushed voices to each other. She was trying to see if she could control her energy without the emotion of anger. So far, that had been the only time she had been able to use it, when she was angry. The first time she had used it, she was feeling anger and frustration at not being able to materialize anything, then wham, there it was. The next time, her fear had changed to anger behind the hotel when she imagined her dad finding her dead on the cold floor. Her power had surged through her uncontrollably that time. Then a little while ago she had been getting angry with Faen but was not angry enough that she hadn't been able to control it. She tuned Jocelyn and Faen out. She didn't know what they were talking about, sibling stuff she assumed. She was going to get a grip on her power if it was the last thing she did. She closed her eyes and imagined the sensations that flowed through her body when the energy manifested itself, and she tried to recreate that feeling. She wanted to be able to rely on using her power if she needed to; when they met whomever was in possession of the book. She wanted the ability to use it in a skillful way, and not just as a knee jerk reaction. It took a few times, but after some serious concentration, there it was. She could feel a warm sensation in her hands. Faedra opened her eyes to see two balls of blue light bobbing gracefully just above her skin. The reflection in her eyes from the sparkling energy made them look like they were twinkling in the darkness. She smiled and closed her palms, pushing the sensation back. She opened her palms again and the light was gone. She tried this several more times, each time feeling more and more in control of the energy coursing through her body. She was elated and stared in awe for a few moments at the balls of energy bobbing above her hands. It was mesmerizing, almost hypnotic. A warm feeling surrounded her hands and they closed, but she hadn't closed them herself. She looked up to see Faen kneeling in front of her, his hands wrapped around hers, and she gave him a quizzical look. \"I have been watching you control your power for a while now. You are learning quickly, but you do not have much food and will burn yourself out.\" She could hear the concern in his voice and gave him a warm smile. His face glowed in the soft light from the fire. \"You're right,\" she said. Until he had stopped her, she hadn't noticed how hungry she was getting. She leaned over to get her knapsack; retrieving half of its contents, she began eating. She knew how weak she would feel if she didn't eat quickly. Faedra looked over to Jocelyn, who was now sleeping soundly beside the fire. How long had she been doing this, and how long had Faen been sitting watching her? \"It's a beautiful night,\" Faedra said as she looked up to admire the enormous full moon that was pouring its silvery light all over them. \"It is,\" Faen agreed. He looked over at Jocelyn sleeping. \"We must rest if we are to make an early start in the morning.\" He pulled his bedding over, laid it down next to Faedra's, and sat down on it. \"I will be right here if you need me.\" Faedra returned his smile with one of her own and settled down to sleep. CHAPTER FOURTEEN\n\nFaen knelt down beside Faedra and gently shook her arm. He and Jocelyn had prepared the horses and were ready to leave, but he wanted her to sleep as long as she could. Her eyes cracked open and a smile crept across her lips at the sight of him. She sat up, and after stretching her arms upwards, rubbed the sleep from her eyes. She looked for Jocelyn and saw her over by the horses; their things already packed and attached to the saddle, and her smile fell from her face. \"Why didn't you wake me earlier?\" she asked in dismay. \"Faen, I am always a step behind you guys, and that makes me feel inadequate.\" Her voice was laced with a tinge of annoyance and embarrassment. \"You needed to sleep as long as possible, Faedra. You used up a lot of your energy last night,\" he stroked her cheek with the back of his hand, his expression one of concern. \"I shouldn't have let you, but you were really starting to understand your power and control it, and you may well need to use it today. It will take but a few moments for us to get you packed and ready.\" \"Okay,\" she sighed. He made perfect sense, using her power drained her beyond belief. \"I'll let you off this time,\" she said with a smirk. The sun was not yet up, but the sky was glowing with that beautiful light that welcomes the day just before the sun decides to peek over the horizon and has every hue of pastel you can imagine. She rubbed her hands over her face, willing herself awake, and accepted Faen's offered hand to help her up off the ground. He hastily rolled her bedding up and carried it over to her horse. She followed. \"Good Morning, Faedra,\" Jocelyn sang as they approached. \"Morning, Jocelyn.\" \"Forgive me for saying this, but you do not look too good this morning.\" \"No forgiveness needed, I don't feel too good either.\" She imagined how her reflection had looked in the mirror after the first time she had been trying to use her power. She could envision that her skin must be looking pretty pallid right now, with dark circles framing her eyes. That was exactly how she felt, like something was sucking the life out of her. Having a power like hers certainly had its downside. Faen dug around in her knapsack and held out the rest of her food for her. \"Here eat this. You will feel better.\" He dug in his knapsack, too. \"Then eat this. You used more of your energy than I realized. When we get through the portal, you need a proper meal.\" He looked concerned, so she tried giving him her 'I'm fine, really' look. It didn't work. She ate while he tied her bedding to the back of the saddle. Jocelyn mounted her horse, and when Faedra had finished her food, Faen gave her a leg up onto hers. She leaned down to adjust her foot in the stirrup, which brought her face level with his. \"Just for the record,\" he whispered, \"you are far from inadequate, in every way.\" \"Thank you,\" she whispered back and gave him a sheepish smile. She was starting to feel better already. The food was taking effect, but she knew the small amount she had eaten wouldn't be enough to sustain her for very long. \"How far is it to the portal?\" she asked. \"About two hours east of here,\" Faen replied. \"We best get going then\" she said, and followed behind Faen as he moved his horse forward. Jocelyn fell in behind Faedra, and she realized she was a fairy sandwich once again. After about an hour of riding, Faedra began to feel decidedly weaker. Why did she have to use that much energy last night? That was stupid when she knew there was nothing much to eat to replace it. The truth was, she wasn't thinking. Her power was so new to her, and food had been so readily available; she hadn't thought about the consequences if she couldn't eat anything to replenish the energy she had expended. \"Can we slow down for minute?\" she called to Faen who was just a few feet up ahead. He turned to look at her, and she could see the anxiety sweep across his face. He stopped his horse and jumped off. \"It's just that, I feel...\" He caught her just as she passed out and slid off the side of her horse. \"Faedra. Faedra!\" He shook her gently, she managed to open her eyes just a crack. \"Faedra, stay with me,\" he coaxed, then looked up at his sister. \"Jocelyn, we don't have too much further to the portal, we will have to fly from here.\" Jocelyn got down from her horse, her face was full of concern, too. \"I shouldn't have let her... and for so long,\" Faen chastised himself. \"Brother, you did not know what it would do to her. Do not blame yourself.\" Jocelyn attempted to sooth her brother's concerns \"She will be alright; we will get her some food.\" Faen scooped Faedra up in his arms and lifted them both from the ground. He turned to the horses. \"Return to the castle,\" he commanded, and they turned in the opposite direction and sped off at a gallop. Faen and Jocelyn flew like the wind towards the portal. \"I am sorry, Faedra,\" he whispered as he looked into her lifeless face. \"Todmus,\" Jocelyn suddenly cried a few minutes later. \"Todmus will have some food.\" \"Of course, he will. Sister, you are a genius! Why didn't I think of that? Jocelyn, you can fly faster than me. Tell Todmus we need a glass of sugar water and any sweet food he may have.\" She nodded and flew off ahead of her brother. \"We are almost there, Faedra. Hang on for just a little longer.\" When they arrived at the portal, Todmus and Jocelyn were waiting for them with a tall glass of sugar water and a plate of sweet pastry. Faen lowered Faedra's limp body to the ground and sat down next to her, leaning her up against him. He held out his hand and Todmus stepped forward and passed him the glass. \"Faedra,\" he shook her shoulders hard, \"wake up, Faedra. You have to wake up for me, do you hear!\" He was shouting at her with just a hint of desperation in his voice. \"Faedra, wake up!\" he yelled. He heaved a sigh of relief when he heard a weak groan. \"Drink this,\" he said, as he held the glass to her lips and tipped some of its contents into her mouth. Jocelyn and Todmus stood over them, holding their breath. Faedra took a few sips, and it felt like the sugar surged through her bloodstream as soon as she swallowed it, like an electrical current running through a piece of equipment forcing it to come alive. It felt as if someone had plugged her in, giving her an energy source, and she could feel her body come to life again. The sips turned to gulps as she regained her strength, and by the time she had finished the glass, her eyes were wide open and their sparkle had returned. Within minutes, the color returned to her cheeks and the dark circles around her eyes disappeared. Todmus and Jocelyn let out the breath they had been holding, and Todmus stepped forward to give Faedra a sweet sugary pastry. She gave the little man an appreciative smile. \"Thank you, Mr. Todmus.\" Todmus blushed. \"Oh, please, Miss, just call me Todmus.\" A few more moments passed and Faedra could feel her strength was almost back to normal. \"Wow, that stuff works really well,\" she said of the sugar water as she pushed herself up off the ground to stand up after she had finished eating the pastry. \"I'm going to have to bottle a load up and keep a supply of it in my car from now on. Let's go and get that book. Thanks again, Todmus,\" she whispered as she walked past him and followed Faen and Jocelyn into the portal. He nodded his head and smiled at her fondly. \"Any time, Miss. Come back and see us again soon.\" Then the three of them were gone from Azran and were stepping onto the gravel path that ran behind the church. It was still light. Faedra wasn't quite sure what to expect when she stepped foot in the World of Men again. She only hoped and prayed that Faen was right, and that it was still Sunday; otherwise, her father would be sick with worry, and she would have some serious explaining to do. Talking of explaining, she had to come up with an excuse to not be at home that evening. Where she thought the book might be was several hours drive away. They would be lucky to get there and back before the next morning. They walked towards her car. The car park was empty now apart from hers. \"Are we in glamour?\" she asked Faen as they approached the car. \"Yes,\" he answered. \"Would you two turn into your furry alter egos and un-glamour us then?\" Faen gave her a puzzled look. \"The vicar is over there and I want to ask him something.\" \"Consider it done,\" Faen said as he and Jocelyn shimmered and blurred into their dog forms. The vicar looked a little bemused as he caught sight of Faedra, and he looked around himself. \"Good afternoon, Faedra, I didn't see you approaching.\" \"Hello, Vicar. Beautiful Sunday afternoon isn't it?\" she asked covertly. \"It most certainly is, my dear. I was just getting ready for evening service.\" Faedra inwardly heaved a sigh of relief. It was still Sunday. Her secret was safe. \"Have you got yourself another dog?\" the vicar asked, looking down at Jocelyn who was sitting to one side of her and Faen to the other. She had a feeling Jocelyn was going to be spending a lot of time with her from now on and answered accordingly. \"Yes, Vicar, I have. She's pretty isn't she?\" \"That she is, Faedra. Well, you have a lovely evening.\" He wandered off towards the church, and Faedra headed towards her car with Faen and Jocelyn hot on her heels. She let Jocelyn in the back and Faen in the front passenger side. She knew they would change as soon as she started to drive away. They did. \"How far away is the book, do you think?\" Faen asked as they drove down the lane past the stables. They went past a field. A farmer who was standing at the edge of his ruined field of corn scratching his head, momentarily distracted Faedra. \"Um, about five or six hours by car,\" she answered. \"So what do you intend to tell your father about your pending absence?\" She looked over at him. \"I'll think of something.\" She was an adult now and it's not like it was a school night, she wasn't at school anymore. She wiggled in her seat so she could pry the cell phone out of her back pocket, flipped it open, and dialed. \"Hi, Amy, it's me. Hey, I need you to do a favor for me,\" she spoke urgently into the phone. \"Sure, Fae, whaddya need?\" \"I need you to cover for me tonight.\" \"Why? What are you up to?\" Amy asked suspiciously. \"Amy, if I told you, you wouldn't believe me,\" Faedra replied with honesty. \"You're sneaking off with Frederick, aren't you? He's really hot, Fae, I wouldn't blame you.\" Faedra almost reprimanded her friend for her dirty mind, and then thought twice about it. Amy would gladly cover for her if she thought she was having fun. Amy lived to have fun. \"Er, you got me, Ames. So I'm going to tell my dad that I'm coming round yours tonight for a sleep over. If he should call, which I doubt he would coz I have my phone, but if he does, tell him I'm in the bathroom or something.\" \"On one condition,\" Amy demanded. \"What's that?\" Faedra asked cautiously. \"You tell me all about it. I want details.\" Faedra cringed. More lying, she hated lying. \"Of course, Amy, that goes without saying.\" \"Consider it done then. Have fun, Fae, and don't do anything I wouldn't do.\" She laughed, and rang off. Faedra shook her head and smiled. She loved her friend to death, but hated having to lie to her and her dad. A few minutes later they were driving down the little dirt road that led to her home. The cottage looked beautiful. She hadn't realized quite how much she had missed it until it came into view. The garden however, was a different story. The flowers were wilting and the leaves still falling. She parked the car and let Faen and Jocelyn, who were now back in their furry forms, out. \"Hi, Dad,\" she said cheerily as she walked into the living room. Her dad was still fixated on the television. \"Don't tell me you've been watching that all day?\" He pulled his gaze away from the screen for a moment. \"Oh, hello, darling. Did you have a good ride?\" \"Yes, thanks,\" she said. It wasn't really a lie; she'd had two good rides since she'd seen him last. It was just that neither of them were on Gypsy. He looked down and saw Jocelyn sitting beside Faen. \"Who's this?\" \"She is always hanging around the church and she seems to get on with Faen. The vicar said she must be a stray, so I thought I'd bring her home to see if she likes it. You don't mind, do you?\" He thought about it for a second. \"You're old enough to look after them, Fae, it's fine with me.\" \"Thanks, Dad,\" she wandered over to give him a kiss on the cheek. \"You're the best.\" \"You only say that because I let you have your own way most of the time,\" he said with a smirk. Faedra ruffled his hair. \"Speaking of letting me have my own way. I've been invited to a sleep over at Amy's tonight, you don't have a problem with that do you?\" \"No, of course not, darling, you go and have fun.\" \"So has anything changed with the situation?\" she asked, looking at the TV with him. \"Have they come up with any ideas yet?\" \"Nope, not a thing. All the scientists are completely baffled.\" \"Hmm,\" Faedra responded, \"well I'll leave you to it. I'm going to get ready for tonight.\" She walked towards the kitchen. Once there she rummaged in some cupboards for the supplies she would need. \"Okay, I need bottles of water and a bag of sugar,\" she talked to herself while grabbing those things, then proceeded to make a load of sandwiches. It was going to be a long night, and all three of them needed to eat. She ran up to her bedroom and grabbed her sports bag from the closet. After dumping the bag's contents onto the floor, she ran back down the stairs again. The bag was the perfect size for their supplies. \"One more thing,\" she said to Faen and Jocelyn, who were sitting on the kitchen floor watching her industriously assemble the necessities they would need. She walked out of the kitchen and into her father's office. She scanned the shelves, not there. She opened and closed drawers. \"Oh, come on, I know there's one in here somewhere.\" She looked in a couple more drawers. \"Yes,\" she said as she pulled out a road map of England. \"Okay, I think we're ready,\" she announced to the two dogs as she walked back into the kitchen, shoved the map into her bag and threw the bag over her shoulder. All three wandered back through the dining room and into the living room. \"I'm off now, Dad,\" she announced, and planted another kiss on his cheek. \"Love you.\" \"Love you, too, darling, have fun.\" \"I will,\" she lied, and the three cohorts hurried out the door and started loading up the car. They drove for hours and it broke Faedra's heart to see the dying countryside flashing by them. England was usually so green, and it made her more determined than ever to get the book back, but, up until that point, she hadn't given a thought as to how they would actually go about that particular task. Bearing in mind that she had even deciphered Kernnunos' vision correctly in the first place. She prayed that she wasn't taking them all on a wild goose chase. The book had to be there, it just had to be. \"Faen, have you given any thought to how we are going to retrieve the book from whomever has it? I mean, they must be pretty powerful to have been able to get it in the first place.\" She didn't like the look he gave her; it was not his usual look of confidence. It smacked of 'I haven't thought that far ahead, we'll just make it up as we go along and hope for the best'. \"I am afraid that until we know what or who we are dealing with I will not know what course of action to take,\" he replied. \"In other words, you don't have a plan.\" \"No,\" he agreed. Well, at least he was being honest. Faedra wished that where they were headed wasn't so far away. Her mind had a tendency to wander if she drove for any length of time, and right now it had far too much time on its hands, and was working overtime. Worst case scenarios were playing themselves out in her head left, right and center, and none of them had a happy ending for her, or her friends. She hated being a worrywart sometimes. She sincerely hoped that she wouldn't have to come face to face with any more redcaps, but considering her history with them so far, she thought it was a bit too much to hope for. At least she knew her powers could knock them out cold. She leaned over, grabbed a bottle, and drank some more sugar water at the thought. Jocelyn and Faen were eerily silent. She could sense that Faen was trying to figure out some sort of plan, but, as yet, hadn't come up with anything. As for Jocelyn, Faedra now felt horrible about getting her involved in this. She was such a sweet girl, she couldn't bear it if she got hurt. \"Jocelyn, maybe you should stay in the car when we get there,\" Faedra said, voicing her concern. \"Are you kidding me?\" Jocelyn replied. \"I have been dying for some action for eons now, there is no way I am missing this.\" \"Oh,\" Faedra said with surprise. \"Well, just thought I would give you the option.\" \"Faedra, I am not silent because I am worried. I am silent because I am preparing myself,\" Jocelyn explained after she realized why Faedra was giving her an out. \"Some little sister you've got there,\" she chuckled to Faen. \"Yes, she does have her moments,\" he agreed with a proud smile. The sun was starting to set as Faedra noticed one of the landmarks that Kernunnos had mentioned. \"Look,\" she pointed towards a large mound. \"Silbury Hill, 'a hill that is perfectly round'. It is a man-made hill, built about 4600 years ago, and has a perfectly round base. We are getting close.\" They drove a little further and she pointed to something up on a hillside. Faen and Jocelyn peered out of the windows, and followed where she was pointing. \" 'Giant white horses'. There are eight white chalk horses carved into the hillsides around this area,\" she explained. A little further and the next landmark came into view. \" 'A spire so high it touches the sky'. Salisbury Cathedral, it has one of the tallest spires in Europe. And just down here a little way we should see it.\" A little while later she saw it loom eerily into view. It was almost dark now, and the full moon was rising behind it. The magical aura this place exuded was not lost on her. \"And there it is, Stonehenge, 'a circle of stone, surrounded by A's'. The A303 and the A344, to be precise,\" she pointed to the road sign up ahead. \"The two roads that run either side of it.\" \"Well done, Faedra,\" Jocelyn exclaimed. \"However did you figure it out?\" \"I've been here before. Mum brought me when I was little. I remember her telling me how important this place was.\" She sighed at the memory. Stonehenge rose up majestically before them as they drove closer and closer to it. Faedra turned off the road into the car park that was purposely built for tourists. It was empty this late at night. Stonehenge was \"Closed\". She laughed at the irony of it. How could a mythical ancient monument, thousands of years old, standing in the middle of a field be \"Closed\". She parked the car and they made their way across the road. Her heart was pounding now. She had no idea what to expect when they actually got to the circle. \"Oh, no,\" she exclaimed as they made it across the road. \"It's been fenced off, it wasn't fenced off when I came here before.\" A tall chain link fence now encircled the ancient monolithic stones, allowing only those who would pay, to see it up close. \"How do we get in now?\" Faen and Jocelyn looked at her incredulously. \"What?\" she asked, narrowing her eyes at them. They each linked an arm around one of hers, lifted themselves and her off the ground, and glided effortlessly over the fence. \"Oh,\" she stated as her cheeks burned with embarrassment. CHAPTER FIFTEEN\n\nThey moved towards the standing stones making as little noise as possible. Faedra could feel her ring heating up on her finger and looked down at it. The symbols were glowing in the darkness. Her heart was in her mouth, but they could not yet see anyone or anything. The monoliths grew taller and taller as they approached. Faedra couldn't help but think how impressive the stones were when they were towering above her. Upon reaching the outer circle, they stopped. Faen was scanning all around them, both he and Jocelyn on high alert. He extricated his sword from its sheath and held it in both hands out in front of him. Jocelyn mumbled something that Faedra couldn't understand, and an exquisitely engraved sword appeared in her hands from nowhere. She took the same stance as her brother. Faedra's eyes widened with surprise at the way Jocelyn looked so at ease holding her sword. They moved with caution between the stones. Faedra was flanked either side by Faen and Jocelyn. They saw nothing, heard nothing, but Faedra knew something was there. Her ring was screaming at her now, and telling her just that. They made it to the center of the circle and looked around them. The moon was high in the sky and bathing the entire area in an unearthly silver glow, causing the monoliths to cast large dark shadows all around them. \"I wondered how long it would take you,\" a female voice, as smooth as silk echoed out of the darkness. All three turned in the direction of the voice and scanned the shadows. Faedra's heart was beating so hard she thought it would punch itself right out of her chest. They could still see no one. A second later a scraping noise, like someone running nails along a chalkboard, resonated high in front of them, and they looked up. A woman was walking across one of the lintel stones, dragging a sword on the stone behind her that was sending sparks flying into the air. She was also holding a book, _The_ book. The woman was tall and slender. Under the silvery light it looked like her hair was raven black and fell half way down her back in a tumble of luscious sleek waves. Her skin was pale and held the same luminescent quality that Faen's and Jocelyn's did. She wore a long opulent blue dress of pure silk that shimmered in the moonlight, and her spectacular wings of snow white were outstretched to either side of her. She was beautiful, regally beautiful. \"Your Highness?\" Faen questioned with a puzzled expression. \"Very observant, Guardian.\" her voice remained smooth as silk, but her expression wrinkled into a sneer. An awkward silence hovered around them as they all, one by one, digested the scene unfolding before their eyes. \"Vivianna?\" Faen questioned in disbelief. \"You took the book? You tortured Elvelynn? But she was your friend.\" Vivianna laughed, a cold heartless laugh. \"I do not get my hands dirty on such mundane tasks, Guardian,\" she sneered, \"I have my... little helpers to do that for me.\" Movement among the stones below Vivianna distracted Faedra, and a dozen pairs of glowing yellow eyes appeared in the shadows. She sucked in a breath, and Faen and Jocelyn moved in closer to her until they were almost touching. \"But why?\" Faen continued his line of questioning. \"Why would you want to destroy our world and this one?\" \"I have my reasons,\" she replied, her voice still silken, but she shot an icy glare towards Faedra. Faedra looked up into the dark night sky, for what, she didn't know. Maybe some kind of sign that they would get through this, some kind of inspiration. Although, from where she was standing, the odds looked pretty well stacked against them. Her attention was caught by a streak of luminescent light that wavered ethereally across the sky above her. It was mesmerizing in its beauty and shimmered with all the colors of the rainbow. Then there was another and another until it looked like she was watching the Aurora Borealis. She nudged Faen. \"What is it, Faedra?\" he asked. His eyes still fixated on Vivianna. \"Look,\" she said, still looking at the sky above her. He turned his gaze to her and followed her line of sight. A blank expression superceded the one of concern that was previously there. \"What is it?\" she whispered when she noticed that his look was one of recognition. He had seen this before. He said nothing. \"Faen?\" she urged. \"Valkyries,\" he responded stoically. More movement on the opposite side of the circle to where the redcaps were hiding in the shadows made them turn and look. Faedra's jaw dropped as she watched seven enormous winged horses maneuver with stealth through the stones and came to a stop just beyond the shadows. Each horse was black as midnight with shining, flame-red eyes that glowed ominously in the darkness. They were snorting fiercely as they furled their outstretched wings to nestle them along their flanks. Sitting astride each horse was a beautiful maiden. Each of them wearing a silken white dress but their torsos were protected by armor, and they each wore a helmet and were carrying a spear in an outstretched arm. Faedra could see now where the lights in the sky were coming from. Each plate of armor sparkled under the moonlight like the facets of a diamond caught under the halogen lights in a jewelry store. \"Valkyries?\" Faedra choked. \"What are Valkyries doing here?\" \"I do not know,\" Faen responded, regarding them with interest and not taking his eyes from them. \"But don't Valkyries come to watch over a battle?\" \"Yes.\" \"And then take the slain back to Valhalla to become warriors?\" Faen took his eyes off the Valkyries for a second and regarded Faedra with the same interest. \"You have done your homework,\" he said with a raise of his eyebrow. She shrugged. \"What can I say, mythology fascinates me, and it's amazing what you can find on the Internet,\" she gave him a weak smile, which he returned before reverting his gaze back to the armored maidens. \"Oh, God,\" Faedra whispered under her breath after being given a moment to think about it. Her body started to tremble, it was involuntary on her part, but, nevertheless, seemed to be out of her control. She wasn't ready to die and fight for Odin for all eternity. Faen took hold of her hand and gave it a squeeze in an attempt to calm her. He could sense her getting frayed around the edges and they all needed to focus if they were going to make it through this. \"We do not know why they are here, Faedra. Do not trouble yourself, just yet. Asgard and Valhalla are probably just as much affected as Azran and The World of Men. If Vivianna is trying to destroy all realms, she certainly has it within her grasp to do so. The book controls nature in every realm not just ours.\" The winged horses stepped forward until they were lined up in front of them. The center horse then broke ranks and moved closer to the three that were huddled back to back in a protective triangle in the center of the circle. Restless murmuring came from where the redcaps were lurking in the shadows, but they did not move forward themselves. Vivianna stood on the lintel above them, watching with amusement as the scene played out below her. A vindictive smile curved her lips. This was more than she could have hoped for, that the Valkyries would take them to fight for eternity after she had slaughtered them. They would never have the chance to rest in peace, after all, and this thought made her intensely happy. The solo winged horse came to a stop just feet away from Faen, and Faedra assumed it must be carrying the leader of the group. She had not been able to take her eyes from the maiden who exuded grace and valor, but there was an underlying presence that was unmistakable. These maidens were not here to take sides, they were here to take the losers. Faedra's heart sank once more. For a second she had allowed herself a glimmer of hope that they would help because their world may be suffering, too, but, without words, it was still as clear as crystal that the Valkyries would not be breaking any rules that night. The maiden and Faen exchanged pointed glances at each other in silence for a moment. \"Freja,\" Faen broke the silence first. Freja inclined her head in acknowledgement. \"Guardian,\" she responded, and Faen did the same. They fell silent again but neither one broke eye contact with the other. \"I think that we have had quite enough of the pleasantries,\" Vivianna's silken voice cut through the silence like a knife. The Valkyries looked up at her and Freja nodded her head in agreement. She looked to the maidens on one side of her and then the other, and their horses all simultaneously backed up until they were lined against the inner wall of the circle. \"They're not going to help us are they?\" Faedra whispered to Faen. \"They cannot be seen aiding us, no,\" he replied. That at least gave Faedra a glimmer of hope. He hadn't just said 'no, end of story'. As soon as the Valkyries had retreated, Vivianna flew down and landed on the altar stone towards the center of the circle. \"Let us have some fun, shall we?\" she said as she lay the Book of Anohs down on the altar stone. \"I will give you the chance to win back the book, Custodian,\" she taunted, mumbling something under her breath. Another sword appeared in Vivianna's other hand. She swiveled them around her body in a spectacular display of sword skills. Even Faedra had to admit she looked impressive, which certainly didn't help with the knots that were tying themselves in her stomach. \"Vivianna,\" Faen reprimanded, \"Faedra does not know the way of the sword. You dishonor our race by what you ask.\" \"Do you think I care of honor or dishonor after I found out about _her_!\" Vivianna spat her words that were full of anger and contempt. She threw one of the swords hilt first for Faedra to catch. To Faedra's surprise she caught the sword gracefully, and the feeling of holding it in her hands was an oddly familiar one. She couldn't understand why; she had never held a sword before this moment. She looked up at Vivianna. \"I don't even know you. What could I have possibly done to offend you?\" she asked, trying in vain to hide the quiver in her voice. Vivianna looked at her intently, carefully measuring Faedra's expression. \"You do not know, do you?\" Vivianna narrowed her eyes, but her voice was smooth as silk again. \"Know what?\" Faedra questioned. \"Oh, this makes things even better,\" Vivianna laughed, a cold hard cackle that made Faedra shudder. \"After I kill you and retrieve the amulet, I will send you to your grave forever ignorant of who you are.\" \"What is she talking about, Faen?\" Faedra whispered. \"I do not know.\" \"Silence!\" Vivianna bellowed as she swooped down from the altar and was standing a few feet in front of Faedra. \"Kill them, leave the _samtero kruwos_ for me,\" she commanded in the direction of the redcaps. Faedra saw Jocelyn and Faen exchange surprised glances at the foreign sounding words Vivianna had just spoken. But a second later, the redcaps had surrounded them and they were busy defending themselves. \"Fight!\" Vivianna instructed Faedra, and slammed hard with her sword. It clashed forcefully with Faedra's, knocking her off balance and sending her crashing to the ground. Vivianna hovered above her, horizontal to the ground, holding her sword point to Faedra's throat. \"Don't bore me, Custodian, get up,\" she demanded as she landed back on the ground and stepped back, allowing Faedra to get to her feet. Faedra picked up the sword, her heart pounding. She didn't know how to fight with a sword. She looked over to where Faen and Jocelyn were expertly wielding theirs. She could hear their swords clashing with the redcap's axe-like weapons, and so far, could see two of the evil beings dead on the ground. She gulped, she wouldn't last five seconds if she were expected to know how to use a sword to that proficiency. Vivianna came at her once more with a force that Faedra could see was going to knock her off her feet again. She braced herself and held her sword out in front of her tightly in both hands, trying hard not to close her eyes as Vivianna's made contact with hers, sending sparks flying. The swords connected with such intensity Faedra could feel the vibration fly up her arms and into her head. Vivianna came at her low the next time, and Faedra angled her sword to meet the blow and defend her legs. The redcaps were fast; they were coming at Faen and Jocelyn from all angles. Jocelyn hovered above the ground to dodge the axe that was being wielded towards her. Another redcap grabbed her neck with his invisible hold and threw her violently against one of the stones. She lay stunned for a few seconds, but regained her senses just in time to move to the side, narrowly missing the spear part of the weapon as it came at her head but made contact with the stone instead. She got up and spun round to the back of the stone, and leaned against it for a few seconds to catch her breath before moving around to enter the battle again. Faen's sword was flying in all directions, clashing fiercely with his enemies' weapons. Four redcaps surrounded him, and before they had had a chance to respond, he had raised himself from the ground and flew over one of them, stabbing it without mercy in the back. It fell to the ground with a thud. Another then grabbed him with the same invisible force and held him up above the ground. Faen struggled in mid air, but the stranglehold the redcap had on him was so strong it forced Faen to drop his sword, which landed point down and was standing up in the earth below him. Jocelyn saw what was happening, and with lightening speed, crossed to the redcap holding her brother and slashed it through the chest. It slumped to the ground, and Faen caught himself just before he hit the ground and was able to land softly. Faen grabbed his sword and wielded it around as he spun towards yet another redcap, taking it out with a fatal blow to the head. With a move that Faedra didn't even know her body knew existed, she spun around wielding her sword over her head, and brought it crashing to meet Vivianna's. They hit so hard that sparks flew on contact. Vivianna had a satisfied glint to her eye. \"That is more like it, Custodian. This will be so much more fun than when I killed your mother. I didn't have any time to play with her, and I find poison such a boring way to kill.\" Faedra stepped back, reeling from what she had just heard, and Vivianna caught her off guard again with a swing to her upper body, slicing through her shirt and into her arm. Faedra gritted her teeth as the pain shot up her arm. Managing to bite back the tears that stung behind her eyes. She looked down at her arm just as she caught sight of Vivianna's blade coming at her again. Somehow she ducked under it and was now standing behind her. She could feel the blood pouring down her arm, but now that there was revenge flowing through it, it didn't seem to hurt as much. Vivianna spun around so she was facing her opponent, ready to wield another blow at Faedra. Pure fury flowed through Faedra. She charged at Vivianna, wielding her sword around her head. It clashed so hard with her opponent's that it was nearly knocked out of her hands. \"Your sword skills are very rudimentary,\" Vivianna said with an undeniable pleasure. \"You don't say,\" Faedra retorted sarcastically, and slammed her sword hard into Vivianna's, forcing the fairy to step back. \"Well, considering this is the first time I've ever held one, I would hazard a guess that I'm going to be good enough to kick your fairy butt all the way back to Azran.\" Vivianna laughed her cold humorless laugh. \"Why did you kill my mother?\" Faedra demanded between the wielding of swords and the clashing of blades. Their swords locked at the hand guard so their faces were mere inches from one another. \"She stumbled upon my redcaps plotting the execution of my plan and was about to enter Azran to tell my father. I could not allow that to happen. I was so close to taking the amulet then, but Faen showed up,\" she scowled, \"so I have spent the past eleven of your years biding my time until you became of age.\" Her silken voice did not fool Faedra, she knew the owner of it was deadly. Vivianna used the hand guard of her sword and pushed hard on Faedra's, forcing Faedra to stumble backwards. \"But why would you turn on your father and your own people, not to mention my people? Everyone is suffering, Vivianna,\" Faedra questioned as she tried desperately to regain her balance and stay upright. Vivianna eyed Faedra with vicious intent, holding her sword out in front of her ready for another attack. \"Revenge, Custodian, pure and simple.\" She came at Faedra faster and more determined than ever. \"Let us see what havoc I can wreak when I have control over weather, too.\" Faedra was desperate to know what Vivianna wanted revenge for, but Vivianna's determination caught her off guard again. Faedra went to make several defensive steps back, but was blocked by something hard in the small of her back. She looked around to see it was the altar stone. Vivianna was on her almost immediately, but Faedra had not managed to adjust her grip on her sword. With the next blow, it was sent flying from her hands. Vivianna raised her sword with malevolence and was about to wield a fatal blow, but Faedra was not ready to die just yet. She had questions that needed answering, and if that fact alone was giving her the determination needed to survive, that was just fine with her. She was lying half on, half off the altar stone. With a movement of pure adrenaline, she rolled her body over and Vivianna's sword missed her by mere millimeters, clashing with such a force on the stone beside her, she could feel it vibrate. She slid off the other end of the stone and moved quickly around it, putting it between her and Vivianna, looking around her for her sword as she did. She couldn't see it. _Oh, God, where did it go?_\n\nShe looked up just in time to see Vivianna fly up on top of the stone and was now standing above her with her sword poised to swipe at Faedra's head. It was a knee-jerk reaction; Faedra held her hands up and closed her eyes as two balls of blue light thrust themselves forcefully from her palms, knocking both her and Vivianna off their feet with the intensity, but not for long enough. Faedra hadn't had the time to focus on her energy to make it powerful enough to do much damage. Vivianna was on her feet again in seconds and was flying towards Faedra who scrabbled backwards on the ground, using her legs and feet to push her backwards with all her might. She scanned the ground around her and could see her sword a few feet out of her reach. Her heart sank; she knew she would not be able to reach it in time. Her eyes widened as she saw the sword turn and skim along the ground hilt first until it reached her hand. She looked up just in time to see the Valkyrie nearest to her return her spear to her side and look away with an innocent expression on her face. Grabbing her sword, she held it above her head defensively just as Vivianna's came crashing down with another blow to try and take her head off. Faedra's phone rang. She could tell it was her father, she had a specific ring tone for him. \"Oh, crap,\" she groaned. _Great timing Dad_ , she thought as she defended against an onslaught of blows from Vivianna. If she didn't answer her phone he would just call Amy, and she really didn't want her friend to have to lie for her, if at all possible. She shot another energy ball at Vivianna, knocking her backwards, and grabbed the phone from her pocket. \"Hi, Dad,\" she grunted breathlessly, \"you kind of caught me at a bad time, can I call you back?\" \"Sure, darling, what on earth is all that commotion?\" \"Err, we're playing _Dungeons and Dragons_ on Amy's video game \u2013 Urgh,\" she groaned as she shot another energy ball and sent Vivianna reeling backwards again. \"You sound pretty out of breath, hun.\" \"Well, it's one of those remotes you have to use like the real thing. At the moment, I'm having an \u2013 argh \u2013 swordfight with an \u2013 urgh \u2013 evil fairy princess, it's really interactive.\" \"Oh, okay, darling, well have fun. I hope you win.\" \"Me, too, Dad, me, too.\" She rang off and moved her head to one side just in time to dodge another blow that came crashing to the ground. She looked at her phone that she was still clutching and threw it away as she grabbed for her sword . She held her sword with one hand and threw another energy ball with the other, forcing Vivianna back just long enough for Faedra to get to her feet. Then she saw the book, it was still sitting on the end of the altar stone where Vivianna had laid it before they had started their fight. She had to think of a way to get her hands on it, but right now she was being well and truly out-sworded by her opponent, and it was all she could do to keep herself from getting killed. _Use the amulet, Faedra_. \"Mum?\" Faedra called out, looking all around her. Vivianna stopped for just a second and gave her a questioning glance, then continued with her onslaught. _The amulet, Faedra, use the amulet_. She couldn't quite believe she was having a _Star Wars_ moment with her mother, but went with it. \"How do I use the amulet, Mum?\" she cried out into the darkness as she sent another energy ball into Vivianna's chest to distract her for another few seconds. Think, Faedra, the book is near. Use your power to use the amulet. \"That's all I need right now, riddles,\" she mumbled under her breath. How on earth could she get hold of the book when she was fighting for her life? Vivianna was not giving her any respite, where did this woman get her energy? Faedra looked around her in the split seconds she had between parries and shooting energy balls. The red eyes of the winged horses shone in the darkness. The Valkyries were sitting motionless, watching intently, but with no movement to imply that they would help again. Faen and Jocelyn were still wielding their swords valiantly. There were fewer redcaps now, which gave Faedra an idea. It was a long shot, but if Jocelyn could hold off the redcaps and Faen could distract Vivianna, maybe it would give her enough time to figure out how to use the book and the amulet. \"Faen!\" she shouted across the circle. Her sword clashed with Vivianna's sending more sparks flying. \"Yes!\" he shouted back. Vivianna was upon her again. Faedra swung her sword just in time to meet with her opponent's and averted the loss of a limb. \"Do you think Jocelyn can handle those redcaps by herself for a minute?\" Crash - she dodged another blow that struck the altar stone, sending more sparks flying. There was silence for a moment, except for the clashing of metal on metal. \"I think so,\" Jocelyn shouted back. \"Faen, distract this evil fairy for a moment, would you?\" Faedra asked and shot an icy glare at Vivianna who just smiled at her vindictively as she came at the Custodian again with her sword. \"It would be my pleasure,\" he spoke with deep satisfaction as he flew over and descended upon Vivianna with a clash of his sword, giving her no choice than to give up her onslaught on Faedra. Vivianna screamed something incoherent at Faedra, who could see the fury in her eyes. Faedra dropped her sword, dodged past the two of them who were fighting with a vengeance and grabbed the Book of Anohs from the altar. The stone in the amulet blazed to life as she ran with the book into the shadow of a monolithic stone. \"How do I do this? Oh, God, what do I do?\" she mumbled as she looked over to her two friends who were fighting for their lives. \"Well, whatever you do, Faedra,\" she told herself, \"Do it quickly.\" She opened the book, but found that of no help; it was written in a language she couldn't understand. Then she had an idea. What if she imagined the weather she wanted; would that work? Could it be that easy? She took hold of the amulet, closed her eyes, and concentrated. A moment passed and she could feel cold splashes on her face. She opened her eyes and looked up. Dark clouds had appeared from nowhere and it was suddenly raining - hard. Within seconds, she was drenched through to the skin. \"Ha,\" she cried, \"it worked.\" \"Not... helping...!\" Faen grunted over his shoulder between parries with Vivianna. Faedra closed her eyes again and the rain stopped as abruptly as it had started. \"Sorry,\" she called out to her now soggy cohorts who she could see slipping on the wet ground. \"That was stupid, Faedra,\" she cursed at herself. She glanced over to see how Jocelyn was doing and was horror struck as she watched a redcap sneak up and spear her from behind. Jocelyn gasped and slumped to the ground. \"NO!\" Faedra yelled as anger surged through her more blindingly than she'd ever felt it before. Thunder roiled ominously in the air around her; a low growl to begin with that turned rapidly into a noise so vicious the sky sounded like it was being ripped apart. She could feel her body surging with an energy so powerful it was overwhelming. Faedra held her hands up to the sky, asking for more, accepting every tiny particle the atmosphere could provide her. At that moment, a bolt of lightning struck her in the heart. But instead of it killing her, she absorbed it, molded it; her whole body crackled loudly. Then she realized it was her that was making the noise, not the thunder. She opened her eyes, which were now glowing with the bright blue-white radiance of the lightening she had absorbed, and threw her hands out in the direction of the redcaps, unleashing every particle of electrical energy she had molded inside of her. Six bolts of lightning flew from her palms hitting each redcap directly in the chest, killing them on contact. They slumped to the ground, also. Faedra fell back against the stone and attempted to steady herself. She could feel her legs weaken beneath her. Vivianna was momentarily distracted by Faedra's show of power, enough that Faen had been able to knock the sword from her hand and was now holding his to her throat. He kicked Vivianna's sword out of reach. With the last fragment of will that Faedra had left, she stumbled over to where Jocelyn lay unmoving on the wet ground. She sat down beside her and lifted Jocelyn's head, cradling it in her arms. \"Jocelyn, oh, no. Please, God, not Jocelyn.\" Big fat tears rolled down Faedra's cheeks as she carefully moved a clump of wet hair that was splayed across her friend's lifeless face. She looked over to Faen in desperation, tears flowing down her face. He was still standing motionless, holding his sword to Vivianna's throat. \"Oh, Faen,\" she cried, \"I think she's dead.\" Faen's eyes blazed with an anger Faedra had never seen before. He swung his sword high above his head and was just about to wield it with a fatal blow to Vivianna's neck when Jocelyn coughed. He stopped mid-swing and looked over to where Faedra and Jocelyn were on the ground. Jocelyn breathed in, an urgent gasp as if coming up for air. She opened her eyes slowly and smiled up at Faedra. \"You're alive?\" Faedra half laughed, half cried, she was so overjoyed. \"They must have missed my heart,\" Jocelyn whispered, her voice sounding gravelly. \"She's alive, Faen!\" Faedra called. Vivianna took advantage of the distraction and flew over Faen's head to stand behind him on the altar stone. Faen whirled around, but just as he did, she spat some more words that Faedra did not recognize, and something appeared in her hand. At first glance, it looked like a spindly tree branch, but it glittered with sparkling red stones. Vivianna glared at Faen and then over at Faedra; she muttered something else and slammed the staff hard on the stone. The red stones emitted what looked like whirling red laser lights that within seconds had encircled Vivianna. She gave Faen a malevolent smile. \"Until we meet again, Guardian,\" she said smoothly with an incline of her head. \"No,\" Faen cried, lunging out with his sword. But Vivianna was gone. His sword came crashing to the stone. Faen shouted something Faedra didn't understand and from his tone of voice, wasn't sure she wanted to, either. He sheathed his sword angrily and strode over to where the girls were sitting on the ground. His expression altered in an instant as soon as he reached them, replacing the one of anger with one of compassion. \"Jocelyn,\" he cupped her face, his eyes full of concern. \"My dear sister, are you alright?\" She smiled at him. \"I am fine, Brother, it missed my heart.\" Faen hung his head and heaved a sigh of relief. They looked at the bodies that were strewn all around them. \"Where did Vivianna go?\" Faedra asked. \"And what was that thing she had?\" \"It was the ruby staff,\" he replied. \"It has the power to transport you in an instant to anywhere in any realm. I have only heard of it, I have never seen it before. It holds dark magic. I do not know how she came by it; I was told it had been destroyed.\" They had been so focused on Jocelyn they hadn't noticed that the Valkyries had advanced, and were now forming a semi circle around them. Freja moved forward from the line again. \"Well done,\" she said to all three, her features devoid of emotion. \"Redcaps make excellent warriors.\" All of the maidens held out their spears, lowering them so they were pointing at the bodies on the floor. Faedra watched as the redcaps shimmered and disappeared. \"Our job here is done, Guardian,\" Freja continued, \"as is yours.\" The horses all backed up in one fluid movement and then turned. They walked through the stones of the circle and disappeared. Faen scooped his injured sister up off the cold, wet ground. Faedra pushed herself up, which took more effort than she could have imagined, and stumbled over to the book. She leaned over and scooped it up, wrapping her arms around it and held it tight to her chest. \"We need to get this back to Azran,\" she croaked. \"Jocelyn, there must be a portal nearby, can you sense one?\" Faen asked. Jocelyn closed her eyes for a moment and concentrated. \"Yes, Brother, there is one at the cathedral we passed, but I do not know where in Azran it will take us,\" she replied. \"We will have to take our chances,\" he said as he looked at Faedra, and could see her complexion graying and her legs weaken. Jocelyn noticed, too. \"Brother, take Faedra back to the car. I will wait here until you come back.\" Faen looked with concern from his injured sister to his weakening charge. \"Go. I will be fine,\" Jocelyn reassured him. The Guardian laid his sister with care on the altar stone and turned to Faedra. \"Come, young lady, we need to get you some sugar water,\" he scooped Faedra up just as her legs gave way. She gave him a weak smile, she had no energy left to do anything else. He turned back to his sister. \"I will be back in a moment.\" CHAPTER SIXTEEN\n\nAfter Faedra had replenished her energy levels by drinking nearly every bottle of sugar water she had prepared, she drove them to Salisbury Cathedral. It was an impressive building; the spire towered several hundred feet above them. She had read somewhere once that the weather vane on the top of the spire was the size of a donkey. \"This way,\" Jocelyn pointed, and headed off in the direction of where she could sense the portal. Jocelyn's body had healed itself in the time it took for them to reach the cathedral, much to her brother and her friend's relief. Faedra was still holding on tight to the book, and Faen was scanning the area all around them as they followed the younger fairy to the portal. There was no telling where Vivianna could be. It wouldn't surprise the Guardian if she turned up and tried to take the book away, and he wouldn't feel comfortable until it was safely back in the castle and under some stronger magical bonds than last time. Jocelyn came to a sudden stop, and made a sharp turn. \"Over there,\" she said. She reminded Faedra of a Bloodhound sniffing out a scent. \"Here it is,\" she stated as she came to a sudden stop on the path. Jocelyn recited an incantation and told Faedra and Faen when the portal was open. \"Get ready with your sword, Jocelyn. We do not know what awaits us on the other side,\" Faen instructed cautiously. Jocelyn conjured her sword and Faen drew his from its sheath. He looked down at Faedra and gave her a wry smile. \"As for you, my little _Kenget_ , I believe you can hold your own. Energy balls at the ready?\" She smiled back at him, her eyes twinkling from the reflection of the ball of blue light that was now bobbing above her free hand. \"What does _Kenget_ mean?\" He laughed. \"It means Warrior.\" Faedra bopped him on the arm with her elbow. \"I hardly think so,\" she blushed. \"Vivianna out-sworded me every step of the way.\" \"Faedra, do not underestimate yourself. You had never held a sword before today and survived a fight against one of the best in our realm - Vivianna has been training since she was a child \u2013 and you are still alive to tell the tale. To be honest with you, I do not know how you did it,\" he looked at her with pride. \"I believe you will be a formidable Custodian,\" his smile slipped and his eyes saddened. \"I think perhaps, you will not need me anymore.\" Panic flashed across Faedra's face. \"You're not going to leave me, are you?\" Her energy ball fizzled out with her question. He considered her panic-stricken face for a moment and a warm smile curved his lips. \"No, Faedra, I will not leave you, unless you wish it. Shall we?\" He motioned in the direction of the portal. Faedra's body relaxed and she smiled back at him, the ball of light reappearing in her palm. The three of them stepped into the portal on full alert. A second later they were standing in a cobbled street in the City of Azran. People meandered past them, going about their business. Faedra closed her hand, Faen sheathed his sword, and Jocelyn's disappeared. Faedra looked around and noticed something that filled her heart with joy. \"Look!\" she shouted as she pointed to a window box hanging on a wall nearby. \"The flowers, they're growing again.\" They all wandered over to the window box. Bright green shoots were starting to poke their way through the soil. \"It worked; the plants are growing. When I took the book from Vivianna, it must have broken whatever hold she had over it. We did it!\" She shoved the book at Jocelyn and wrapped her arms around Faen's neck to give him a hug. He picked her up and swung her around. A laugh escaped him as he got caught up in her excitement. Her outburst had caught the attention of some passers-by, and suddenly gasps of shock and surprise were resonating all around them as people stopped to see. Faen eased Faedra to the ground and they turned to scan the crowd that was now increasing in number by the second with people looking intently at the book. \"They found it!\" A man shouted from the crowd. There was silence for a few seconds, then the crowd erupted and surged forward. At first, Faedra thought they were in serious trouble, but as soon as she was scooped up and planted on a burly-looking fairy's shoulder, and watched as the same thing happened to Jocelyn and Faen, she realized that these people were pleased to see them. Cheers rang out down the cobbled streets and little children skipped their way in front of them. They were carried through the city until they arrived at the courtyard in front of the castle, where they were lowered carefully to the ground. The people who had been carrying them bowed and stepped back. \"Thank you,\" they said. \"You're welcome,\" Faedra responded. She didn't think it sounded quite appropriate under the circumstances, but it was an automatic response that was commonplace in conversation in her world, and was more habit than thought. The crowd stood in silence as the three of them walked towards the enormous entrance to the castle. The plants in the courtyard were budding again, and fresh new shoots of life were replacing the brown wilted flowers. The doors opened without Faen rapping on them this time. They walked through and headed towards the Great Hall. As they entered the Great Hall, the volume was deafening. It was still full of people, and their cheers upon seeing the three almost raised the rafters. The king stood waiting for them at the end of the room with a warm smile on his face. Faedra followed etiquette as best she could before handing him the Book of Anohs. He bowed his head to Faedra as he took it; the room went silent. \"Our realms owe you all a debt of gratitude,\" he spoke clearly and proudly so that everyone in the hall could hear. \"But for now, I hope you will accept a ball in your honor, to be held this evening.\" Whispers resonated around the Great Hall, then the king addressed the crowd. \"Tonight I hold a ball, a celebration of life,\" he stated in his commanding voice. \"Everyone is invited.\" The volume increased to deafening again, then the king made a gesture with his hands and the crowd fell silent once more. \"Your Majesty,\" Faen spoke with caution. \"There is something more.\" The king nodded and gestured for them to retire to the library room. Once there, he sat behind his desk and rested his elbows on the rich mahogany, touching his fingers together. \"Your Majesty, it is about Vivianna,\" Faen continued. The king took a deep breath. \"She did this, didn't she?\" he asked with a heavy heart. Faedra and Jocelyn looked at each other, eyes wide. \"Yes, Sire, how did you know?\" \"I had my suspicions, but I tried to deny them. She is my daughter, after all,\" he hung his head. \"Where is she now?\" \"We do not know, Sire. She had the ruby staff,\" Faen answered. The king's head shot up and he narrowed his eyes. \"Where would she have gotten the ruby staff? I thought it had been destroyed.\" \"I cannot answer that, Sire,\" Faen bowed his head. \"Well, there is nothing we can do about it at this moment,\" he looked at all three intently. \"You have done well. Our realms will be eternally grateful to you all. Unfortunately, Faedra, your realm will never know how you saved them. I am afraid most of your kind do not have minds open enough to absorb or believe what happened, so it is best they never know. Well, you had better go and prepare for the ball,\" he clapped his hands, and the two fairies that helped them the day before appeared again. Faen and Jocelyn turned to follow the fairies who were heading for the door. \"Hold on a moment,\" Faedra piped up. She had some questions and thought she deserved some answers. After all, his daughter had just got through trying to make mincemeat out of her. She had some for Faen, too; he was not getting off lightly, either. She wanted to know what Vivianna had called her that made Jocelyn and Faen exchange such surprised glances. Faen could sense the king needed time to absorb the news about Vivianna, and now would not be the right time to be asking him questions. He took hold of Faedra's hand and started to pull her with him. When she gave him a questioning look, he subtly shook his head. \"But...\" she replaced the questioning look with one of annoyance. \"Not now, Faedra,\" he whispered, and looked with concern at the king. Faedra looked at the king, too. He was holding his head in his hands and was in obvious distress. She conceded that maybe now wasn't the right time to start firing questions at him. It could wait until tomorrow, but she would get some answers, of that she was determined. \"I've got some for you, too,\" she warned Faen as they followed the fairies through the castle. \"I am sure you do,\" he replied stoically, but at that point he wasn't quite sure how he was going to answer the one he knew without a doubt she would ask. He was, therefore, relieved when she didn't say anything else; they walked in silence for the rest of the way to their rooms. Faedra decided her questions could wait until the next day. She had to admit, she was getting excited about being the guest of honor at a fae ball. The fairies escorted them up to the same rooms they had been given before, and they left them after announcing that if they needed anything to let them know. \"Faen,\" Faedra whispered with a tinge of embarrassment. \"I have no clothes to wear to a ball.\" She opened her arms and looked down at her filthy, torn clothing that was still slightly damp from the downpour she had created just a short while ago in her world. Even if they were clean, jeans were definitely not suitable attire for a fae ball. She knew Faen and Jocelyn could just magic themselves a wardrobe at the flick of a wrist. \"Do not worry, Faedra. I have a feeling the king would have thought of that,\" he gave her a warm smile. Faedra's eyes widened with excitement. \"See you later then,\" she said as she ran into her room and made a beeline for the bed. Faen raised his eyes heavenward and shook his head, a big smile curving his lips as he headed to his room. \"Oh, wow, it's beautiful,\" Faedra gasped as she picked up the dress that had been laid out for her on the bed and held it out in front of her. The dress was made of luscious silk damask in the most beautiful color of green Faedra had ever seen. The pattern woven into the fabric shimmered as she moved it under the light. The dress was full length. The bodice was laced in the front and had a square neckline with a panel of gold silk running down the front to the floor. The bodice nipped in at the waist, and the dress fell from there into a full, flowing skirt that was heavily petticoated. The sleeves were long and wide, shaped into a point that hung down from the wrists. Faedra held it up to her and ran to the mirror. She admired the dress for a moment twisting from side to side, causing the skirt to rustle as it swung with her movement. She returned the dress to the bed, making extra care to lay it out neatly so that it didn't wrinkle. She looked on the floor beside the bed to find a pair of silk slippers that matched the color of the dress to perfection and were trimmed with gold braid. At first glance, Faedra thought she saw what looked like a tiara, beside the dress. But when she picked it up to examine it, it was the wrong shape to fit on top of her head. She considered it carefully for a while, not quite sure where it should go. It was beautiful, a band of delicate gold with a filigree pattern, which was open at the back and curved into a 'v' in the center from which a delicate gold pendant hung in a design that she recognized instantly. It was the same design as the center of Faen's talisman that hung around his neck. She stared at it in awe for a moment, and then it occurred to her where she would wear it. This piece of jewelry was to be worn on her forehead. She replaced it carefully on the bed next to the dress. Faedra peeled out of her dirty torn clothes, folded them up and laid them on the chair. She was not looking forward to having to put them back on in the morning. A bath was waiting for her, just as before. She soaked in its soothing hot water for a while before getting ready for the ball. She was astounded by what had been laid out for her. Beneath the mirror, was an array of things she may need. There were clips and pins for her hair. The exact shades and types of makeup she used, and the brushes to apply them with. \"How do they know all this stuff?\" she whispered to herself as she happily went about her usual routine of applying her makeup. She decided to pile her thick, curly red hair high on her head. Leaving the odd tendril to fall around her face and neck, which left her 'fairy' birthmark proudly on display. The dress and slippers fit her perfectly; she had no doubt that they would. She checked her appearance in the full-length mirror, and it surprised even her. She chuckled at the corniness of it; she looked nothing short of a fairy princess. \"Finishing touch,\" she told herself as she picked up the piece of jewelry off the bed and walked over to the mirror. She slid it onto her forehead, the ends nestled securely in her hair, and it rested comfortably above her eyebrows. There was a knock at the door. \"Come in,\" she called and turned just as Faen entered. He stopped dead upon seeing her, and she heard a definite catch in his breath. He had exactly the same affect on her. They stared at each other for a moment in silence. He was wearing a cream shirt under an overcoat that was made of the same material as her dress. The sleeves of his overcoat were slit almost from the shoulder and fell behind his arms. The collarless front came down in a 'v' and had one clasp holding it closed at the center. The overcoat came halfway down his thighs and the entire garment was edged with gold trim, as were the cuff and collar of his shirt. He smiled and it took her breath away. \"You look beautiful,\" he said. \"Thank you. I have to admit, I feel like a princess in this dress.\" \"It is not the dress that makes you a princess,\" he stated as he walked over to where Faedra was standing. She gave him a questioning look, thinking that was an odd thing for him to say, but he didn't respond to her puzzled expression, so she thought no more of it. When he reached her, she looked up at him and pointed to the jewelry on her forehead. \"This was you, not the king, wasn't it?\" \"You do not mind do you?\" he asked sheepishly. \"Mind?\" she was surprised at his question. \"No, why ever would I mind, Faen? It's beautiful.\" He smiled. \"I'm glad you like it.\" \"Is this design like some kind of family crest?\" \"Yes, I believe you could call it that.\" \"Well, then, I'm honored that you think highly enough of me to allow me to wear it,\" she said brimming with pride. \"Shall we?\" he asked as he held out his arm for her to take. \"Jocelyn is waiting for us in the corridor.\" Faedra took his arm and they walked out of her room. \"Wow, Jocelyn you look fantastic,\" Faedra gasped as she caught sight of her friend. Jocelyn had traded her usual black and white dress for one that was a sumptuous purple velvet with a panel of shimmering lilac silk down the front. It also had a fitted bodice that laced at the front with a square neckline and a full skirt that flowed to the floor, but her dress was sleeveless. \"Why, thank you, Faedra, as do you.\" They could hear the music playing as they approached the Great Hall. They got to the doors and were announced by a very austere looking fairy. The music stopped and people ceased their dancing to turn and look at them. Faedra could feel her cheeks heat up. Faen took hold of her hand and they continued into the hall. Everyone they passed either bowed or curtsied. Faedra wasn't quite sure how to react, so she kept nodding her head and smiling at everyone as they continued to where the king was sitting. When they got there, the king clapped his hands twice and the music started again. The Great Hall had been decorated extravagantly. Lots of silver and gold banners with the royal crest emblazoned upon them hung from the ceiling. Twinkling lights were wrapped around the columns. Faedra's attention turned to where the music was coming from. There was a group of musicians sitting to one side of the raised platform where the throne sat. A couple of older looking fairies with silver gray hair and neatly trimmed silver beards were playing mandolins. There was a younger fairy playing what looked like a flute and a beautiful lady fairy playing a harp. The music they were creating was truly enchanting. She then turned her attention to the people dancing. There were lots of different kinds of people dancing, probably from other realms, and they were doing a very good job of it. It was nothing like the dancing she had ever done. It involved at lot more movement and looked much more complicated as they twirled and stepped and twirled again. \"May I have this dance?\" Faen interrupted Faedra's thoughts. \"Oh, um...\" She chewed on her lip as she watched the dancers swirling around with confidence and ease in front of them. \"Faen, I can't dance like that.\" The dancer's timing and accuracy was something to behold. To be honest, she'd rather take her chances with a sword and Vivianna than make a complete fool of herself in front of all these people and the king. \"Do you trust me?\" he asked. \"That's a silly question, you know I do, with my life,\" she replied with a panicked look on her face. She knew where this was leading, straight onto the dance floor. \"Well, in that case,\" he held his arm for her again. \"I'm not going to get out of this am I?\" she said with a disgruntled look in her eyes. He just smiled. Faedra grimaced, and after taking a deep breath, took his arm. She needn't have worried, as soon as they stepped onto the dance floor, he made a movement with his head towards the musicians and they stopped the lively music they were playing, and started playing something soft and lilting. Everyone stopped dancing mid-stride and paired up to continue dancing to the slower tune without even skipping a beat. Faen led Faedra around the dance floor with so much confidence, that she soon forgot her nerves and could only focus on the face smiling down at her. She didn't even know how her feet were making their way around, nor did she care. The dance came to an end all too soon, and, for a moment, they stood in silence in the center looking at one another, completely oblivious of the people who were dancing around them. \"I need to show you something,\" Faen said after a long moment, his eyes shining with uncertainty. \"Okay,\" Faedra replied cautiously, wondering why he was looking uncertain. He very rarely looked uncertain. Faen took hold of her hand and walked her out of the hall. Torches blazed along the walls of the corridor, lighting their way outside. The moon was out in all its silvery glory, shining its bright ethereal light onto the courtyard where they had stopped. They were bathed entirely in the moonlight now, out of reach of the golden glow from the torches in the castle. He turned Faedra to look at him and took both of her hands in his. She noticed a slight tremble there and gave him a puzzled look. \"Close your eyes, please,\" he whispered. She did as he asked. \"You may open them now,\" he said after only a heartbeat had passed. She did as he asked again, and instantly sucked in a breath. Her jaw dropped, she couldn't find any words to describe what her eyes were seeing. She thought him beautiful before, but now with his wings outstretched before her, it made her want to cry. She took a step back but didn't let go of his hands and could feel tears of emotion pricking behind her eyes as she absorbed the picture of beauty standing right before her. His wings were silvery white, at least that is how they looked in the moonlight. All around the edges, they sparkled in gold. An intricate golden design intertwined its way throughout his whole wingspan, which was twice the size of Jocelyn's, although, they were shaped similarly to his sister's. She had noticed that most of the fairies she had seen had wings of different shapes and sizes. She hadn't seen any that sparkled the way Faen's did right now, though. Every inch of his wings glistened in the glow from the moon, and she could just imagine how much more vibrantly they must shimmer in the sunlight. Enchanting didn't even begin to describe them. \"Breathe, Faedra,\" Faen whispered after a moment. Faedra brought her gaze to meet his. \"Huh?\" She was still speechless, it didn't happen very often. She pulled in a breath. \"You're beautiful,\" she whispered. \"Thank you,\" he said softly with an incline of his head as he pulled her towards him. She noticed his talisman hanging from his neck. \"Your necklace, and my...\" she touched the jewelry on her forehead, \"it's the same design as your wings.\" \"Yes, it is.\" He smiled at her observation. \"I don't think I'll ever get used to them, you know,\" she whispered as she looked up at his wings again. \"Well, you will have a very long time to try.\" He smiled again as he cupped her face in his hands. She closed her eyes. His wings were emblazoned on the inside of her eyelids; they still sparkled there even when her eyes were shut. As they kissed, Faedra was too distracted to pay any attention to the warm sensation traveling up her ring finger. Neither of them noticed the person lurking in the shadows, who was glaring at them with such an icy stare it could have frozen fire, nor did they notice the tiny red laser lights that encircled her before she disappeared. EXCERPT FROM THE EMERALD STAFF\n\nCUSTODIAN NOVEL #2 - AVAILABLE NOW\n\nCHAPTER ONE\n\nHalloween was just around the corner, and Faedra's father, Henry, was arranging a Halloween costume party. Faedra was mulling over what she could possibly dress up as. Sitting on the swing and gazing up at the trees in her yard for inspiration was not helping the least little bit. As yet, she still didn't have a clue. She had a good idea what her newfound friend Jocelyn was going to be coming as... herself. Although Faedra was slightly skeptical that people would have a hard time believing her wings were not actually real, Jocelyn was eager to take the risk. And who was Faedra to stop her? Let's face it, who actually believes in fairies anyway? She certainly hadn't until a few short months ago. And as for her Guardian, Faen, she had no idea who, or what, he would dress as. He definitely couldn't go as himself because no costume rental store could ever re-create his wings, even in their wildest dreams. Closing her eyes, she leaned back and started swinging, enjoying the feeling of the breeze on her face and through her hair. There would not be many more evenings like this before the cold and damp of winter crept in and claimed the land, so she was going to take advantage as long as possible. She smiled. The leaves were turning now, of their own volition this time and she took a moment to look around her. The trees that lined the circumference of her yard glowed with ethereal radiance in the setting sun, and at that moment all was right with her world. She shuddered at the thought that it could have turned out so differently if she hadn't been able to recover a book the fae use to control nature. The nagging reminder in the back of her mind that it had been stolen by none other than the fae king's daughter as some kind of revenge was still there. She couldn't figure out what the revenge was all about. She knew it had something to do with her, but as yet, no one, including the king, her Guardian, or her friend Jocelyn, had been forthcoming with any information whichever tact she used to try and wheedle it out of them. She felt in her heart that they knew exactly what Vivianna's motive was, but they were being tight lipped about it. If it was one thing she had learned in the short time she'd known them, it was that fairies could be extremely stubborn when they wanted to be. Well, she was a redhead with the temperament to match, and could be just as stubborn. She would find out what Vivianna's problem with her was, if it was the last thing she did. And based on the fairy princess's sword skills, it may very well be. Faedra shrugged and let out a sigh before leaning back as far as she could, her arms outstretched from holding onto the ropes. After a few more swings, she came to an abrupt halt in mid air, her head now pressing against something warm and firm. She opened her eyes with a start and looked up to see a familiar face staring down at her. \"Faen.\" She smiled up at him. He held onto the ropes, holding them so that she was almost horizontal to him. Her head rested at right angles against his chest as he stood over her, his aqua blue eyes locked with hers. He returned her smile with one of his own and walked forward until the swing was vertical. Taking his hands from the ropes he caressed each side of her face, and leaned down to brush his lips against hers in an affectionate upside down kiss. She closed her eyes and reveled in the feeling his touch evoked. After a moment, when Faedra's muscles had all but turned to jelly, and Faen's lips were starting to feel a tingle from the energy her emotions were building, he pulled away and took hold of the ropes again. \"What are you doing out here by yourself?\" he asked. \"Thinking.\" \"May I ask about what?\" Faedra sighed and pulled herself to sit up. Faen gave up his hold on the ropes and moved around to face her. She looked pensive. \"You look worried, Faedra. Can I help?\" \"I don't know what to wear to Dad's party. I have no idea what to go as,\" she blurted, knowing it wasn't as if it were a life or death situation, but it was bugging her all the same. \"You are worried about that?\" Faen asked, incredulous. \"You have your mythology tests tomorrow and you are worried about what to wear to a costume party?\" Faen's eyebrows pinched together, forming a frown. After discovering on her eighteenth birthday what she was, Custodian for the Amulet of Azran, she decided to change from her previous choice of psychology to study mythology and parapsychology. It dawned on her that with her first hand experience, there was every chance that she would be able to ace her grades. \"Yeah, I know it's a stupid thing to worry about, but I also know that Amy and Zo\u00eb will look super cool, coz they always do. And Jocelyn, well, Jocelyn will look like Jocelyn, and I needn't say any more on that subject. Still I don't have a clue what to wear.\" \"If I may, Faedra, you seem to have your priorities somewhat muddled. You have a week left to think about what to wear but only tonight to brush up on your test.\" \"That's not helping either, Faen. So, what is _Frederick_ going as?\" she asked with a wry smile. \"I am not telling you. You will have to wait and find out.\" \"That's not fair,\" she grumbled and stuck out her bottom lip in a childish pout. \"Come,\" he said, a patient expression plastered on his face. He held out his hands to take hold of hers. \"If I promise to think of a costume for you, will you go upstairs and study? Your grades are extremely important.\" She sighed again as she slid off the swing at Faen's encouragement. \"Okay, if you insist.\" \"I do.\" Faen didn't let go of her hand until they got up the stairs to her bedroom. She wandered over to her desk and pulled her books from her backpack. Faen lay on her bed on his stomach and rested his head in his hands, which were propped up on his elbows, and watched as she gathered her study materials. \"You have the test tomorrow, too.\" Faedra stated when she noticed that he was watching her instead of burying his head in a book. She started college as planned at the end of the summer, and her ever-faithful dog had joined her. Only he spent his days in class as his alter ego, Frederick, and his evenings at home in his canine form. It was a very strange situation. \"My dear Faedra, what I do not know about mythology is not worth knowing.\" He gave her a conceited smirk when she narrowed her eyes at him. It was starting to get dark outside. Her father was not yet home from work. His company had given him a project a few months ago that needed him in their office to complete, so he had been coming home late each night. This turned out to be very advantageous because he was not around to notice the fact that her dog was missing each day she was at college. Faedra wondered how much longer she could juggle Faen and Frederick before her father became suspicious that the two of them were never in the same place at the same time. She must have been studying for a while because it was pitch black outside when she heard the crunch of the gravel driveway made by her father's car, and lifted her head to see him pulling up beside the cottage. A few moments later he was calling from the dining room. \"Hi, Fae, I'm home! You up there?\" \"Yes, Dad.\" \"Well, take a break for a while. I've brought take-out. Chinese; your favorite.\" \"Thanks, Dad. I'll be down in a minute.\" Faedra watched as Faen gave her a wink before he blurred into his dog form. She didn't very often have Frederick around her home, for obvious reasons. If Frederick was there, Faen wasn't, and that would take a lot more explaining. As far as her father was concerned, Frederick was still just a friend who boarded his horse at the same stables as her horse, Gypsy. They occasionally went riding together. Her father knew nothing about him going to college with her. As far as she was concerned, that was how it was going to stay. She put her pen down and pushed her chair back. Wandering past her bed on the way to the door she scratched behind Faen's ears. She'd been doing it for so long, she was finding it an impossible habit to break. He didn't seem to mind though; as yet, he'd never brought up the issue. She pulled her hands away when she caught herself doing it. \"Sorry,\" she whispered. Her cheeks flushed a little, and twinges of regret shot through her. She missed the carefree relationship she had shared with her 'dog' until just a few months ago when she turned of age and he had revealed his true self. She suspected that Faen realized this fact all too well. Perhaps that was why he never protested when she still kept treating his dog form as her beloved pet. \"Come on, let's go and have some dinner,\" she said with a sheepish smile. The shaggy white dog jumped off the bed and padded down the stairs behind her and into the kitchen where Henry was setting out the take-away boxes on the dining table. The aroma wafted up to caress her nostrils and her mouth began to water. \"Have a good day at college?\" her dad asked when she entered. \"Yes, thanks. How about you at work? How's the project going?\" She leaned over and grabbed a prawn cracker from a bag on the table, then took another and offered it to Faen, who almost inhaled it he ate it so quickly. \"It's going,\" he sighed, \"but not as smoothly as I had hoped. It doesn't look like I'll finish it this week as planned. But it should be done by the end of next week, just in time for the party.\" \"Since you bring that up, what are you going as?\" Faedra asked before putting another prawn cracker in her mouth and crunching. \"You'll have to wait and see,\" he said with a smirk. \"Oh, not you, too.\" She huffed out an exasperated breath. \"Frederick won't tell me what he's wearing either, and I haven't got a clue what to dress as.\" \"You'll think of something, Darling. You always do.\" She raised an eyebrow at him _. Isn't that the truth?_\n\n\"By the way, I've invited some people from the office. I thought it might be fun for you to meet some new faces...\" he hesitated, \"well, one new face in-particular.\" Faedra watched as a flush came to his cheeks and her eyes lit up. \"You've got a girlfriend?\" she asked with enthusiasm. \"Well, I wouldn't go _that_ far just yet, so don't go getting all excited.\" Faedra beamed a big grin at him. It was about time her dad found a companion. He'd been on his own for much too long, as far as she was concerned. Her uncle's efforts at playing matchmaker had failed miserably, which only ended up making her father less inclined to want to try anymore. This was exciting news, and now she couldn't wait until the party next week. \"Well don't leave me hanging, Dad. What is she like?\" Henry's cheeks reddened a little further. \"Well, she's a little younger than me but that doesn't seem to bother her at all. She is beautiful, Fae. I don't quite know what she sees in me.\" \"Oh, come on, Dad. You're not bad looking yourself, you know. You would be a catch for anyone. Come on, tell me more.\" \"Well, we have been out to lunch a couple of times. She is very sweet natured and she loves animals, especially dogs.\" He cast his gaze over to the dog relaxing on the floor beside them. \"I've told her all about you and she can't wait to meet you. Oh, I do hope you like her,\" he added somewhat pensively to his daughter, who was looking hopeful. \"She sounds wonderful, Dad. I'm sure that I will like her just as much as you seem to.\" Faedra could hardly contain her excitement and wrapped her arms around her dad's neck. \"This is great news, Dad.\" \"Thank you, darling. Now dig in before it gets cold.\" He waved his fork over the open boxes of Chinese food that were spread over the table. Faedra put a little from each container on her plate and dug in. She tried to savor every last bite before having to go and bury her head in her books again. She was determined to ace her test tomorrow. Her Guardian was right, she could wait until after her test to worry about her costume for the party. About the Author\n\nAlison Pensy was born and raised in England. She grew up near a medieval city, which is where much of the inspiration for her books comes from. Moving to the States in 2001, she eventually settled near a small town in mid Missouri with her menagerie of animals. Alison also runs her own tax and accounting business and started writing when she became so fed up with the real world, she decided to create her own. Please visit her website at www.alisonpensy.com. She loves to hear from her readers, so feel free to leave comments or ask questions.",
-        "Their territory spread through the valleys of the Jetepeque Lambayeque": "Their territory spread through the valleys of the Jetepeque Lambayeque rivers, where Sipan and Pampa Grande are located. They developed copper metallurgy and metalworking of which some magnificent examples had been found in the tombs of their rulers, including that of the Lord of Sipan, discovered in 1987, by the Peruvian archaeologist Walter Alva, a spectacular hoard of golden treasure rivalling that of Carter and Carnarvon's in Egypt. The Mochicas mastered the techniques of rolling, gilding, embossing and casting, and that of alloying metals--gold, silver, copper, lead, tin and even mercury. Those early civilisations evolved into the Incas, whose empire covered all of Peru and what is now Ecuador. The former a vast country twice the size of Texas and two and a half times greater than France. More than half of Peru lies to the east of the Andes in the western Amazon basin, covered by dense forests, where just 5% of its present day population lives. From their capital, Cusco, the Inca, ruled some 10 million subjects, speaking over 30 different languages. It was a rich city of 150,000 inhabitants, where the pyramidal temples were covered in gold and precious stones, a sight that astonished the first Europeans who marvelled at its architecture and riches. Their empire was covered by a network of roads totalling more than 40,000 kilometres in length. The above image is an impression of the last Inca Emperor Atahualpa in his regalia, who was captured in the Battle of Cajamarca in 1532. Atahualpa was later executed in Cajamarca on the order of the conquistador Francisco Pizarro. The following year the Spaniard entered and occupied the imperial capital of Cusco and sealed the fate of the Inca Empire. * * *\n\nPeru was also the home to the oldest city in the Americas, the Sacred City of Caral-Supe, the foundation of which dated from 2500BC. The vestiges of the city lies 350 kilometres to the north of Lima, in the Supe Valley, near the Pacific coast. It was first surveyed in 1905 by a German archaeologist, Max Uhle. However, it was not until several decades later did a full-scale archaeological excavation take place, which revealed a vast city complex. The natural formations that mark the site are in fact stepped pyramids, the seat of a complex society with its ritual edifices. In 2000, carbon 14 analysis revealed that Caral dated back to around 3000BC. South America and lost civilisations had attracted explorers and adventurers for centuries, in search of the mythical city of Eldorado, starting with the Spanish. In more recent times it was an Englishman, Colonel Percy Fawcett, who ventured into the Amazon forest in search of 'Z' a legendary lost city, which he believed existed somewhere in the uncharted depths of the Mayo Grosso. Fawcett disappeared without a trace, never to be heard of again, leaving behind one of the great exploration mysteries of the 20th century. He called the Amazon, 'the last great blank space in the world' and made several exploratory expeditions into its uncharted territories, starting in 1906. His exploits made headlines around the world, and in 1916 the Royal Geographical Society awarded him its prestigious Gold Medal for his mapping exploits in the Amazon. Fawcett was fascinated by a Portuguese fortune hunter's 1753 account of a jungle metropolis built in stone of great size and grandeur, and little-by-little became obsessed with seeking out his modern day Eldorado, which he called the city of 'Z.' In 1925, Fawcett was 57 when he set off with his son into the unexplored Mato Grosso in search of Z, accompanied by native guides and pack animals. Forging through the jungle at 15 to 20 kilometres a day. His last despatch was dated May 29, 1925. Some said he was dead, others claimed he had gone native and was living in the jungle, or that he was being held prisoner by a tribe of cannibals along the Xingu River. In any case he disappeared without trace never to be heard of again. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 9\n\n# THE HOUSE OF THE GODS\n\nIT WAS LATE MORNING when the low clouds lifted and a cluster of monolithic tabletop mountains emerged from the emerald green canopy of the jungle. 'Tepuis,' announced Diaz, 'that's what they are called by the Indians, the house of the gods.' The formations stood 550 metres above the floor of the equatorial forest, 800 metres above sea level, with almost vertical cliffs, topped by a savannah-like vegetation, a unique biotope. It was under their sheer rock faces the first hunter-gatherers to arrive in the region left their trace with one of the greatest concentrations of cave paintings in the Americas. Some 75,000 Palaeolithic paintings, covering the fa\u00e7ades of the caves and niches in the rock, 100 metres above the forest. 'Their discovery made anthropological history,' Diaz told them. After a march along a jungle trail, enveloped by an astonishing array of flora and fauna, they reached the foot of the rock face. It took another half hour of effort to climb to the shelf, where pausing to get their breath, they discovered the spectacular prehistoric panorama of paintings that decorated the Cerro Azul. A dense and varied mural composed of ochre figures--men, animals and plants, almost 100 metres long and 20 metres high, painted by Neolithic man. As they watched the monkeys swing through the canopy in the jungle below, they realised nothing had changed since the time when those ancient men had painted the same kind of monkeys on the rock face. The figures and handprints reminded HG of the paintings she had seen in so many other places, messages across time, from the distant past, from forgotten worlds, where men had once lived in harmony with nature. Thirty years had passed since Carlos Casta\u00f1o-Uribe, an anthropologist of the Universidad de los Andes and his companions discovered them. At that time the war with the Farc raged and any further expeditions were impossible. Since the peace agreement with the Farc, the risks were of a different nature, the invasion by big business, and according to Diaz, the pressure caused by the general colonisation by landless campasinos, which he told them promised an apocalyptic future for Colombia's national parks, the habitat of the indigenous peoples, and their treasures. Kyril was marked by the extraordinary similarity not only with the rock paintings in France, but also those of South Africa, Libya, and Indonesia where the latest discoveries included a limestone cave on the island of Sulawesi, where paintings showing human figures hunting animals were dated back 44,000 years. The images of the Cerro Azul depicted a group of part-human, part-animal figures, known as therianthropes, hunting tapirs, sloths, capybaras, herons, monkeys, turtles, sting-rays, deer, and what appeared to be giant sloths which were generally considered to have already been extinct 11,000 years ago, as well as the enigmatic representations of what were believed to be spears or ropes. The Sulawesi examples of human and animal interactions dated from the Upper Palaeolithic and predated those of Europe by 20,000 years. Sean Cinnsealaigh, from Maynooth University's Department of Anthropology, in Ireland, explained the theory that the painting of anthropomorphic creatures suggested an ability to imagine the supernatural. The rock paintings recalled those Scott Fitznorman had seen in the Lubang Jeriji Saleh cave in the East Kalimantan province of Borneo, depicting wild cattle, painted with ochre, one of which seemed to have a spear protruding from its flank. Borneo's rock art included thousands of paintings in limestone caves, which were first described by a French explorer, Luc-Henri Fage, and dated to around 40,000 before present. In addition there were the ubiquitous hand stencils, made by spraying ochre paint from the mouth over a hand pressed against the wall. A uranium series analysis was used to fix the date on the calcite crusts formed over the oldest paintings in Borneo, which bore a remarkable resemblance with those in Brazil, when Palaeolithic man started depicting his world. It confirmed the idea figurative art had emerged in South America at about the same time as it had in Southeast Asia and Europe--where the walls of the Chauvet caves in Ardeche, in France, were covered with charcoal images of horses and rhinos, about 30,000 years old. The oldest rock art found in Spain was associated with Neanderthals, at Caceres, and dated by a uranium-thorium method to more than 64,000 years ago, whilst in South Africa a piece of rock was found bearing an ochre geometric form estimated to be 73,000 years old. * * *\n\nHuman beings evolved in a broad ranging habitat where the climatic conditions generally remained within a relatively narrow temperature band. Over time Neanderthals adapted to extreme cold in Europe, whilst in Africa man adapted to a warmer climate. It was in fact easier to survive the cold than extreme heat and humidity once man mastered fire and learned to use animal skins for clothing. 'What determines man's survival when the climate warms,' Kyril warned them, 'is the wet bulb temperature, which measures the combined effect of temperature and humidity, not just the ambient air temperature.' It was a scientific fact, human beings, like all mammals, produce metabolic heat generated by the normal functioning of their bodies. Any surplus metabolic heat was evacuated to the surrounding air by radiation, convection and sweating, which helps us maintain our bodies at a constant temperature of 37oC. If the ambient air temperature is above our body temperature, it stands to reason it becomes more difficult to evacuate heat. That's where sweating takes over, when the resulting evaporation of water cools the body, as long as the wet bulb temperature remains below 35oC. However, when the wet bulb rises above 35oC and the dry bulb is at body temperature, the humidity present in the air is 85%, and evaporation cannot take place. In these conditions the body temperature rises rapidly and death occurs within a few hours. 'This explains why people living in desertic conditions can stand higher temperatures,' said Kyril, 'because the air in that kind of climate is very dry, which means it has a greater capacity to absorb our sweat.' The danger was greatest in regions, which included North America, Europe and the East Coast of China, where wet bulb temperatures, driven by human activity, were rising fastest, and where, according to research by the American Geophysical Union, by mid-century, all summers would have wet bulb conditions that exceed historical records. In recent prehistoric times, in certain regions of the planet, such conditions also occurred due to natural and cyclic climatic change, this no doubt contributed to the collapse of early civilisations when conditions became untenable for man, beasts and crops, which was doubtlessly the case on the Pacific facade of South American and parts of the Amazon basin. * * *\n\nSince 1978 over 75 million hectares of Amazon rainforest had been lost to the chainsaw, in Brazil, Peru, Colombia, Bolivia, Venezuela, Suriname, Guyana, and French Guiana. 'The media has bounced around all kinds of figures concerning deforestation of the Amazon rainforest,' John explained, 'generally accompanied by scare stories of the dramatic effects it could have on the world's climate. 'But, if you look at a map you can see less than half of Brazil is covered by the Amazon rainforest. So you have to be careful. Of course you can see,' Kyril added pointing to a map he'd looked up on his iPhone, 'deforestation is huge, but it is not only in Brazil, look at Paraguay, Bolivia and Peru.' The rate of loss had in fact declined in Brazil after reaching an annual 27,000 square kilometres in 2004. In 2019 it had fallen to under 10,000 square kilometres, still too much considering the pledges made by governments to reverse deforestation and restore trees. The plan to stop world deforestation by 2030, was further away than ever, especially in Latin America, South East Asia and Africa, homes to most of the world's tropical forests. The problem was accentuated by a vicious circle, climate change contributed to the drying of forests and fires, which in turn released more CO\u2082 and increased warming. In many countries deforestation was caused by charcoal production, rapid urbanisation in Africa had increased the demand for charcoal. In Madagascar, the Caribbean--especially Haiti and the Dominican Republic, forests were being destroyed at a frighteningly high rate as populations exploded and their only source of cooking fuel was charcoal. It was Africa's most used source of domestic energy, the charcoal economy was a booming business with tree cutters, charcoal burners, transporters, middlemen, agents and financiers were all engaged in literally chopping down the world around them to feed more and more mouths, with demand expected to triple by 2050. Deforestation in fact was driven by demographics, food demands, agriculture, cooking needs, which contributed 30% of CO\u2082 emissions, compounding climate change, a phenomena that would take centuries to reverse. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 10\n\n# ANOTHER CRISIS LOOMS\n\nPAT KENNEDY WAS HAVING MORE and more difficulty in shaking off the feeling that Hong Kong's future hung in the balance. It was a question that returned almost daily, not only had the protest movement been riding the tiger, but the demonstrators were putting the territory's future as a financial centre in peril. Certain analysts were convinced Hong Kong was headed for a financial crisis, and not just any cyclic adjustment, but a fully fledged banking crisis. The same kind of meltdown Ireland had experienced during the financial crisis of 2008, when its major banks collapsed, causing the government to step in with a rescue plan and many bankers ending up before their judges charged with multiple financial crimes, manipulation and unprofessional behaviour. After seven months of anti-government protests, the economy was suffering, though strangely enough financial markets had remained stable. Stocks were trading at near all-time highs, interbank borrowing rates had seen modest increases, and the Hong Kong dollar had even strengthened within its trading band against the US dollar with deposits stable. Not only that but the city's historical indicator, property, was as buoyant as ever. So where was the problem? he asked as if to reassure himself. It didn't take much reflection, the answer lay on the other side of the border to north, the Mainland where the economy was slowing for the first time since the onset of the global financial crisis. China was facing the transition from an export driven economy to a home based consumer economy, complicated by an ageing population, and against the background of an ongoing trade war, which wasn't about go away, even if Trump was not re-elected. It wouldn't take much to push China's economy into recession with serious consequences for INI. Pat remembered how Michael Fitzwilliams, his mentor and predecessor, had avoided the worst of the Irish banking crisis through diversification, and how he himself had engineered the merger with the Amsterdam Bank, since absorbed, and then opening into Russia with Sergei Tarasov, and lastly Hong Kong where he now headed the financial empire he had helped build and inherited. Pat's passion for history had taught him many things and perhaps the butterfly effect was a good metaphor for explaining certain phenomena, the idea that small causes can result in great changes, in for example the weather. Edward Lorenz, an American mathematician and meteorologist, was the founder of modern chaos theory, focusing on the behaviour of dynamic systems, highly sensitive to initial conditions, popularised by the idea that the effect of a butterfly flapping its wings could result in a tornado some weeks later in some very distant place. The same thing applied to history, who could have thought the fall of the ancient city of Byzantium would profoundly change the history of Europe and the world for the next six centuries to come. When the stronghold, the last vestige of the ancient Roman Empire, was captured by the Ottoman Turks, the cord that linked the Orient to the West--the Silk Road, was cut. An event of huge historical importance, one that launched the age of discovery with Vasco da Gama setting out to discover an alternative route to India and the Spice Islands. The explorer was followed by Columbus and Magellan, then the conquistadors, Cortes and Pizarro, who marched on and conquered the Aztec and Inca empires\n\nIt was the reason why, half a millennia later the exploration of space had started in earnest, why China was laying the foundations for its Belt and Road Initiative, why the great powers raced to be the first to develop AI, and why Trump targeted Huawei. And it was why Pat was establishing a foothold in Central America and Colombia, and why he now eyed Brazil. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 11\n\n# NOTRE DAME\n\nIT WAS EVENING IN HONG KONG when Pat, to his horror, watched Notre Dame ravaged by flames in real time. He grabbed his phone and called Padraig in Paris, who looked on helplessly from his 6th floor apartment on quai des Celestines, almost opposite the ancient cathedral on \u00cele de la Cite across the Seine. It was a tragedy, part of French history, the history of humanity, going up in smoke, Pat Kennedy thought as he'd watched the flames leaping from the cathedral's roof. A couple of months later, he together with his friend walked past the now walled-off monument, as architects, engineers and stonemasons set about the work of restoration. It was a miracle that the essential structure of the 850 year old monument had survived. Pat's visit to France coincided with the preparations of the G7 in Biarritz, where the political leaders of the planet's wealthiest and most powerful nations got together for what seemed more like a media event than a serious review of the state their world. That morning the media's 'breaking news' flashes were focused on another fire, that of the Amazon rainforest. The two friends stopped for lunch on the terrace of a restaurant on the Left Bank, almost facing the cathedral. It was a touristy spot, but O'Connelly assured Pat it was good, not that Pat cared much, he was not that fussy about the culinary choices relating to his basic daily energy intake, and left the menu to his friend with the words 'something light'. His thoughts wandered as he looked across the Seine, the scaffolding of Notre Dame that hid the charred timbers of what remained of its roof, one thousand year old beams cut from an ancient French forest. It brought to mind the images of the forest fires in the Amazon. He Googled a map of Brazil on his mobile, switched to the satellite image, there was not much to see, a uniform green expanse, he slide his fingers across the screen, a name appeared, Madre de Dios. He stopped. Notre Dame. Two fires, the name of God's Holy Mother invoked twice. Was it an omen? Perhaps it was that lingering vein of superstition that still remained in his mind, a vestige of his Irish upbringing, in any case he took it as a divine message. He had been pondering his future plans for South America, the research work carried out by his friend John Francis. Their very successful expedition to the Alta Guajira in Colombia. His mind was made up. He turned to his friend, 'I've been thinking Padraig.' O'Connelly was suddenly alert, he recognised that visionary look in Kennedy's eyes. 'Where are you with your book?' Nonplussed O'Connelly wondered which book, for the moment he had not even thought of Notre Dame, at least as far as writing was concerned. Esmeralda and Quasimodo had already been written about in length, he had nothing to add to Victor Hugo's classic. 'Peru, the Incas,' Pat said to refresh his memory. 'Oh, yes, well it's more about gold, its history and role in South American society, old and new.' Pat Kennedy's bank had financed mining companies in Colombia and Peru, and he was becoming worried about the bad image it projected. The problem was mining companies hid behind cascades of offshore companies in the Caribbean and elsewhere, which didn't protect them from the next whistle blower who surged forth with a new version of the Panama Papers. Pat's eyes wandered towards the twin belfries of Notre Dame, images Victor Hugo's premonitory vision sprung to his mind when Quasimodo used fire and stones to save Esmeralda: 'All eyes were turned to the top of the church. What they saw was most strange. Upon the top of the topmost gallery, higher than the central rose-window, a vast flame ascended between the two belfries with whirling sparks, a vast flame, fierce and strong, fragments of which were ever and anon borne away by the wind with the smoke. Below this flame, below the dark balustrade with its glowing trefoils, two spouts, terminating in gargoyles, vomiting un-intermittent sheets of fiery rain, whose silvery streams shone out distinctly against the gloom of the lower part of the cathedral front. As they approached the ground, these jets of liquid lead spread out into sheaves, like water pouring from the countless holes of the rose in a watering-pot. Above the flame, the huge towers, each of which showed two sides, clear and trenchant, one all black, the other all red, seemed even larger than they were, from the immensity of the shadow which they cast, reaching to the very sky. Their innumerable carvings of demons and dragons assumed a mournful aspect. The restless light of the flames made them seem to move. There were serpents, which seemed to be laughing, gargoyles yelping, salamanders blowing the fire, dragons sneezing amid the smoke. And among these monsters, thus wakened from their stony slumbers by the flame, by the noise, there was one that walked about, and moved from time to time across the fiery front of the burning pile like a bat before a candle.' To Pat's way of thinking everything was foreseeable, if only people cared to look. 'Wouldn't it be a good idea, to look a little closer at their links to the Amazon?' Dee was nonplussed, Pat had a disconcerting way of springing out his ideas. 'You know, ancient civilisations.' |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 12\n\n# SAN FRANCISCO\n\nPAT O'CONNELLY, WHO WAS CALLED Padraig by Pat Kennedy, was back in San Francisco where he planned to spend a month with Anna before both they left for Bogota. She had arrived from Madrid, he directly from Hong Kong, where he had discussed the outline for Pat Kennedy's Amazonas project for Kyril's documentary film Indians. Pat had asked him to script the film and act as narrator for its English version, Padraig's name as a best selling author would be an added distribution booster. Anna called Padraig 'Dee', her abbreviation for Dedalus, from Stephan Dedalus in Joyce's Ulysses. One, because she liked to see Pat O'Connelly in the role of a rebellious Irish author, which he tried in vain to convince her he wasn't, and two, it avoided confusion with Pat Kennedy. Soon the rest of Clan was calling him Dee, except Pat Kennedy who continued to call him Padraig. Dee had developed a vague plan for a working-holiday with Anna whilst she undertook research work at the Hearst Museum of Anthropology in Berkley and the Getty Museum in Santa Monica. He had also been given a mission by Pat Kennedy, one he felt a little uneasy with. As a journalist turned writer, Dee was used to documentary and factual research work, which was why Pat had asked him to look at Verily Life Sciences, which was located in South San Francisco, and amongst other things was researching life extension. Of course Pat's own firm LifeGen could access public information and certain published research data, but he wanted an on the spot visual report, a difficult task considering Verily was owned by Alphabet, Google's parent company, two mastodons who jealously guarded their secrets. No transparency, dubious goals, were among the doubtful comments on an organisation that was pouring trucks full of money into what certain said were ill defined ideas, something that Pat Kennedy didn't want to be doing at LifeGen. His goal was extending lifespan through two lines of research, the first was by pharmaceuticals and replacement of physical parts, the second stem cell treatment and gene therapy, with the goal of reaching the age of 125. The former treatments would keep him in good shape, making it to 100 plus, then the latter, thanks to scientific progress in the intervening years he could expect to live longer and perhaps enjoy an indefinite lifespan. For many years Dee had owned a fine property situated in the Pacific Heights district of San Francisco, which he hadn't used for some some time. It had been very profitably rented out on short leases, furnished and with a live-in housekeeper, to well-off business people and tourists sojourning in the city. The house was available and he decided with Anna they use it as a base, whilst he caught up with the latest news in the city and they worked on their respective projects. The city's famous skyline gleamed under the Pacific sun, but below on the streets Dee was increasingly puzzled by the growing numbers of poor. There had always been a concentration of down and outs in central districts, but the numbers seemed to have exploded. It was a contradiction, on the one hand the city was more prosperous than ever, more billionaires per capita than in any other city on the planet, a booming hi-tech sector powered by Silicon Valley. But at the same time there was a growing number of poor, a sure sign that something in society was not functioning. He couldn't avoid seeing dealers peddling their poison, certain in full view of police patrol cars parked outside what seemed to be government buildings. Dealers and users mixed on the streets, openly smoking fentanyl--a powerful opioid many times more stronger than heroin. Addicts lay on the streets in the heart of San Francisco's down-town area, nearby an upmarket Westfield shopping mall thronging with the haves dressed in designer clothes checking out Louis Vuitton handbags, Tiffany jewellery and Rolex watches. The mythical city by the bay with its wealthy liberal classes, where Tony Bennett left his heart, a reference for progressists, prided itself on having the world's highest salaries, attracted its best talent, and boasted properties like Pat's that went for seven and eight figures. Yet the numbers of homeless, drug addicted and mentally ill people, increased inexorably, transforming entire city blocks and street corners into tent cities, dark pools of dystopian misery, where the ghosts of former people shuffled past in search of a dime. In certain down-town areas it was if he was visiting one of the third world's poorest cities, instead of the first among the first, in the world's richest and most powerful nation. California, land of hope and promise, was the home to almost half of the US homeless. Flower Power seemed a long way off from the tech giants and the fabulous villas of showbiz stars. It was easy to slip into gloom as the world slithered towards the fate of Ozymandias, as the destructive sands of time eroded the metaphorical statue, the monument to a once great leader, now in ruins and forgotten:\n\nI met a traveller from an antique land,\n\nWho said--\"Two vast and trunkless legs of stone\n\nStand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand,\n\nHalf sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,\n\nAnd wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,\n\nTell that its sculptor well those passions read\n\nWhich yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,\n\nThe hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;\n\nAnd on the pedestal, these words appear:\n\n'My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;\n\nLook on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair! Nothing beside remains. Round the decay\n\nOf that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare\n\nThe lone and level sands stretch far away.' * * *\n\nAcross the Pacific, Japan in its glorious isolation, raced to build 22 new coal-fired power plants, a direct consequence of the Fukushima nuclear disaster. It was calculated they would emit almost as much CO2 annually as all the cars sold each year in the US. Humanity was caught in a trap of its own making, its exponential multiplication, if Japan, one of the most advanced nations on earth could not wean itself off coal, how could the poorer countries fulfil their engagements. Paper promises were worthless. Japan's policy of financing coal-fired power stations in developing nations, in the same way as China and South Korea, belied its ambition of being a model for clean energy as it prepared for the 2020 Olympics\n\nAt the United Nations climate talks the previous year in Madrid, Japanese activists in yellow Pikachu mascot outfits had unfurled 'No Coal' signs and chanted 'Sayonara coal!' |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 13\n\n# GEOGLYPHS\n\nDEE HAD EXPLORED THE HISTORY of Pre-Incan civilisations that had existed along the Pacific flank of the Andean ridge, but he had not given much thought to its eastern watershed that drained onto the Amazon plain. He decided to join Anna on her visit to Bogota for her research programme. There she commenced by helping him with an introduction to Ernesto Montaldo, a friend of Kyril's, an anthropologist at Icanh, the Colombian Institute of Anthropology and History. Ernesto agreed to help Dee and commenced by explaining how the humid climate of the Amazonas forest destroyed wood and even bones. However, recently, due to progressive deforestation, stone arrowheads and pottery shards started to appear in places that did not correspond to conventional thinking, artefacts that were solid evidence of human presence in ancient times. Slowly preconceived ideas were reconsidered as new discoveries were made--the vestiges of geoglyphs and traces of what were hundreds of villages, farms and roads, which had until very recently been buried deep beneath the dense foliage of the forests in different regions of the Amazon, including Amazonas in Colombia, the Brazilian states Mato Grosso and Acre as well as in Peru. These discoveries were made thanks to satellite imagery which revealed the presence of massive earthworks, forming highly geometric geoglyphs, certain of which were more than one kilometre long, situated in parts of the Amazon that had previously been neglected by archaeologists, especially areas away from major rivers, along which those archaeologists had, it seemed, erroneously assumed were the preferred sites of ancient communities. This evidence contradicted the commonly held misconception that the Amazon was a virgin landscape, untouched by man. In fact a much larger population than had ever been previously imagined, had lived and prospered in the vast region, men and women who over generations had transformed the natural environment. These communities dated to pre-Colombian times, a revelation that raised more questions than it answered, which had led Pat Kennedy and others to ask why, between 40,000 and 30,000 years ago, almost simultaneously, at vastly distant points across the planet, mankind started drawing images on rock faces and cave walls and erecting the first stone monuments. Homo hablis, the tool maker, had appeared about two million years ago, and Homo erectus one million years later. Erectus it seems evolved into several other species including--Neanderthal, Denisovian man, Homo floriensis and Homo sapiens, none of which left any trace of symbolic art before the Middle Palaeolithic. Then, suddenly, images started to appear, and during the Upper Palaeolithic there was an explosion of human creativity, images painted by men, images of the world in which they lived. Most geneticists and evolutionary theorists believed that anatomically modern humans were armed with a new arm--language, and with sophisticated language they mastered the use of new tools and weapons and commenced to change the natural environment. 'Suddenly?' 'Yes,' said Ernesto. 'Compared to the 98% of the time during which early man's know-how barely advanced beyond the use of fire and basic stone tools. Issues such as the origin of human communication and many others are the subject of some very heated discussions among linguists, psychologists, and biologists today.' He told Dee how archaeologists believed that large areas of the Amazon forest may have been savannas in what he called the pre-Classic period, when the peoples of the San Augustin culture practised slash and burn agriculture, pushing deep into the outer fringes of the eastern Amazonian rainforest, marking their presence by extensive geoglyphs over a wide zone from Columbia to Bolivia. 'For example,' Ernesto explained, 'pre-Inca artefacts, found near certain geoglyphs in Acre State, Brazil, have provided us with new clues as to who their builders were, our colleagues' work in Brazil has included radiocarbon testing which indicates the structures were built between 1,000 and 2,000 years ago. 'It is probable fewer people now live in the Amazon regions of the Mayo Grosso, Acre, Rondonia, Colombian and Brazilian Amazonas, Loreto and other Peruvian departments, than before the arrival of the Europeans five centuries ago.' Ernesto reminded him how gold, emeralds and precious stones were part of pre-Columbian civilisation, and how Colombia, as well as being one of largest producers of gold and emeralds in South America, was the home of the Muisca civilization, which had flourished between AD600 and AD1600, giving birth to the legend of Eldorado. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 14\n\n# SAINT TROPEZ\n\nPAT AND HIS FRIENDS RETURNED to Saint Tropez for a moment of work and relaxation on his yacht, where they could review their plans, anchored offshore away from the paparazzi, who always seemed to be out in force when wealth was around, like the evening bugs drawn by the smell of perfume in the still warm air. They were in good company, Jeff Bezos and his glamorous girlfriend, Lauren Sanchez, were a boat's ride away onboard David Geffen's 140 metre long yacht, the Rising Sun, with their pals. Pat's yacht was more than a simple bauble, it was a mobile boardroom from which he controlled his business empire with all the latest tools science and technology could offer, it could sail over 6000 nautical miles on one tank of fuel, as it had recently done, from Cartagena in Colombia, following the winding-up of the exploration of the Espiritu Santo, a Spanish galleon, a treasure ship that had sunk off the Alta Guajira. Soon, after some urgent refitting work, Las Indias would sail for Belem in Brazil, a transatlantic voyage of eight days, more than 4,000 nautical miles, skirting the Canaries and Cape Verde, at an average speed of 24 knots. There it would be joined by film crews before sailing up the Amazon to Manaus and Iquitos to pick up the team who would visit indigenous peoples in the Putumayo and Javari regions. Pat's tranquillity was interrupted by news that the Malaysian government had filed criminal charges against 17 current and former directors of companies owned by the Goldman Sachs Group, all of whom were alleged to have been involved in a multi-billion dollar corruption scandal linked to that country's sovereign fund 1MDB. Of course the bank refuted any wrongdoing, accusing former Malaysian government members and 1MDB of lying. An estimated 4.5 billion dollars had been siphoned out of 1MDB by Jho Low and his associates, between 2009 and 2014, revealed by Tim Leissner, a former partner of Goldman Sachs, Asia, who had pleaded guilty to conspiracy to launder money and other charges. Why was Pat concerned? Well his bank had been innocently involved in the financing of the mega-yacht bought by Jho Low, a Chinese citizen, who was now on the run. The yacht was subsequently bought by an offshore subsidiary company owned by INI from the Malaysian government and renamed Las Indias. Pat had escaped the chaos of Hong Kong, after the Airport Authority had announced only departing passengers with travel documents would be allowed to enter the terminal as the anti-government activists geared up for more action. As usual he entered and left the airport by the VIP terminal, far from the unwashed crowds, he was one of the very privileged travellers, his Gulfstream waiting to fly him to the Riviera. He was pleased to get out of Hong Kong in view of the celebrations to mark the 70th anniversary of the founding of the People's Republic of China whilst clashes with the demonstrators intensified. Hong Kong was facing its worst crisis, since it returned to China from British rule in 1997, as protests posed the biggest popular challenge to Xi Jinping since he came to power, at a bad moment too, just he was grappling with the effects of the growing trade war with the US and a slowing economy. Ekaterina had decided to join them at Saint Tropez, as the Houghton Arts & Music Festival that she had planned to visit was cancelled, after the UK was hit by a wave of extreme weather, a hard blow, for the performers and visitors. It was not the only event, there was also the Cowes Regatta, which had got off to a sunny start, but with the approach of another tropical storm it too was cancelled, along with other events and concerts. Ecologists were quick to point to the storm as the harbinger of climate change with the warning such extreme weather conditions would become more and more frequent. * * *\n\nAs the media and politicians wrung their hands in anguish over impending doom provoked by Jair Bolsonaro's forest fires, Camille complained about Prince Harry and Meghan Markle, the Duke and Duchess of Sussex, royal eco-warriors, who had just returned from Ibiza on a Gulfstream 200, where they had spent six days celebrating Meghan's birthday. Guests in another jet-setters' paradise overlooking the azure waters of the Mediterranean, where renting a villa according to Camille cost anything up to 150,000 dollars a week, the kind of slum celebrities like DJ David Guetta or Sir Paul McCartney liked to hangout. Their break at Bahia de Porroig, situated on the south coast of the Balearic island with its pristine waters, was far from the usual tourist haunts, it was the spot where some of the island's most exclusive homes could be found. Barely back home in the UK, the couple were off again, this time photographed boarding a Cessna jet, destination Elton John's sumptuous Belle \u00c9poque villa, Castel Mont-Alban, on the French Riviera, high above Nice, on the summit of Mont Boron, overlooking a parkland reserve and of course the Mediterranean. The yellow turrets of the villa could be seen by the hoi polloi in the world below, its lights twinkling through the pines. The sumptuous villa with its splendid pool was decorated with an art collection that included paintings by Andy Warhol and sculptures by another American pop artist Roy Lichtenstein. Past guests included celebrities like Liz Hurley, Catherine Zeta Jones, Donatella Versace and of course the Beckhams. Elton John tweeted:\n\n'After a hectic year continuing their hard work and dedication to charity, David and I wanted the young family to have a private holiday inside the safety and tranquillity of our home. To maintain a high level of much-needed protection, we provided them with a private jet flight.' However, Elton John's insistence, that he felt compelled to provide them with a private Cessna 500 XL to ensure them 'much-needed protection' was perhaps an exaggeration. In the good old days royals flew British Airways with old fashioned security, a couple of CID officers, and even though times had changed and there was no pressing need for a private jet in view of the royal couple's convictions on global warming. Harry had made his position clear in Vogue magazine in an interview with Jane Goodall. A special issue, edited by the duchess herself, who chose climate activist Greta Thunberg as one of her 'forces for change'. It came in the wake of the Google's Summer Camp, focused on global warming, where world figures and celebrities arrived in a fleet of jets that would have put most countries air forces to shame and on an armada of mega-yachts. Barefooted and in shirt sleeves, the prince gave an impassioned closing speech on the urgency to combat climate change. It must have slipped his mind he had arrived not far from the ancient Greek temple of Agrigento by private jet, ferried by helicopter to the luxury resort reserved for the camp, and lodged on one of the mega-yachts anchored a few cables off shore. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 15\n\n# A REFIT\n\nWHEN Las Indias reappeared, it was almost unrecognisable, it wore a new and more sober coat, light grey above the waterline and a deep red below, which apart from anything else had the advantage of no longer attracting the unwanted attention of the paparazzi, those who normally supplied the Daily Mail and Hola with pictures of scantily clad celebrities sunning themselves on the decks of yachts anchored off places like Saint Tropez, while the rest of the world struggled on its way to work in the morning rush, crammed into overloaded strike infected railway and metro systems. The Las Indias had undergone a refit at a shipyard in nearby Toulon, 'transformed into an honest vessel,' Pat quipped. In reality it had undergone a carefully planned transformation, one that equipped it for extended exploration missions, not only oceanographic surveys, but also for his new venture, part of the banker's growing realisation the time had come to return something of what the world had given him, in the hope of building a better future for the world, or at least part of it. It was perhaps the beginning of a deeper sense of responsibility, as it could not be said his own children would ever be in need. However, in spite of his good intentions, the Las Indias beneath the paint job still retained many of its original features, Pat was not about to forego the onboard comforts of his yacht, previously and unjustly described by certain of his detractors as a floating bordello. Those comforts would be needed in the kinds of places he had in mind for his new venture. The yacht's new features including a launch and recovery system for surface or submersible vessels. In addition were larger shipside doors and a broader flight deck to accommodate two helicopters and a long range drone for coastal and inland Lidar exploration surveys. The Las Indias, built by Oceanco in the Netherlands, at its Alblasserdam shipyard, had been delivered to her first owner in 2013. The extravagant yacht's interior had been conceived by Winch Design, lined with marble and gold leaf, and decorated with several valuable works of art, since safely stored in France. With its twin 4,828 horse power diesel engines, a top speed of 19.5 knots, and a fuel capacity of 270,000 litres, the yacht was capable of going anywhere, crossing seas and oceans. Originally registered in the name of Jho Low, of Jynwel Capital, a Malaysian registered business, the yacht had been bought with stolen cash, siphoned off the sovereign wealth fund that went by the acronym '1MDB', and the complicity of former Malaysian Prime Minister Najib Razak. Low was now on the run, wanted by the US authorities, on 'suspicions of criminal mismanagement, fraud, bribery of foreign public officials, and aggravated money laundering'. At the height of his notorious career, Low was dubbed the Asian Great Gatsby for his lavish parties and his Hollywood friends, amongst whom he counted Robert De Niro and Leonardo DiCaprio, and a whole crowd of  hangers-on. The yacht was said to be the 54th largest in the world, which in 2018 had momentarily gone missing, the whole 90 metres of it, together with its swimming pool, helipad, movie theatre, spa and sauna, and staterooms for 18 guests and quarters for a crew of 28. It was why Pat had decided to convert it to a working vessel dedicated to a more worthy cause--his plan to save a small part of humanity, from self-inflicted ecocide, a crime Anna Basurko informed him was defined in an obiter dictum by the International Court of Justice, which identified a category of international obligations, called erga omnes, namely obligations, owed by states to the international community as a whole, intended to protect and promote the basic values and common interests of all. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 16\n\n# THE AMAZON\n\nKEN HISAKAWA HAD ARGUED, if a civilisation had existed in the western region of the Amazon, it would have certainly been near the Andes, where the Incas and their ancestors lived. His thesis was confirmed by the discovery and exploration of hundreds of enigmatic earthworks in Acre, to the west of Amazonia, sites that Ernesto Montaldo had described. The more recent discoveries of roads, ancient earthworks, civic and ceremonial buildings, which came under the heading of geoglyphs, were of impressive size, some enclosures up 300 metres in diameter, surrounded by broad, deep, ditches. In all more than 450 geoglyph sites had been identified and mapped in a zone of more than 10,000 square kilometres. Who had built them? Why? And what happened to the people who had lived there? Those were questions the Indians expedition set out to answer and record. Ken Hisakawa's preliminary survey had determined these geoglyphs had been built between 1,000 and 3,000 years ago, an idea reinforced by laboratory dating tests--radiocarbon for charcoal and thermoluminescence for pottery. Was this pre-Inca colonisation, or evidence that the sites had been inhabited by Paleoindians, a completely different civilisation, a culture created by the first peoples who had migrated from Asia into America many thousands of years earlier. Ken's preliminary archaeological work suggested the sites were used as religious centres based on the evidence of broken vessels that may have contained food and drink left as offerings. Where precisely those devotees lived he and his colleagues had yet to discover, but in any case the existence of the geoglyphs challenged the long held belief that Amazonia been an empty quarter before the arrival of Spanish and Portuguese explorers, ending the myth of an untouched equatorial wilderness. The archaeological evidence collected by Ken confirmed complex societies had developed and prospered along the major rivers and in areas rich in the kind of resources necessary for their survival. It was evident that forests had been cleared to build the geoglyphs and to provide homes and farmland for their builders. The big question was what caused those people to abandon the land on which they had settled and prospered, evidenced by the monumental infrastructure left behind, now rediscovered by satellite imagery after being buried for centuries under the jungle that had repossessed its kingdom. The earthworks necessary to build the platforms would have required an extraordinary amount of labour considering the lack of iron tools, pulleys and beasts of burden. The volume of earth moved was enormous, requiring hundreds, maybe thousands, of labourers over a considerable period of time, requiring premeditation, organisation and tenacity. Estimates as to the population of Amazonia varied between one and five million people, who had left a considerable vestige of their existence in the form of pottery shards, charcoal, seashells and other fragments of their forgotten world. * * *\n\nZyborg's film crew flew to Peru after Ken persuaded his friend Pat Kennedy that there was there was much to be seen and discovered in that remote region, starting with Jaen, a small city situated in the Cajamarca Region, to the extreme north of the country, which according to local history the site of the present town had been inhabited by Indians who had originally come from the Amazon plain. In 1549 the Spanish arrived and planted a cross in what would be the Plaza de Armas, its main square, and traced their grid-like town centre assigning house plots for their settlers. They named the newly founded city, situated some 700 metres above sea level, Jaen de Bracamoros--after Jaen in Spain, and Bracamoros after the Pakamuros Indians who lived the region. Jaen soon became an important missionary centre in the North of Peru and like all Spanish colonial cities its focal point was the Plaza de Armas and its Cathedral. However what interested Ken and the film crew was a 'huaca'--a revered site in the Quechuan language associated with veneration and ritual, situated to the south-east of the city. The site was called Montegrande, which at first glance appeared to be nothing more than a small hill, a mound of earth, except for the pottery shards unearthed by local peasants. Work on the mound had uncovered evidence of what appeared to be a huge pyramid, built more than 3,000 years ago. It was a discovery that overturned all preconceived ideas of the region's prehistory. For the first time, indisputable proof confirmed the existence of an ancient civilization that had existed where the Amazon rainforest had until recently stood. Such a monumental structure could not have been built by hunter-gathers, but by a sedentary society, one with a structured hierarchy, an organised system of beliefs, and surrounded by farms to feed its population. Today, 50 kilometres to the east of Jaen was the Pacaya-Samiria National Reserve, covering almost 21,000 square kilometres of rainforest. Beyond lay the dense Amazon forest through which the Mara\u00f1on River flows to join the Amazon and the river port city of Iquitos, 1,000 kilometres to the east as the crow flies, twice that by river. Gone were the ideas of ancient forest dwelling hunter-gatherers and credence was given to reports by the early Spanish conquistadors who described towns and cities in the Amazon basin, built along the banks of its many broad rivers, which also provided the primary means of transport for people and goods. Cities that crumbled, were forgotten and disappeared, repossessed by the jungle, under its thick canopy, its broad leaves, entangled in the grasp of its labyrinth of creepers, vines and lianas. Those who had built the Montegrande pyramid were part of an evolved society, and investigations showed that the pyramid had been modified at various times over the centuries by the people whose dwellings stretched along the banks of the Amazon's many tributaries, for whom it was a religious centre, the hub of a broad trading network that stretched across a region that is now part of Peru, Colombia and Brazil\n\nThe pyramidal mound, which locals had taken for a natural hill standing in the middle of a plain, had long puzzled the occasional archaeologist who passed through the region, certain of whom had surmised it had been a burial mound, a vast one at that, since it covered more than 8,000 square metres at its base, its summit 12 metres above the plain, on which a spiral of rocks was laid out, coiled in the shape of a massive serpent, or perhaps a snail shell. Even more astonishing were its stucco covered walls, stairways and platforms, and even more extraordinary the remains of what were probably ritual fires on the summit of the pyramid. Pat Kennedy was excited by the theory that hallucinogenic vilca seeds were used in the rituals at the pyramid, Ken told him these were trance inducing with visions of spirals which seemed appear to have dominated a culture where snail shells were omnipresent. Pat's growing fascination for these stories worried John Francis who wondered if his friend was becoming a mystic of some kind, in search of spiritual truth or ultimate reality. It often happened to those who acquired great wealth and power, those possessing an innate intuition, insight, trust in their inner self, one that bestows a sense of destiny, a need to serve others, to guide them. Pat abhorred the thought that human sacrifices could have been part of the rituals practised by those ancient peoples after many children's bones were found at a smaller pyramid, bones that bore signs of malnutrition and disease, perhaps sacrificed by priests, one of whom died 2,800 years ago and was named Lord of Snails by the archaeologists, who was found adorned with a layer snail shells, disposed in a spiral form, his body facing the rising sun. Apart from the stones, a handful of shards and bones, there were no sculptures, no inscriptions, no message, just a few coloured frescoes, one of which showed a caiman crocodile with its mouth open. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 17\n\n# THE CAQUETA RIVER\n\nTHE FILM SCRIPT OF INDIANS CALLED for sequences to be shot in a number of geographically distant locations, for which Zyborg's production team organised itself into different film crews, each of varying size, depending on the importance of the subject and the difficulty of the location in question. Matt Halder's philosophy was 'Make a drama, not a documentary, if you have a message, it has to shake the audience, stop them sleeping at night.' He told Pat, 'I chose this art form, the cinema, this incredible, wonderful art form, to tell stories. If I wanted to make political speeches, I'd have joined a party. If I wanted to give a sermon, I'd have joined the church. If I'd wanted to give a lecture, I'd have become a teacher. I chose to be a filmmaker and I make movies, I don't give lectures. The equipment was varied, for archaeological sites the choice was wide, but in the jungle compact cameras were necessary as it was impossible to transform malocas into film studios and besides transport was a problem. The advantage of Las Indias and Sundaland II was they were floating studios with vast carrying capacity and equipment could be selected according the location's conditions. In addition scenes could be edited and if necessary more footage shot. The subject of Indians was of course the indigenous people living in isolation from the outside world, many of whom lived in the heart of the Colombian Amazonian rainforest and the first of the sequences on their way of life would be shot by the lead film crew in the Curare-Los Ingleses Indigenous Reserve and its adjoining areas, including a large part of the Rio Pure National Natural Park. The park covered nearly one million hectares of jungle in Amazonas in the extreme south-east corner of Colombia, nearly 1,000 kilometres from Bogota. It was juxtaposed with the Cahuinara National Park along the banks of the Rio Caqueta. Both part of a vast territory of Amazonian forest. A satellite image of Amazonas and the Rio Pure National Park showed nothing but a solid dark green mass. It was an expanse of endless jungle overlapping into Peru and Brazil. It was one of the world's last untouched quarters, where small groups of men and women still lived in perfect harmony with untouched nature, in isolation from the outside world. The inhabitants of Rio Pure, those living in the so-called modern world, had long known of the existence of the people of the interior, about 2,500 Indians, believed to be members of two closely related tribes, the Yuri and Passe. Those Indians were protected by the Colombian government, whose vision of rainforest conservation was based on the principal of upholding the rights of indigenous tribes to their ancestral lands, whose way of life depended on a symbiosis with their natural surroundings. The government had adopted the UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples in 2007 and the Political Constitution of 1991 recognising the fundamental rights of indigenous peoples and ratified the International Labour Organisation Convention 169. The ILO had been engaged in issues relating to indigenous and tribal peoples since the 1920s. At the national level, the indigenous peoples were represented by two main organizations: the Organizacion Nacional Indigena de Colombia and the Autoridades Indigenas de Colombia, which together represented the majority of the country's indigenous peoples. In 2014, President Santos of Colombia signed a decree that created a special regime to put into place the administration of the indigenous peoples' own systems, a precursor to the Organic Law of Territorial Management, which defined the relations and coordination between the Indigenous Territorial Entities and the Municipalities and Departments. It was estimated that the indigenous population of Colombia was 1,500,000 persons, which represented about 3.5% of the country's total population, of these some 60% lived in reserves. Matt Halder had worked on a project with the ONIC, the search for isolated indigenous communities using high-resolution photography to scan the different national parks of the Amazonas region. It was with their help, Indians would be filmed in a series of sequences retracing the history of the Amerindians, from their arrival in Amazonas to the present day, centred around a first contact with forest people in a zone where illegal loggers had been detected. The idea to commence in Colombia had originated when Dan Briscoe had been asked whether it was possible to film the tribal peoples in Brazil, his reply was why not, but why go to Brazil when they could start in Colombia without running the risk of problems with the Bolsonaro administration. The idea that isolated tribes still lived in Colombia, was vaguely new to the production team, even though Colombia shared part of the northern Amazon forest with its neighbours, where, in the Caqueta River region of the Rio Pure National Parque, the Carijona tribe lived. What they didn't realise was the vastness of Colombia's Amazonian rainforest, Lola was of course familiar with the geography of her country, though not all of its one million plus square kilometres, much of which was dense empty jungle. The Caqueta--or the Japura as the nearly 3,000 kilometre long river was also known, flowed eastwards into Brazil to join the Amazon. * * *\n\nA month later the team and Zyborg's film crew together with Dan Briscoe flew into La Pedrera, a small town situated in the Departamento del Amazonas, in the south of Colombia bordering the frontier with Brazil. The department was the size of New York State, nearly four times bigger than Belgium, but in comparative terms nearly empty with a population of just 75,000 compared to New York's 20 million or Belgium's 11 million. Looking out of the window of their small plane as they descended the details of the endless jungle were magnified, an endless carpet of green stretching out before them, as it had for the last hour, ever since they had taken off from Leticia, which lay at the most extreme southern point of Colombia, in a region bordering Brazil and Peru. The only break in the monotonous green was a deep ochre coloured river that wound its way eastwards and the occasional patches of mist that drifted past. As the plane turned, two hills appeared, rising up out of the plain, incongruous landmarks on an otherwise uniform landscape. Beyond they made out a dark line cut into the jungle on the opposite bank of the Caqueta River, it was the La Pedrera airstrip. The iron roofs of a few scattered low wooden buildings appeared, contrasting with the ubiquitous green. They circled and glided in low over the river, skimming past the buildings and landed with a bump on the rough airstrip where after taxing a short distance they turned back towards the village where the runway became an unpaved laterite track. To Camille it seemed like a journey to the end of the world and when she finally stepped out of the small plane on the rough and ready airstrip, a feeling of space, distance and mystery descended over her. Beyond lay the jungle, over which they seemed to have flown for hours, first from Bogota to Leticia, then in the small twin engined Beechcraft to what seemed like nothing more than a clearing in the forest. La Pedrera was a small one horse town, planted in the  middle of the dense rainforest that was crossed by the many winding streams and rivers that fed the Amazon. As the others descended from the plane a small delegation approached to greet them. There was the representative of the Cahuinara Park and Filipe Diaz the anthropologist, together with assistants and baggage porters. A stocky man in jeans and gumboots stepped forward to greet Alfonso, he was introduced to the girls as Felix, their guide for the next few days. He then turned to Diaz and spoke quickly in Spanish as the baggage was unloaded from the plane and carried by the porters towards the terminal building, which in reality was nothing more than a few wooden shacks with corrugated iron roofs. After Dan Briscoe warmly embraced his colleague, he commenced to introduced his small group--Lola Barton, Anna Basurko, Camille Clancy, Lili and HG, two figures approached, the first taller, a solid more vaguely familiar form, the second shorter and slighter. The first wore a broad smile. The women, and more in particular Lili, looked at him agog, then broke out in happy laughter, and ran to embrace him. It was Pat Kennedy. 'Nice to see you girls,' he said beaming with pleasure. 'What are you doing here Pat?' asked Camille. 'It was only natural I join the party. This is Ken,' he said the turning to his companion, 'Ken Hisakawa, from New York.' Dan Briscoe was just as surprised to see Pat Kennedy. 'Where's Matt and Kyril,' asked Pat. 'They're still at Tolima Linda, a fantastic site, they're shooting some additional footage. They'll be flying in this afternoon.' Diaz smiled, he was delighted, he'd prepared the surprise, and was rewarded by the reaction of the five women, who were younger and more attractive than he'd expected, though a little worried as he wondered if they--in their fashionable jungle kits, knew what they were in for. They were then guided to a somewhat more imposing building a little distance away, where a large panel announced Sede de la Cahuinara Parque, probably the largest building for hundreds of kilometres around, where a briefing was planned before they set out for the tribal area. Camille stared at the patches of low mist hanging over the trees behind the building, but much more strange was the small group of barely dressed Indians, their poker-faces scrutinising the new arrivals, and more in particular the five very white women who stood a head over them. Looking around Lili remarked the absence of motor vehicles. 'Unnecessary,' Felix informed her pointing to the river. There were no roads, just a few trails, all communications and transport was by river, on the other side of which she saw the hills which were much higher than they had appeared from the plane. If Leticia was a very distant backwater, La Pedrera was at the end of the earth. Even Anna who was used to distant places had a strange feeling of isolation, space, and perhaps anxiety. HG was on the other hand unimpressed, she even felt at home--in Borneo, where apart from the mountains in her own state, Sabah, it looked the same, jungles, rivers, isolated villages and wooden houses, even the local people looked the same, only the language was different. After an animated briefing and a light lunch, they left the office following a path that led to a small group of rickety wooden houses on the banks of the muddy river, where the porters were loading the baggage onto a couple of longboats equipped with powerful motors and covered with awnings to protect the passengers from the equatorial sun. As they waited Camille observed wide-eyed the unhurried daily life in the small riverside jungle settlement. A few small children watched them curiously. An old man laying in a hammock suspended between the posts on a veranda ignored them. In the background a generator chattered as the womenfolk prepared a meal in front of a small TV set. As they waited they refreshed themselves with soft drinks, which like all other supplies were brought in by boat or on the plane that arrived irregularly. There were no roads, nothing but jungle trails and the river. Most of their food came from a few small garden plots where they grew manioc, or fish from the river, supplemented by game hunted or trapped in the jungle-- peccaries, birds, monkeys and other small animals. The only source of cash income for the locals came from work as guides, boatmen and baggage porters, accompanying officials, foresters, botanists, zoologists, ethnologists and occasional missionaries on their trips into the jungle. They also traded with the small isolated communities that lived in the forest, exchanging machetes and metal pots for game and other products. It was not strange to Anna, the scenes reminded her of the archaeological expeditions she had made in Central America. Diaz then invited them to board the boats and some minutes later they waved goodbye to what was the last outpost of civilisation they would see for a week or so, as they set off. * * *\n\nThe dazzling Amazonian sunlight reflected off the broad river which was flanked on both sides by a wall of dense jungle. After more than two hours along the Caqueta River they turned up one of its many tributaries, where after another hour they halted at a muddy bank marked by a crude jetty and the porter's proceeded to unload the baggage. 'This is where we shall camp tonight with a small family group of nomadic Indians,' announced Filipe Diaz. As if by magic three almost naked Indians appeared out of the dense vegetation, then, after a short exchange with Diaz, they pointed to a barely discernible path and started out, followed by Dan Briscoe, the women and porters. Camille realised their expedition, and expedition it now was, was finally underway, as they made their way over the uneven path into the forest, accompanied by a cacophony of cries from unseen birds and monkeys and the buzz of insects that swarmed around them. After the cool breeze on the open river, the heat and humidity was suffocating now that they were closed in beneath the canopy and the surrounding vegetation--so dense that the path was barely discernable, and soon it was as if they had been swallowed up by the dark jungle. After what seemed like an eternity they emerged into a small clearing, where a few men of the Carabayo tribe were waiting. They beckoned them to follow. They were the tribespeople of the Curare-Los Ingleses Indigenous Reserve, who unlike the Carijona and the other tribes that lived in the neighbouring region of Rio Pure National Natural Park, had virtually no contact with the outside world. In fact they had avoided all such contact with civilisation. Their history was one of a centuries-old struggle to avoid the white men, the Cariba malo, fleeing deeper and deeper into the forest to escape hunger, influenza, malaria, and slavery. Their maloca stood in a clearing, a large square shelter built of branches and cover with a thatched roof of palm leaves, which reminded HG of those in Borneo. A little distance away the porters set about putting up the tents and installing a field kitchen carefully observed by the headman. Matt and his five man team arrived late and the next morning they started filming on the edge of the maloca where the Indians and their children's watched them like those in villages across the world would watch a travelling circus arrive in town. Until recently they had no contact with the outside world, for hundreds of years, perhaps never. They like others had fled the Cariba malo, the evil white man--rubber tappers, missionaries, miners, drug dealers and guerrillas. For centuries many Indians had chosen the depths of jungle, to avoid hunger, disease, missionaries, and the chains of slavery. The knew the Cariba malo were there watching them beyond the forest, they heard the chainsaws and saw the planes high in the sky above their homeland in the Pure National Natural Park. * * *\n\nTowards eleven they set off with the headman and three others to film the men of the maloca hunt monkeys with their blowpipes, an arduous task for the cameramen in the dense forest, though their choice of compact cameras proved to be a boon. They were in luck and the hunters bagged a couple of large birds, a monkey and another unidentified animal. That evening after a diner of roast monkey washed down a brew prepared by the Indians and beer, Diaz told them the story of their work with the isolated Indian tribes. 'Have you ever heard of Roberto Franco,' Diaz asked. Anna and Dan were silent, the others shook their heads. 'Well Roberto was one the great specialists of the isolated tribes of the Colombian.' The camp fire flickered and the insects buzzed as they waited for him to continue. 'They are no more than a hundred families and they owe the survival to Roberto Franco,' he told them\n\n'Where does he live?' asked Camille. 'He died six years ago in a stupid plane accident in the jungle.' 'Oh.' 'I remember the day of the accident,' Diaz said quietly. 'September 6, Roberto was returning from Florencia after a trip to the indigenous people here in south Chiribiquete. He with the others took a small plane, a Navajo, back to Bogota. There were ten of them in the plane. It stopped in Araracuara, the infamous site of Casa Arana. The Navajo was in bad condition, its gas tanks leaking, and was heavily overloaded when it took off again. Ten minutes after taking off, at half three in the afternoon, it plunged into the jungle in a trail of smoke. It needed an Air Force plane to search for wreckage and it wasn't until eight that evening that same day when they announced there were no survivors. A tragedy, Roberto had spent more than 20 years studying isolated peoples. His work described how the Yorimanes and Yurimaguas, Brazilian Indians, known for their tattooed faces, had survived the Spanish and Portuguese conquerors, and how towards the end of the 19th century, descendants of those ethnic groups fled to the jungles of Colombia to escape the rubber tappers, following the Caqueta and Putumayo rivers until they reached the Pure River, changing their name to Uuris, Passes, Uainumas and Jumanas. 'There are half a dozen malocas in this area, ancestral long houses, the focal centres of the indigenous family groups here in the Amazon, especially those in the region where the borders of Colombia, Peru and Brazil overlap.' Enlarged family groups shared a maloca with separate entrances for men and for women, where married men and women slept together, and unmarried men and women slept separately. Each maloca had its own food garden, where bananas, papaya and pineapple, manioc were grown. During festivities and ceremonies, traditional dances were performed in the central space between the long houses. 'These malocas are the homes to families, who share their women, at times stealing them from other ethnic groups. Here at the headwaters of the Pure river, they're protected from intruders by dense jungle and swamps,' Dan said waving his arm into the darkness beyond. Camille and the others didn't need to be told that after their long trek to reach the maloca. 'But there are many threats,' he continued, 'threats to their existence with the Brazilian border being so near. Drug traffickers build air strips in the forest, then there's illegal loggers, poachers hunting their game and fishing in their rivers, and not least illegal gold miners poisoning the streams. 'After the peace agreement with the Farc, drug traffickers opened up new routes, that's why there are military bases near the Putumayo and Caqueta rivers here in Colombia and in Brazil.' Pat Kennedy knew what he was talking about, he remembered his own dramatic experience in the jungles of Colombia. 'Wasn't Araracuara a penal colony,' asked Anna, referring to a region renowned for its natural beauty, home to caimans, river dolphins and other rare species, but also its dark history during the rubber boom, in the days of Roger Casement, and the wars, which caused the deaths of some 40,000 Indigenous people. 'Yes,' Diaz told them. 'Between 1938 and 1971, and more than 5,000 Colombian prisoners passed through the Araracuara penal colony. Some of Colombia's most dangerous murderers and criminals were imprisoned there in the jungle, a hell hole by all accounts, surrounded by dense jungles, deep canyons, fast rivers and impassable rapids, far from anywhere. Its airstrip was built by the prisoners just beyond the canyon, apart from that there was nothing else, except a couple of shacks, cut off by Devil's Canyons, 80 metres deep and just 30 wide, through which the Caqueta flows, a deadly torrent.' There was a silence as they absorbed his his words. 'Incidentally,' he added as if to soften the sinister history, 'the surrounding rocks are marked with ancient petroglyphs.' Pat perked up at the mention of petroglyphs--images incised in rock faces, by forgotten prehistoric peoples. Filipe told him of the thousands of such images that had been discovered on rocks between Araracuara and La Pedrera by archaeologists from University College London, together with pottery at sites dating back more than 12,000 years, proving the existence of developed human settlements in the middle of what was now dense rainforests. The same archaeologists had determined very significant climate change in the middle Holocene period had caused significant depopulation across the entire Amazon basin. The initial human colonisation of South America was a rapid process that led to the spread of hunter-gatherer populations into every major biome on the continent within a few millennia, starting at the latest, according to conventional thinking, around 14,000 years ago, others believed it was much earlier. Then some 6,000 years later, as a result of sudden and frequent climatic changes, which affected rainfall and by extrapolation agriculture, a widespread population decline took place. * * *\n\nAfter saying goodbye to the family of the maloca they continued their journey up river to visit another group of Carabayo Indians. Finally after four long hours travelling upstream, past an ever present monotonous green wall, they spotted two Indians standing on the bank at one of the river's endless twists and turns, who made them a sign. Diaz disembarked and after a brief parley they followed suit as the porters unloaded their gear onto the bank. Without giving them time to stretch their legs the guides were already disappearing into the forest, Felix made a sign and they followed. After an hour's march they arrived in a large clearing in the middle of which was high longhouse, larger than the maloca of the previous day. There the elders stood waiting on the hard packed earthen floor, they were dressed in their traditional costumes, mostly feathers, shells in their ears and thorns through their noses, ready to greet them. The Indians wore almost nothing else and strangely enough they recalled the Iban of Borneo, in fact HG had difficulty in imagining she was anywhere else but in an Iban village in Sabah or Kalimantan. One of the woman took Camille's hand, she said something incomprehensible, Camille looked down and saw her hand stained red from the dyes on the woman's fingers. They were welcomed as honoured guests and invited to be seated whilst Diaz exchanged news with the headman. * * *\n\nThe Carabayo had lived, as did most isolated tribes, in their forest home for countless generations, perhaps millennia, collecting fruit, roots, larvae and insects, hunting birds and monkeys with arrows and darts tipped with curare, a poison that causes asphyxia and death, though no harmful effects when eaten in the meat of dead animals. The used bamboo knives to skin animals and cut meat, stone axes to fell trees as well as other tools for their everyday needs. They were the descendants of the Tiger People, fierce warriors, who it was said painted their bodies with stripes, pierced their noses with thorns, like tigers whiskers, and ate their enemies, who had fled along the Caqueta to the Bernardo River in the 19th century to escape the colonists and rubber tappers\n\n'In reality no one knows exactly how many of these isolated tribespeople people live here,' Diaz told them, 'anything from 50 to 500 people in small family groups.' The question anthropologists like Diaz and government officials posed was how to best to protect such isolated tribes from the diseases of the outside world for which they had no immunity. 'Keeping visitors away was one solution,' said Diaz with an apologetic smile. 'Especially missionaries, who want to civilize and convert the Indians, forcing them to abandon their ancestral traditions.' In neighbouring Brazil, the government had a long-time policy of seeking to open up the Amazonian region by sending explorers into the jungle to establish small airstrips and outposts and open roads. Their goal was to contact the tribes through the Indian Protection Service and later the National Indian Foundation with the objective of integrating the indigenous peoples into modern society, setting up a group of integrationists known as sertanistas for the task. The consequences were often disastrous as the indigenous peoples lacking immunity to diseases were decimated, many communities lost from 50% to 90% of their population. Many survivors ended up in squalid jungle settlements, alienated, suffering the ills of civilisation--alcohol, drugs, prostitution and poverty. Colombia had learnt its lesson when the Nukak-Maku, a tribe of hunter-gatherers, after official contact was established in 1988, had not only lost half of its population, primarily to disease, but also part of their territory to coca growers, ranchers and other settlers. Less than 250 now lived in makeshift settlements near San Jose del Guaviare, and a similar number lived nomadicaly in the Nukak Reservation. In the case of Brazil, the government introduced a no contact approach in 1988 by mapping indigenous lands and by excluding loggers, miners and other intruders, an example that became a reference for indigenous rights in neighbouring countries. This policy was however systematically opposed, not only by powerful mining, ranching and timber interests, but also small landless farmers who illegally settled on the indigenous peoples homeland. Unfortunately the no contact policy left the way open to illegal groups who set up clandestine operations in protected lands and exposed the tribespeople to deadly pathogens--furtive genocide in the darkness of the forest. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 18\n\n# THE ISLAND\n\nEIGHT DAYS LATER THE TEAM was back in La Pedrera from where they flew south to Leticia to join the Las Indias on its voyage up the Amazon to Iquitos, the capital of the Peruvian Amazon, the largest city in the world that could only reached by air or boat. The city and with its conurbation exceeded half a million people. It lay on the left bank of the world's greatest river, an inland port, 3,600 kilometres from the Atlantic, one that was accessible by ocean going ships of up to 9,000 tons. Their flight carried them over a vast carpet of green, over 300 kilometres of uninterrupted rainforests to the Amazon. It was the home to three national parks, that of Rio Piure on the Colombian side of the border, then Yaguas and Ampiyacu of the Peruvian side. The question of how to accommodate the production team and film crews, transport equipment, plus a helicopter, drones and boats, had been solved by sailing the Las Indias up the Amazon to the tri-cities of Leticia, Tabatinga and Santa Rosa, where Brazil, Peru and Colombia met in the heart of the world's largest forest region, known as Tres Fronteras. It was said that Leticia was the name given to the then small jungle riverside settlement by an engineer named Manuel Charon in 1867, when the area was part of Peru, after his mistress Leticia Smith, a beauty from Iquitos. Today with population of 50,000 the small city of Leticia was the capital of Colombia's Amazonas Department. It was mid-morning and the Malecon bustled with life, there were ticket sellers, hawkers, money exchangers and tuk-tuk drivers, all pushing their wares and services as passengers made their way to and from the boats. Following Alfonso they made their way to the jetty, where the tender, a powerfull 8.6 metre long rigid-hulled inflatable, was waiting to transfer them to the Las Indias. Once installed the boatman gunned the powerful 350HP motor and they headed out onto the broad river, weaving their way past boats of every description, from cargo ships to fast comfortable passenger boats, local river buses, ferryboats, speedboats, river taxis, small motorboats, skiffs and dugout canoes. Like all such border regions Tres Fronteras had been a bone of contention, fought over in an armed conflict known as the Colombia-Peru War, which was resolved in 1934 by the League of Nations. It was now the gateway to the Amazon, from where they were set to leave for Iquitos, a 24 hour journey upriver, a city founded by Jesuit Missionaries in 1730, which went unnoticed by the world outside until the rubber boom when it became the focal point of attention as the source of raw rubber, where fortunes were made and lost between 1879 and 1912. Amongst the city's more remarkable monumentswas the Casa de Fierro, which stands opposite the Cathedral San Juan Bautista. The large pre-fabricated iron building was imported from France by the rubber baron Anselmo del Aguila, who bought it at the International Exposition of Paris in 1889, shipped it aross the Atlantic and then up the Amazon to Iquitos. Iquitos was also made famous by Nobel Prize winning author, Mario Vargas Llosa, in his novel published in 1973, entitled Pantaleon y las visitadoras, a comedy in which a Peruvian Army officer, Captain Pantaleon Pantoja, was sent on a mission to satisfy the sex drive of soldiers stationed in the Amazon. Soon the team spotted Las Indias, and anchored a few cables away was the Sundaland II, the second and relatively smaller of the expedition's two vessels, a 1,900 ton research and recovery vessel, 65 metres long, captained by Robert Guiglion, to provide logistics and back-up. Sundaland II could accommodate up to 30 personnel, including Zyborg's film crews for Indians, backed by archaeologists who would undertake a survey of the geoglyphs, ethnologists and environmentalists. The whole programme was planned to last six weeks at different navigable points along the Amazon. The Sundaland II was a modified patrol boat, built in Singapore, under licence from a Dutch shipbuilder, Damen Shipyards Group, recently fitted now registered in Panama. The two ships had arrived from Manaus two days earlier after a stopover to take on those who had flown in from Europe and take on provisions. Amongst them was Henrique da Roza and an anthropologist accompanied by a film crew to shoot scenes in the city, which would serve to illustrate the explosive growth in the Amazonian city, its population growing from 300,000 to 2,500,000 in a couple of decades. Once they were all aboard, Captain Bogart gave the signal and yacht weighed anchor and set sail in the direction of Iquitos. Camille and the girls set about refreshing themselves after their first taste of adventure and were soon looking civilised watching the scenery slip past, the endless rainforest, the occasional villages and even a pink dolphin or two. Iquitos was to be their base over the next month after Las Indias and Sundaland II dropped anchors, a floating film studio and research station from where Matt and his team could undertake and pre-edit Indians with the help of numerous specialists from the three South American countries where most uncontacted populations were centred. With their boats, helicopter, drones and a Cessna Turbo Stationair float plane they could rapidly reach across a vast region ferrying passengers and fragile material to distant sites over a radius of 500 kilometres, and in the case of serious illness or accident reach Manaus in a couple of hours. * * *\n\nIt was the dry season, though that term was relative, and temperatures varied not more than ten degrees between day and night, with a maximum of 33oC, and relatively clear skies. Their plans were to start filming the second sequence in the Resguardo Predio Putumayo, an Indian territory along the Putumayo River, the nearest point of which was just 200 kilometres to the north in the Cessna, a 40 minute flight to the nearest riverside settlement where they could set up a temporary base camp. Being a shade south of the equator there were 12 hours daylight time, which meant keeping a tight programme for filming and travelling. There were other considerations such as river levels which were lower in the dry season, making it more difficult for boats and especially the float plane. Two semi-rigid boats equipped with 300HP outboards waited at the base camp for the expedition further up river to the Cahuinari National Park. The boats had made their way up the Caqueta River from its junction with the Amazon near the Brazilian town Tefe--a long hard journey, after they had been launched onto the river from the Sundaland II with drums of fuel and other supplies. Pat Kennedy was accompanied by Sean Cinnsealaigh who had led a Maynooth University programme focused on the way of life of hunter-gatherers in Caqueta. Their plan was to meet with the surviving clans of the Muinane tribe and visit Matanzas, the Hill of the Wild Cacao Tree, the place where their ancestors were massacred by the agents of Arana, the rubber baron who had enslaved, tortured and killed the ancestors of the Putumayo Indians. The Cahuinari National Park, which lay between the Caqueta and Putumayo rivers, was the home to the Putumayo Indians to whom the Colombian government granted the legal property in 1980, of a vast forest area covering six million hectares, the Resguardo Predio Putumayo, the home of the descendants of the Witoto, Bora, Muinane, Mira\u00f1a, Ocaina, Nonuya and Andoque Indians tribes. A region that had been ravaged by Julio Cesar Arana's rubber territories. his new Indian. The Mira\u00f1a, for example, were settled in the middle and lower Caqueta River and numbered approximately 200 people. They were linguistically related to the Bora and the Muinane. They Mira\u00f1a were the survivors of a group that had inhabited the basins of the Cahuinari and Pama Rivers, who during the rubber boom with other groups from the area between the Caqueta and Putumayo Rivers, were left decimated after epidemics and exploitation by the infamous Peruvian Amazon Company of Casa Arana. Today they were governed by the Muinane Council of Elders--formed by the chiefs of the four main clans--The People of the Centre, as they called themselves, who exercised political autonomy and continued to rebuild their way of life on the banks of the Caqueta River. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 19\n\n# THE PRIVILEGED\n\nHONGKONGERS LIKE PAT KENNEDY had mixed views on the ongoing demonstrations, which were obviously not good for business and relations with Beijing. Pat, better known as Sir Patrick Kennedy in elevated circles, enjoyed the good life in Hong Kong, a member of the Hong Kong Jockey Club, one of the oldest institutions in the city, as a race horse owner he mixed with his wealthy peers, passing celebrities and members of British royalty. He had been a guest at royal weddings, where other guests included the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge, and members of European royalty, which did not however mean he sought their company. In fact it was the other way around, he could do more for them with his relations in China than they could do for him. As for the City of London and Europe he had more relations than he cared to count. Pat's Hong Kong based banking empire straddled the globe, a fact that had undeniably contributed to his own knighthood. He liked to explain to outsiders business in China was all about trust and his position as CEO of the INI Hong Kong Banking Corporation, a patron of the arts and a philanthropist, made Sir Patrick a very honourable man. The same could not be said for certain royals, whose relations with Hong Hong businessmen had more to do with personal business than flying the flag. One of them was the Duchess of York, the ex-wife of the now banished Prince Andrew, whose link to Johnny Hon, a local businessman, was not a reference for British royalty. Pat kept his distance from names, like Zara Tindall and her husband Mark Phillips, Zara was the daughter of Princess Anne and eldest granddaughter of Queen Elizabeth. Thanks to Pat's inside knowledge as a banker, he knew they pocketed substantial directors fees from Hon's companies via an offshore bank in St Vincent and the Grenadines. The trouble with royalty was it attracted media attention, especially tabloids like the Daily Mail that thrived on scandal, something Pat tried to avoid, and did, thanks to his tee-totalling habit and his avoidance of other women, a vestige of his Irish upbringing. Zara Tindall's brother, Peter Phillips, a former RBS banker in Hong Kong, was a horse racing enthusiast, like his grandmother, the Queen. He had launched a horse-racing private members' club for investors in Hong Kong with Johnny Hon, a business which Pat had carefully side stepped. Johnny Hon had been involved in a Supercar GB rally, reserved for high net worth individuals in the Pyrenees that summer, where the participants paid \u00a310,000 for five days of fine dining and fantastic company. That was not Pat's thing, business was business, he learnt to avoid fooling around with cheap stunts which he knew often backfired. He preferred art, history and archaeology, investing in museum projects and more recently in scientific research. That said, Pat was a little weary of business, pissed-off was perhaps a better description, for no matter how hard he tried, he had discovered there was not much he could do to influence the global economy, even from his position as a powerful international banker. It was perhaps why he had resigned himself to letting the bank run itself, and it did, thousand of small cogs turning in that huge machine, based on Hong Kong island, where banks were particularly profitable in spite of the recent volatility of its population. He had learned to sit back, observe, from time to time nudging the great ship, of which he was captain, through the turbulence caused by Brexit, Trump, Xi Jinping, Kim Jong-un and the other ayatollahs of the planet, whose combined efforts, according to the IMF, had slowed the growth of the global economy to its lowest rate since the global financial crisis. At the core of that slowdown were US-China trade tensions, which together with other factors, such as low growth in productivity and ageing demographics in advanced economies, would cumulatively drag down global GDP by hundreds of trillions of dollars in 2020. It explained why he was sitting in a somewhat rickety outboard chugging up one of the countless branches of the Amazon River in the southernmost province of Colombia aptly named Amazonas. Watching over him was Florence Daguerre, one of the team dispatched by George Pyke to watch over the small expedition's safety. Not only was she an expert in weapons and martial arts, she, in addition to her native French, spoke Spanish, and was an organiser, good at giving orders. South Americans, who ogled the attractive forty something blond, soon, whilst admiring her shapely figure, learned to respect her thick skinned no-nonsense attitude. A Glock at the ready in the holster on her right hip and a bush machete slung on the other, she reassured Pat, not that he needed reassuring, his somewhat disconcerting disdain for risk had been reinforced by the experience of adventures he preferred not to talk about. Pat Kennedy seemed to be drawn by a natural curiosity to danger and George Pike knew only to well such brushes with danger did not always end well. It was why Florence had been assigned to the expedition, a decision that went down with the other women who felt more at ease in her presence than certain of George's more blunt men. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 20\n\n# THE MALOCA OF THE JAGUAR\n\nTHE INDIANS SPOKE NO SPANISH making communication difficult as they inspected the newcomers like strange beasts. Pat looked at Felix who issued instructions to the porters who placed one of the large bundles on the ground, which he proceeded to open. It contained machetes, axes, knives and metal cooking vessels which he distributed to the Indians. He felt a tinge of guilt as he thought of Cornelius Vanderbilt's men who had hacked his way through the Nicaraguan jungle to open his overland route to the West Coast in the 19th century, exchanging beads and trinkets with the Indians to ensure a safe passage for rafts and canoes down the San Carlos and San Juan rivers\n\nBut they were the only kinds of goods that interested the Indians, valuable additions to their possessions, as metals tools were precious objects in their world. The discussions lasted a long moment during which Pat and his friends understood nothing. Without Felix they would have been lost. But even he had difficulties moving amongst the different tribes, as in South America, forgetting Spanish and Portuguese, there were more than one hundred language families and half as much again were isolates, spoken by very few people. Apart from the isolates, many of the families were small, composed of six or fewer languages. The other problem was that of perception. The indigenous languages contrasted with Indo-European languages--where verb tenses and numbers counted, whilst local languages focused on other grammatical markers which determined whether the speaker witnessed an event himself, heard about it from someone else, or considered it to be an unchanging truth. Which meant their vision of the world was very very different to that of say Spanish, Portuguese or English speakers. That meant little to Pat and his team of adventurers who were more concerned about the jungle that had now totally enveloped them, starting with Camille. 'What kind of animals live in this forest?' she asked. 'Peccaries--that's a kind of wild pig, tapirs, monkeys, snakes, caimans - that's a kind of crocodile.' 'Oh, are they dangerous?' 'Yes, not as dangerous as anacondas, they're snakes, a kind of python.' She said nothing. 'Which are less dangerous than jaguars.' 'Jaguars?' 'Yes, jaguars.' 'Here?' 'Yes, in this region about 2,000 jaguars roam the jungle in this region of Ecuador, Colombia, Peru and the adjoining border area of Brazil.' Camille looked around startled. 'Unfortunately logging, coffee, cacao, palm oil and bananas are eating into their habitat, all around us.' Camille looked relieved. 'Don't worry, they eat rodents, sometimes dogs, though they'll even eat caimans if their hungry. 'The great tragedy is Jaguars are being poached for their teeth, skin and even bones which are used in Chinese traditional medicines.' They all looked at Lili, who shrugged. 'For us,' said Felix translating the words of the headman, 'the original people, the jaguar represents wisdom and protects the spirits, to whom we owe all our knowledge. Our shamans, the keepers of our traditions and knowledge, are in communication with the spirits, who they invoke to keep poachers, gold prospectors, loggers and drug traffickers out of our ancestral home.' Over the years the Indians had resisted the loggers, missionaries and bandits, but it was becoming difficult as armed gold miners appeared on the edge of their territory with their mining equipment polluting the rivers and poisoning the fish. * * *\n\n'It's called the doomsday plan,' said Pat Kennedy dramatically. They were back on Las Indias eating diner after several days of filming the malocas in what was for them an inhospitable forest. They all stopped eating and looked at him. 'It's 100 seconds to midnight, humanity is in danger...and I've decided to accelerate my plans....'\n\nThey sat staring at him, there was a long silence. Maybe he's had too much sun, Camille thought. 'The Elders, have decided the world needs to wake up.' She wondered who The Elders were. 'The way I see it, it's too late. All this thing about climate change, nuclear weapons, epidemics, economic collapse and wars, I've seen it coming ... for a long time now. The next economic crisis will unleash forces we haven't even imagined,' he explained with great seriousness, 'I've spoken to John about it.' John lowered his head. That morning, at a press conference, the Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists announced the doomsday clock had moved forward to 100 seconds to midnight, the closest it had ever been to catastrophe\n\nThe doomsday clock was an idea born in 1947, two years after Hiroshima, when a group of scientists, the Chicago Atomic Scientists, who had participated in the Manhattan Project, came to the conclusion the world was on the verge of nuclear destruction. To alert politicians of the danger facing humanity, they invented a symbolic clock which was set at seven minutes before the midnight, the time we were on a 12 hour day from destruction. 'So what are you proposing Pat,' Liam asked slowly. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 21\n\n# IMPACT\n\nLIDAR HAD CREATED A REVOLUTION in pre-Columbian archaeology, as researchers like Ken Hisakawa applied the technique at sites across the Americas, using either satellite imagery, aircraft or drones to explore the terrain. Each had its own specific advantages. NASA's satellites had provided for example large scale surveys in Mexico, along the Usumacinta River that formed part of the border between Mexico and Guatemala, helping identify many ancient settlements. At the other end of the scale local drone-based Lidar surveys provided more detailed images of sites. Such methods transformed research, providing vast new quantities of information and new discoveries, upending many long held theories thanks to its highly detailed imagery of structures, roads, waterways and agricultural terraces, providing a broader picture of entire societies, their history and development. * * *\n\nThe Xingu River wound its way north from the Xingu National Park to the Amazon, over a distance of 1,640 kilometres. Its source lay in the Mato Grosso, the home of the Xingu indigenous peoples, where the British explorer, Colonel Percy Fawcett, disappeared with his entire expedition in search of the Lost City of Z, in 1925, possibly killed by isolated tribesmen. That was the legend, savages with spears and poison darts. Today it was the turn of modern civilisation, slowly killing the tribespeople with the rejects of its society, in the form of plastic debris in all shapes and sizes carried through the watershed, washed into its countless rivers and streams. A study of plastic consumed by freshwater fish in the Xingu River, concluded, after examining the stomachs contents of various species, plastic pollution in some of the most isolated regions on earth was already impacting 80% of aquatic fauna and entering the natural food chain. Micro and nano particles of polyamide, polyester and polyethylene terephthalate, commonly used materials for the production of plastic bags, bottles, fibres and other products, were impacting the aquatic biota, a health hazard not only to the human population, but also the flora and fauna of the entire biosphere of the Amazon Basin\n\nScientific reports described how many different species of fish consumed plastics, and regardless of whether they were herbivorous, carnivorous or omnivorous, all fed, directly or indirectly, on the entire food chain--plants, fish and insects of the forests, confounding plastic with seeds, fruits and leaves. Plastics were not the only hazards to life in the Amazon, where contact with isolated tribes was strictly controlled, as even accidental contact could lead to deaths through diseases, like flu and measles, to which they had no immunity, threatening the extinction of vulnerable forest peoples. More than 100 isolated groups lived in the Amazon, certain with many related family groups, living in remote areas of Acre, or in protected territories like Vale do Javari, on the border with Peru. Others were the scattered survivors of tribes decimated during the rubber boom during the latter part of the 19th century and by encroaching agriculture. Amongst these were nomadic groups like the Kawahiva, that numbered just a few families, who had fled deeper into the forest to escape invading loggers and ranchers, certain of whom did not hesitate to use violence to force the Indians off their lands, destroying their forests, source of their livelihoods, where they and their ancestors had hunted with blowpipes, fished in the many rivers and gathered fruit and plants in the forests. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 22\n\n# HONG KONG BATTLE ZONE\n\nIT HAD BEEN A MUGGY SATURDAY morning when Henrique da Roza, a young Forex trader at INI in Hong Kong, and his girl friend Wangshu finished their breakfast of instant noodles and vegetables. They then turned to the preparations for another long long day in the streets, packing yellow helmets, goggles, gas masks and eyewash into their rucksacks. Henrique came from an old Portuguese family whose ancestors had arrived in Macau in the early 18th century. Macau had been a Portuguese Colony, established on the west bank of the Pearl River, for nearly 500 years before it was returned to China in 1999, two years after Hong Kong. After completing his studies in Lisbon and London, Henrique had joined INI--thanks to an introduction by an uncle, a senior lawyer at the bank in Hong Kong. Henrique had the advantage of speaking Portuguese, English, Cantonese and Mandarin. However, the Portuguese were part of a dwindling community and of those registered in Macau only 10% could speak the language. By coincidence, Portuguese was back in vogue as China developed its business ties with Brazil, Angola and Mozambique, and Macau had become an asset, a key link through its cultural ties and history. Even Xi Jinping deigned to visit Macau, participating in the celebrations for the 20th anniversary of its return to Beijing's control, which came against the background of Hong Kong's political conflict and China's growing debt crisis, marked by a 100 billion yuan bailout of Shandong's Hengfeng Bank, which like other Chinese banks was experiencing increasing stress as the country's growth and economy slowed. Beijing saw Macau as a model that a rebellious Hong Kong would be wise to follow, of course the former Portuguese colony was smaller and less, much less, important financially and economically speaking, in reality Macau was something of an anachronism better known for gambling and other vices. Chinese state-owned companies had long been an economic burden and now this burden accentuated as the slowdown grew with more and more private sector businesses struggling under the weight of excessive debt, visible as the number of defaults increased. Just one of the tasks on Xi Jinping's agenda was to halt the rapidly worsening relations with US and find an answer to the hi-tech war. The all time stock market highs in the US did nothing to alleviate Pat's fears of the possibility of a financial war between China and the US, with Xi firmly established as effective life president, the shadow of authoritarianism hung over the country, making China more brittle and vulnerable to the unforeseeable. Henrique's girlfriend, Wangshu, hailed from Hankou, an ancient city that lay on the Yangtze River in the Province of Hubei. She too worked at INI where she was a financial analyst specialised in Mainland debt issues. The couple had met in London at an LSE Forex seminar a year earlier, where Wangshu, quite by coincidence was attending a postgraduate course on the more arcane aspects of shadow banking. A brilliant student, she had already spent three years in London where she obtained an MSc in economics. INI was concerned about the risks of shadow banking in China, much of which escaped the control of regulators, and like the Chinese Central Bank, feared it would inevitable lead to instability and another debt crisis. That day in Hong Kong, the students' march was announced as peaceful, but Henrique was preparing for the worst. Like many other Hongkongers, he had been present at every major demonstration from the very start of the protest movement against the laws promulgated by Carrie Lam. Henrique was one of those more privileged young men who enjoyed the comfort of an agreeable apartment in the North Point area, which he shared with Wangshu, who was afraid of what might happen that day. Firstly, the clashes between protesters and police had escalated dramatically with several injuries, secondly, hundreds of people had been arrested--many charged with rioting, a crime that carried a severe prison sentence; thirdly, they could both could lose their jobs; and fourthly, when it all ended, as it inevitably would, they could end up being catalogued as dissenters and trouble makers by the Mainland Chinese authorities, not a good thing for their future and respective careers. It was almost midday when Henrique and Wangshu left for the assembly point at Victoria Park. They took the MTR at North Point station, where it already crowded with young people, many in black T-shirts and holding umbrellas, chanting their familiar slogan in Cantonese, others in Mandarin, 'Xianggang jiayou', meaning 'Come on Hong Kong'--'Vive Hong Kong'. Wild rumours circulated, the most frightening was that of troops being readied across the border as Beijing prepared to put-down the revolt with force. Strangely many quoted the words of Chris Patten, the last British Governor, who cited Jack London at the opening session of the Legislative Council on October 2, 1996\n\n'Hong Kong, it seems to me, has always lived by the author, Jack London's credo:\n\nI would rather be ashes than dust,\n\nI would rather my spark should burn out in a brilliant blaze,\n\nThan it should be stifled in dry rot. I would rather be a superb meteor,\n\nWith every atom of me in magnificent grow,\n\nThan a sleepy and permanent planet. 'Whatever the challenges ahead, nothing should bring this meteor crashing to earth, nothing should snuff out its glow. I hope that Hong Kong will take tomorrow by storm. And when it does, History will stand and cheer.' They were brave words, but would they bend the iron will of Beijing? Like others, Henrique and Wangshu had been on the streets, demonstrating in the hope of forcing the government to give in. The more activist demonstrators had engaged in hand to hand fighting, throwing Molotov cocktails, bricks, stones and anything they could lay their hands on, they had even tried blocking the airport, the MTR, and government facilities. To no avail. Henrique, though he was a child when Hong Kong and Macau were handed over, told Wangshu, 'When I think about Patten's words, 22 years ago, they tell me to keep faith.' It was strange and exciting talk to Wangshu coming from the Mainland, where participating in demonstrations of any form was strictly reprimanded and those involved could quickly find themselves in a re-education centre or worse. Victoria Park, was the largest park in Hong Kong, it could be seen from the Kennedy's residence high above in the Happy Valley district, it was an island of greenery surrounded by concrete--office towers, shopping centres and a tangle of roads. The park was a couple of stops from Admiralty, the MTR station on the line that they took daily to and from their offices at the INI headquarters. As they exited from the mouth of Causeway Bay station they heard the chanting of the demonstrators: 'Five demands, not one less!' The sky clouded over and heavy drops of ran started to fall, the crowd undeterred opened their umbrellas, some shouting their war cry 'Hongkongers! Go, go, go!' Slowly the throng made its way to Admiralty, watched by riot-police in body armour, holding their shields, battons at the ready, waiting for the signal to charge. Henrique and Wangshu were soaked through as the column of demonstrators slowly wound its way towards Central, a sea of umbrellas, undaunted by the humidity and rain. It was a route they and others had walked many times before--starting with the first Umbrella Movement in 2013, without much success, the government not budging one iota. In 2019, more than two decades had passed since the British handed over the colony with an agreement that included a transition period of 50 years. Now, Beijing was tightening its grip on the former colony, striking fear into the hearts of many Hongkongers who enjoyed a degree of freedom unknown to their neighbours on the Mainland. By early evening the protesters occupied Hennessey Road, which was in fact a broad avenue that led to the government headquarters in Admiralty. There, they were joined by Henrique's friends, some of whom donned goggles, face masks and hard hats, several of them unfurled a banner across a tramway footbridge with slogans demanding democracy\n\nMany of the demonstrators pointed lasers at the government buildings and the Chinese People's Liberation Army Forces headquarters next door, a 28 storey tower situated in what was the former British naval base. It was getting late when a number of demonstrators ignoring the organisers' advice to leave were caught up in violent clashes with heavily armed riot-police blocking the way to the government buildings. Henrique decided it was time for them to leave and head back towards Wanchai with their friends for a beer before calling it a day. As they were about to cross Hennessey Road, a convoy of police reinforcements appeared, the doors flew open and squads of riot-police poured out onto the street wielding batons and riot guns. Getting caught meant they could end up in serious trouble, which was not part of their plan, surprised by the sudden arrival of fearsome looking police in Robo-Cop style gear, the crowd pulled back, packed densely together leaving no possibility of escape as the police waded in wielding their batons. In the panic many fell over, including Henrique, who in a flash had his hands secured behind his back in tight plastic handcuffs and was bundled into one of the waiting police trucks. Wangshu, separated from Henrique, narrowly escaped and made her way back to the apartment where she switched on the TV news covering the demonstrations and anxiously waited. He was one of the unlucky ones in a rally that gathered an estimated 1.7 million demonstrators, including young, old and families, at Victoria Park on Causeway Bay, along the route to Central, Admiralty and finally at the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region's government complex. Henrique was released later that evening, ordered to appear in court the next morning. It was late when he returned to the apartment where Wangshu fell into his arms, relieved he was unhurt and had not been detained. Early next morning he called his uncle and a chain of events was set in motion, first, one of the bank's lawyers was alerted to assist Henrique in court. Then Lili, Pat's wife, a friend of the da Roza family, alerted Pat. Henrique was lucky as later that night the government in a reconciliatory statement said it was 'most important' to restore social order and 'the government will begin sincere dialogue with the public, mend social rifts and rebuild social harmony when everything has calmed down'. Henrique was released with a warning. Nevertheless, it was not good, before he had been an anonymous citizen, now he had come to the notice of the authorities as a dissident, not in a good thing in China. Normally it was not the kind of business Pat dealt with, but besides not wanting his employees in trouble with authorities, he had noted Henrique's otherwise good references and more especially the fact he spoke Portuguese, as was spoken in Brazil. Tensions had reached a new level and more violent clashes with police could be expected. Pat's decision was made. A couple of days later Henrique told a tearful Wangshu at Hong Kong International Airport that they would be together again soon, then waved goodbye as the doors to immigration closed behind him. He was now en-route for Belem, Brazil, a journey of 17,000 kilometres, where he was to join the crew of Las Indias. If it worked out, Pat figured, Henrique would be a good addition to the team, he spoke Portuguese, was a banker, and somewhere he wasn't afraid of confronting danger. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 23\n\n# BELEM\n\nHENRIQUE LOOKED OUT OVER the wide mud coloured river as the taxi pulled into Porto Belem docks to the north of the city of Belem, the Gateway to the Amazon. According to his map it was Baia do Guajara to the west side of the city centre where he had spent three nights waiting for the arrival of Las Indias. That morning after receiving a message informing him the yacht would be docking about midday, he had checked out of his hotel and headed for the port. The weather was hot and humid, it was nothing unusual for him who had lived most of his life in Macau and Hong Kong. In fact the river facing him resembled the Pearl River and the skyline of Belem was not unlike those at home. The Amazon Basin had been historically dominated by two cities--Belem and Manaus. Belem, one of the first Portuguese settlements on the Amazon River, founded in 1616, had prospered by exporting cacao, indigo extracted from brazilwood, and animal skins. Then came the rubber boom between 1875 and 1900, which transformed Belem with the introduction of electricity, telephones, street cars and fine buildings--such as the Teatro da Paz, justifying its reputation as a tropical Paris. The rubber boom came to a sudden end when Henry Alexander Wickham smuggled the seeds of rubber trees--taken from commercial Hevea brasiliensis groves in Brazil, to start plantations in Ceylon and Malaya, then parts of the British Empire. This brought about the collapse of the Brazilian rubber industry, and Belem, like Manaus, declined, becoming tropical backwaters. In recent times with the export of timber, soy beans, aluminium and iron ore, fish, Brazil nuts and black pepper the city sprang back to life with spectacular economic and demographic growth. Both Macau and Belem were cities that had been founded by the Portuguese almost a half a millennium earlier. There the similarities ended, as Henrique discovered, Belem was much more exotic, the people different from Macau, which today was an essentially Chinese city. The streets and market places of Belem bustled with an astonishing mixture of people, Europeans, Africans, Indians and even Japanese, the latter migrating to Brazil decades earlier, after WWII. What was even more surprising was the mixture of races--peoples of every colour and indefinable origins. They all spoke Portuguese, different from that which he spoke, but perfectly understandable. The lusophone world was impregnated by Brazilian Portuguese, Brazilian music, cinema, television and culture in general. Brazil was certainly the most mixed country on the entire American continents, which led its government to classifying the population into five categories--white, brown, black, yellow and indigenous, which was reflected in the country's social order and wealth. Brazilian scholars on the other hand divided the population into different categories, starting with Europeans--including Portuguese and Spanish, British, Italian and Germans; African; Amerindian; Asian--primarily Japanese; and mixed-races or pardos, which was divided into a number of subcategories, including loura, branca, morena, mulata and preta. Then there is the question of class: wealthy, middle class and poor, where it was difficult to advance regardless of colour, mainly because of Brazil's education system that worked for those with money. The most privileged being the Whites and Asians. The legend of Brazil as an example of racial harmony overlooks the fact that non-white Brazilians remain at a considerable disadvantage, where in practice preferential treatment tends to be given to whites, in areas such as the labour market, land distribution, housing and access to public services. Statistics show that around 97% of executives and 83% of managers were white. And while the favelas were home to black and white Brazilians alike, in Rio's richer neighbourhoods just 7% of residents were black. Brazil's six richest men possessed as much wealth as the poorest 50 % of the population; around 100 million people. The country's richest 5% as much income as the remaining 95%. Henrique himself was of mixed descent, an old Portuguese family whose sons somewhere along the line had married locally. Looking at Henrique he was neither European or Chinese, a blend of the better parts of his ancestors, in short he was a good-looking somewhat serious thirty year old of medium build with a Mediterranean complexion who fitted easily into the Belem crowds. He was driven to the dock, indicated by the message on his iPhone, where he recognised the lines of Las Indias. She was the only ship in that area of the docks which mostly handled bulk carriers for agricultural products. He took his bags and made his way to the gangway where there was little activity and presented himself to one of the officers. He was expected and was shown to the bridge where the captain was going over a large map. 'Ah, I suppose you are Henrique,' he said holding out his hand. 'Yes Sir.' 'Welcome on board, you've come at just the right moment, this is our pilot, Vasco Cintra, I understand you speak Portuguese.' 'Yes Sir.' 'Good, I'm your captain Steve Bogart, they call me Humph,' he said with a grin. Henrique smiled, good thought Bogart, at least he's got a sense of humour. 'Right Henrique, let's get down to business, you can start by helping me with some questions, because Vasco here is going to be with us during all of our stay in Brazil.' Steve Bogart, an Englishman from the West Country man had been captain of Las Indias since Pat Kennedy had acquired her two years earlier. Their call at Belem was to take on Matt Halders' film crew and different supplies they would be needing for the two months they would be spending on the Amazon. 'We'll be out of here as soon as everybody in on-board and we've loaded our cargo, 48 hours at the latest.' Henrique smiled, he knew nothing about boats and even less about the Amazon. 'I'll have someone take your bags and show you to your cabin. Sir Patrick has told me to look after you,' he concluded with a smile. The cabin was small, but there was a porthole from which Henrique could saw a couple of people carriers pull on the dock. Four men got out and the drivers started to unload a ton of aluminium cases and other baggage. There was a knock at the cabin door and Henrique was informed lunch was ready. He made his way to a huge stylish dining room where the captain was seated with the new arrivals. The introductions were made and he was invited to take a seat opposite the captain and next to Dr Sean Cinnsealaigh who announced he was from the Department of Anthropology at Maynooth University in County Kildare, Ireland. 'So Henrique, Captain Bogart informs me you speak Portuguese,' said Cinnsealaigh. He nodded. 'How would you like to join us for a trip to the Serra da Capivara National Park?' Henrique didn't know what to say. 'Let me explain,' said Bogart. 'It seems like we'll be staying here for a couple of days longer. Sean here tells me the team here want to do some filming at a site not far from here and they'll need your help.' He nodded. Things were happening fast. 'Brazil is a big country,' said Sean, 'and Iquitos is far to the west. So we've decided to shoot some film here at a place called the Toca da Bastiana shelter in the Serra da Capivara National Park, that's to the south-east of here. It'll avoid a lot of complications and according to Matt Halder, he's the producer of Indians, it will be an important sequence for the film, and I agree with him.' What could Henrique say, he'd barely had time to understand the brief Pat Kennedy had given him. 'We've a flight tomorrow to Petrolina,' announced Sean, 'there we'll pick up a car and a drive to Sao Raimundo Nonato where we'll meet a guide from the Museu da Natureza to visit the sites.' * * *\n\nThe next morning they arrived at Petrolina on an early flight, hired a car and headed for Sao Raimundo about 250 kilometres distance where they made their way to the museum situated to the north of the town. Waiting for them was Nieda Guidon, an archaeologist, a stocky elderly woman, director of the recently built museum, a stylish modern helicoidal structure. Sean who had set up the visit was informed they would spend the next couple of nights at a nearby pousada where they could leave their bags and freshen up before visiting the museum. Nieda Guidon had excavated hundreds of prehistoric sites in Piaui State some of which she believed preceded those accepted dates for man's arrival in the Americas by many thousands of years, launching a controversy, after she suggested some of the early peoples may have arrived from Africa by boat, rather than over the land bridge, now the Bering Straits, between Asia and Alaska. The park had yielded more than 800 prehistoric sites confirming the occupation of the Americas by men, including Pedra Furada, a rock art site, for more than 30,000 years based on thermoluminescence and EPR dating methods. It seemed impossible that man had lived in the forests of the Amazon so far back in time. Sean Cinnsealaigh had told Pat Kennedy the story who decided to fund the Irish university's research. Pat realised the value to his own project of understanding how man had survived so long ago in such a distant and seemingly hostile world, so far from the regions where man had evolved. The museum presented the site and the history of Nieda Guidon's work, where she had commenced her first excavations in 1970. There were graphic scenes complete with with stone tools and examples of rock art from the site--certainly one of the richest in the world. It told the story of the man's passage through the Serra da Capivara over many thousands of years. The next day they set off early with a guide to the Toca do Boqueira de Pedra Furada site, known as Pedra Furada, where Nieda Guidon discovered a site that she believed dated back 48,700 years, which supported her theory that men had reached Brazil about 100,000 years ago by boat from Africa, carried by the Main Equatorial Current, a voyage of about four weeks from the Cape Verde Islands. The Pedra Furada rock shelter lay under a 70 metre high sandstone overhang next to a couple of waterfalls in one of the many canyons formed by cuestas--ridges, in an undulating dry tropical landscape a dozen kilometres long and two or three wide. Henrique soon found himself making a film debut at the wooden guard rail before the paintings, covering a vast area, 60 metres long by 15 metres wide and a depth of 8 metres, as he interviewed the guide who described the extraordinary rock paintings for the camera, which depicted armadillos, emus, monkeys, and lizards, as well as an abundance of human figures, something rarely seen in prehistoric paintings in Europe--hunting, playing, dancing, fighting, making love, and giving birth. That evening as he listened to Sean and Nieda, he discovered a world he had known nothing of, far from his hectic, troubled, modern life in Hong Kong, which suddenly seemed unimportant viewed from the point of view of man's history. The question that remained in his mind was the controversy over Nieda's theories and those who believed man had entered the American continent much later. It wasn't a question of being right or wrong, he wasn't qualified to answer, it was more the rejection of her evidence by mainstream archaeology which led to many more questions. He asked Sean on the way back. The answer seemed to be more a question of disbelief in the face of new information on the one hand, and the possibility Niede's interpretation was simply an act of blind faith on the other. Only time would tell. Two days later he was woken up in his small cabin on Las Indias by a steward, he was wanted on the bridge. From the porthole he saw first glow of light on the horizon and the lights of Belem slipping by. Las Indias had weighed anchor and they were on their way sooner than expected. As he searched for the passage up to the bridge the last ten days flashed through his mind, his life had been turned upside down and he wondered what the next weeks would bring in the strange new world in which he now found himself. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 24\n\n# A BOLTHOLE\n\nPAT HAD QUIETLY SET TO WORK on his project, Salvator Mundi, commencing with a research centre not far from Lola's home, Barichara, a small colonial town in the Cordillera Oriental, a couple of hours drive to the south of Bogota. To the local inhabitants the question of research into what was not very clear. The project was variously described as a centre for the study of new energy sources--solar, wind and hydrogen, but especially the development of new storage batteries given the abundance of naturally occurring sodium salts in the region. It was concentrated around the site of an abandoned salt mine that lay in a narrow valley, cut into the flank of the mountains, 20 kilometres from Barichara, near Curiti--a somewhat smaller town. The access road was closed by a large gate and a panel marked:\n\nSociedad de Desarrollo Minerales Andinos\n\nConstruccion - Privado - Peligroso\n\nThe mine and the land that surrounded it had been in Lola Barton's family as long as could be remembered, exploited by a minerals company owned by her father, Don Pedro de Heredia, until no longer profitable. Without the attraction of the salt cathedral in the Zipaquira mine to the north, it was closed down and forgotten, apart from rare visits by local students and geologists. Since the early part of the year, the mine had been the site of new activity as construction workers moved in to build a research pilot for sodium-ion batteries, a type of rechargeable battery, similar to the better known lithium-ion type, but using other minerals extracted from the salt deposits. It was a very low profile affair, few announcements in the local press and media, the kind of short reports new investments usually attracted, and few questions were asked, the people of the surrounding region were tight lipped when it came to the affairs of Don Pedro. To one side of the compound was a helicopter pad and a couple of hangers and further down the valley an already existing airstrip, one than was used frequently by Tom Barton and Don Pedro, who didn't need reminding of the dangers of road transport in the Cordillera Orientale--Lola's parents had died in a tragic road accident when she was a child on the treacherous mountain road to Bucaramanga. What would have the raised eyebrows of an observant outsider were the vast iron doors situated at the main entrance to the mine, much larger and solid than were needed to protect a salt mine or even an industrial research centre. The new buildings that were springing up in the compound that led to the mine were squat concrete nondescript blocks with heavy metal shutters to protect the windows. Another thing that would have surprised visitors were the mines galleries, in which, for the moment at least, there were no signs of any of the kind of activities associated with mineral extraction, transformation, workshops or research laboratories. However further into the mine many large galleries were being transformed into what would be storage spaces for materials and vehicles, maintenance workshops and more curiously, large cold storage areas. A closer investigation would have revealed power generation sets connected to ventilation shafts and fuel storage cisterns, much larger than would have been needed for a normal research establishment. * * *\n\nThe real purpose behind Sociedad de Desarrollo Minerales Andinos was the construction of the sanctuary, a shelter, or more prosaically a bolt hole for the Clan and their selected friends. To many the idea would have seemed absurd, far fetched, but Pat Kennedy's vision of the future was clouded by his knowledge of how fragile the world had become, from many points of view, and he reasoned if the Indians had survived by fleeing into the safety of the jungle, why shouldn't civilisation seek survival in the shelter of distant mountains. 'Why not on a Caribbean island?' he had asked John Francis. 'Well,' John explained, 'most islands would have difficulties in fending off intruders, unless they were extremely isolated, whereas the Cordillera Orientale,' as Tom Barton had suggested, 'was far from the sea, and at an altitude of 1,800 metres, where it could be fortified like a medieval castle with access to the surrounding land where food could be grown. Then once the danger passed, it would be easier to recommence life.' It seemed logical, besides, it was not as if Colombia would be the target of a nuclear power or any other power, with perhaps the exception of Venezuela, un perro sin dientes, according to Don Pedro. In any case threats came from many other sources, economic, political or environmental collapse, pandemic or natural disaster. Pat wasn't the only one, the world elite was looking to survive, the mega-rich, royals, politicians, bankers, hedge fund managers, showbiz and sporting personalities along with their families, personnel and medical teams. * * *\n\nThe Centro de Desarrollo would require food and medical reserves, capable of providing for the needs of each individual for a minimum of one year, stored underground in refrigerated vaults. In addition to those essential needs were generators, vehicles, telecommunications systems, spare parts, enough of everything to survive an apocalyptic event and restart life. The plans covered fresh and waste water systems, a hospital and operating theatre, a well equipped medical laboratory, a library, food production and preparation, and even an ark with essential domestic animals--cows, sheep, pigs, chickens, plants and seeds. There was of course a paramilitary security force--former army personnel selected and trained by George Pyke, the Clan's security specialist, with state of the art weapons capable of defending the city from marauders and the desperate fleeing Bogota or other nearby cities when the need came. Deep in the ground would be reserves of fuel, oil and gas, diesel generators, plus radios, IT equipment, vehicles, drones, helicopters, light aircraft, boats, solar panels, wind generators, pumps, tools, tractors, fertilizers, medical and pharmaceutical supplies, a library of books and maps, workshops and spare parts, in short everything needed to ensure survival, at least 12 months, during which time they would have to become autonomous, autarkic. Daily activities would be conducted in the research centre, the base around which the sanctuary would be built, linked by an underground railway to the mine and its galleries, where last resort shelters would be cut deep into the bedrock, providing temporary living quarters and the storage of reserves, sufficient to assure the survival of up to 2,000 individuals. Columbia, like its neighbours, was blessed with some of the most favourable conditions on Earth for renewable energy in the form of wind, solar and geothermal power. Already nearby Costa Rica was a model, the only country supplied with 100% renewable electricity. It was a vital factor in Pat Kennedy's investment plan, cheap and abundant energy. Colombia, with its 1.14 million square kilometres, four times great than the British Isles, was unburdened by an ageing population like the UK with its long litany of social problems. Colombia was still a new world, one of vast opportunities and resources, even five centuries after Alonso de Ojeda, a companion of Columbus, had set his eyes on its coast. Cartagena was its first city, founded in 1533 by Pedro de Heredia, an ancestor of Lola Barton's, a city that became Spain's most powerful military base for the exploration and conquest of the New World. Pat Kennedy's Clan now included three Spanish speaking families, first there was that of Lola Barton's, whose grandfather, Don Pedro, was a Colombian grandee and a wealthy well-connected figure. Then came Liam and Camille Clancy, followed by Dee O'Connelly and his partner Anna Basurko, they together with Pat would be the founding fathers of Ciudad Salvator Mundi. * * *\n\nPat was not alone in his plans, in fact it was a growing business with similar such bunkers being built in New Zealand, in the US and Europe, often in Cold War bunkers, fallout shelters, rocket silos, in the Swiss Alps, in the Rockies and in former Soviet East Block countries, wherever adequate protection was possible. Survivalists planned to build compact fully autonomous, defensible shelters, part of which were deep in abandoned mines and bunkers, which would act as last resort citadels, inner baileys, keeps, as in European medieval castles. And as in such a castle there were spaces for services, defence, communication, utilities, accommodation, dining halls, shops, schools and meeting halls. Unknown to all but a few, the Centro de Desarrollo had a twin, situated in Ireland, not far from Dublin, in the Wicklow Mountains, built on the same model, around an old lead and silver mine. Pat, as any careful planner, had no intention of putting all his eggs in one basket, or in one mine. Colombia had the advantage of being far from war zones and was almost an inconsequential player in big power geopolitics, of little strategic value, though at the same time distance could be a disadvantage. It was why Pat chose Ireland as a second site, it was an island, a fairly big one, nearer to Europe, but separated by two seas, and was an equally inconsequential geopolitical player of little strategic value. In a moment of danger with his intercontinental jet, he and his friends could cross continents and oceans, from Hong Kong to Dublin, or from London to Bogota, where they could ride out the storm or in a worse case scenario start again. * * *\n\nAcross the planet survivalist movements were taking form, the phenomena was nothing new, during the course of the Cold War, the adversaries had aligned their silos loaded with missiles of mass destruction, ready to annihilate civilisation at the press of a button. At the same time governments had built bunkers, shelters, not only to survive, but to pursue their folly. Somehow the planet had avoided nuclear destruction, the unexpected collapse of the Soviet Union had distanced the doomsday spectre. The deterrent seemed to have worked, the end of the world was too frightening to imagine, even for authoritarian tyrants. More than three decades passed before the world woke up to a new danger. The rich had been too busy making more money, the superpowers too busy arming their surrogates to fight proxy wars, the masses too busy consuming to worry about tomorrow, and the poor for the first time worrying about other problems than hunger as food became more abundant thanks to advances in science and agriculture. Suddenly, towards the end of the second decade of the third millennium, the world was shaken out of its torpor by forest fires, hurricanes, melting glaciers, coastal erosion, the destruction of natural habitats and the massive pollution of every biosphere. Scientists alerted the world to climate change and the urgent need to act, intellectuals, journalists, media personalities, joined them, in a flash everybody was clambering onto the bandwagon. Voices cried out, words flowed, but little happened. The inertia of the Anthropocene was too great. Just one last straw was needed and the tipping point would be passed. Two or three years earlier, men like Pat Kennedy, who reigned as masters of their universes, had rarely paused to think about such questions. They had spent their lives building and defending their empires. Dangers came from competitors, politics, legislation and consumer groups, not forgetting economic crises. Never had they thought their very existence could be threatened. The awakening was rude. As the doomsday clock ticked on, the realisation that they could end up like the Romanovs galvanised the more farseeing into action. Their extravagant homes in London or New York would be no protection against the mob, their easily reached luxury islands in blue waters offered no safe haven. They would be like the wealth classes of St Petersbourg who woke up to find themselves dispossessed of their wealth by Lenin, relegated to the role of caretakers of their own palaces and mansions, like Sergei Shchukin and Ivan Morozov, rich art collectors, in 1918. The first time Pat Kennedy visited Tom Barton at his home on the Altiplano in Cordillera Orientale, the widest of the three branches of the Colombian Andes, he'd marvelled at the eternal spring, the mountain landscapes, the old Spanish colonial cities, the quiet and peace, it was totally unlike the other Colombia he had once known, one of war, when the government was locked in a deadly battle against the Farc and the drug cartels. The government had won part of that war, life in Colombia had improved, though not for all. Those fortunate enough to live in the Cordillera Orientale were the lucky ones, they had escaped many of the tribulations of that battle, thanks to a natural environment that offered less cover than the jungles of the south, those controlled by the Farc, where coca was cultivated to finance the long-drawn-out war in association with criminal cartels, successors to the infamous drug baron Pablo Escobar. During their archaeological expedition off the coast of the Alta Guajira Peninsula, the previous year, Tom had spoken of building a new city, one that was ecologically viable, in the mild and friendly environment of the Altiplano. They had spent many evening on Pat's yacht talking and dreaming of a better world, a society the existed in harmony with nature. Nearly a year later, their ideas took form as the news of forest fires in Colombia's Amazon, Brazil, California and Australia, brought the realisation that climate change had arrived and politicians were either helpless to do anything about it, or worse still continued to dismiss it as fake news. A special planning unit was quietly set up at the Dublin branch of the Fitzwilliams Foundation to monitor the variables of what they called 'imminence', their role was to measure the time left before society entered into irreversible systemic breakdown. The principal was built around a mathematical equation that had proved its value by forecasting the growth of world population, formulated in the 1960s by scientists and mathematicians. The equation was like a doomsday clock, fed daily with a matrix of information based on real-time events and statistics. Some years earlier, John Francis had been charged with setting up a think-tank by Pat Kennedy's predecessor, the late Michael Fitzwilliams, to monitor and interpret international developments so as to enable the bank to anticipate major international events and pre-empt their consequences, enhance profits and avoid damaging fallout that often hit unprepared fund managers and traders. When Michael Fitzwilliams was tragically killed in the mysterious explosion of his yacht in the Irish Sea, the think-tank was transformed into the Fitzwilliams Foundation, established at Queen Anne's Gate in London, and its role expanded to geopolitical analysis. Soon after scientists predicted the tipping point--the point of no return--would be reached in 2026, when a systemic breakdown would provoke an irreversible decline in the functioning of society, when the gains that had been made over the last three centuries would be reversed, with the return of hunger, disease and war. How quickly chaos took hold was not predicted, but what seemed certain was once the process commenced there would be no stopping it. At first Pat Kennedy brushed it off as alarmist, now all he needed to be convinced was to look at the evening news on any TV channel, read any newspaper, watch any talk show, or listen to any debate, which he did with increasing concern. The news was increasingly pessimistic, endless wars, political crises, forest fires in Brazil, Australia, California and Borneo, mass extinctions, climate change, refugee crises, nuclear proliferation, the next financial crisis, political and electoral manipulation, all that was missing was a good old fashioned biblical plague. Anyone politician who didn't believe it, had only to talk to any serious scientist or geopolitical analyst and they'd convince them otherwise. The man in the street could be forgiven for not having one of those experts in his circle of friends and acquaintances. Pat did, and that was why he'd set his doomsday plan in motion. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 25\n\n# MANAUS\n\nLAS INDIAS DROPPED ANCHOR IN MIDSTREAM near where the Amazon and the Rio Negro met at Manaus. Bogart announced Dee O'Connelly, John Ennis, and two of Pat Kennedy's security team George Pyke and Florence Daguerre would join them. There they would wait for the production team, and the Sundaland which was still a day down river. Dee and John had flown in from Bogota and took a taxi directly to the port where they were picked up by the yacht's tender and arrived onboard Las Indias for lunchtime. Their plan was to visit National Institute of Amazonian Research--INPA as well as visit the city, taking advantage of Henrique's presence to help them with the language, and discover a city that had grown to opulence at the time of the rubber boom with its magnificent opera house and grand avenues. Reputed for being at the meeting of the waters where the dark stream of the Rio Negro converged with the brown, muddy, Solimoes--as the upper Amazon was known in Brazil, Manaus was located in the centre of the world's largest rainforest, and was naturally home to the National Institute of Amazonian Research--INPA, the most important centre for scientific studies in the region. INPA was situated in a large scientific research centre next to the UFAM the University of the Amazon and other institutes. They were given a tour of the centre with its gardens, tree walks and exhibitions, by Carlos Flausino who would accompany them up river to the indigenous Vale do Javari region where the largest concentration of uncontacted indigenous peoples in the world lived. Isolation according to Carlos was often a survival strategy, since many groups during the rubber boom had suffered the theft of their women, rape, child abduction and enslavement, which led to certain groups deciding to isolate themselves deep in the rainforest. 'A century before Manaus was known as the Heart of the Amazon,' Carlos told them, 'today it's a different world with industrial parks, a free port and an international airport.' He was proud to tell them about the new industries--electronics, chemicals and ship building industries. They spent the day visiting the zoological and botanical gardens, ecoparks and native peoples museums, before finishing up at the cathedral and magnificent opera house. * * *\n\nThat evening as they sat watching the sun go down from the upper afterdeck of Las Indias, John Ennis recounted the story of the Jari River project in Amazonia, a story of how men destroy nature without the slightest consideration for future generations. 'I think I've heard of Jari,' Dee said vaguely. 'It wasn't Ludwig was it?' 'No, it wasn't really Ludwig who started it all, sure it had been his baby, but above all Jari was backed by General Golbery.' 'Golbery?' 'A general who controlled the Extraordinary Ministry for Regional Agencies in Brazil. Later he became the Chief of State security. It was unusual because he had some very strange ideas about geopolitics.' 'What do you mean by strange?' asked Dee. 'Well, he controlled and influenced Brazil's development of its natural resources for several decades. He was a man who stuck to his policies...even when it should have been obvious that he was on the wrong track. 'How exactly was he involved with Jari?' 'Jari was what I suppose you could call a joint-venture between government and capitalism. One of the most well known because of the publicity of Daniel K.Ludwig's involvement. 'I see,' Dee nodded. 'It was seen at the start as a frontier project, you know the kind that the media likes to talk about, that is before the ecologist movement even existed,' he chuckled. 'When did it start?' 'On the Jari River! You know where that is?' he said glancing at Dee and vaguely pointing eastwards. 'South from the Tuma-Humac Mountains that separate French Guiana from Brazil, the plantations were started in 1967.' Dee was none the wiser, and furrowed his brow as if trying to visualise the geography northern Brazil. Anna had talked about it many times, but geographically it remained vague. As for Henrique It was history, long before he was born. 'Who was Ludwig anyway?' he asked. 'An American billionaire, enormously rich, his fortune was made in shipping.' 'Yeah, I seem to remember that, but what was he doing in the Amazon anyway?' 'I'm not really sure, but you know his idea to make plantations there wasn't the first.' 'Oh.' 'The first, in modern times, was none other than Henry Ford. He tried to set-up rubber plantations, at a place he called Fordlandia, where he bought two and a half million acres, much further into the interior than Jari.' 'Fordlandia! I've read about that, goes back quite a way?' 'Yes. It wasn't such a big project as Ludwig's, about seven thousand acres of rubber trees were planted, they should have been ready for tapping in 1936, but one disaster followed another. In the end, after spending over ten million dollars, Ford sold out to the Brazilian government, for a twentieth of that sum in 1945. I guess he wanted to control the source of rubber for his car tyres. 'Anyway it was a fiasco, just as Ludwig's was to end up forty years later. The only difference was that Ludwig's project was on a very much bigger scale and surprisingly looking back most of mistakes were the same!' Dee looked at Ennis, he had stopped talking, looking at the river boat passing on the swell of a large passenger boat heading for the terminal at Manaus. 'The weather's changing?' 'No, it's just the swell.' 'So what happened with Ludwig?' 'Well Ludwig bought three million acres in northern Para, on the north side of the Amazon, about 200 kilometres from the island of Marajo. He planned plantations of a fast growing Indian tree known as Gemilina arborea. They'd calculated that there would be a shortage of wood fibre for the paper pulp industry.' 'Was he wrong?' said Dee smiling. 'You know he was! There's no shortage now or in the near future, but then Brazil imported all of its paper pulp from the USA, illogical when you think of the vast forests resources in Amazonia, wasn't it?' 'What about Borneo?' 'You don't need to cut down all the forest, that's what I tell them. A couple of hundred thousand hectares can supply all the wood you want. They don't need to need to push the Dayaks into slum towns and run down villages where's there's no work. Anyway it wasn't only pulp wood plantations that Ludwig planned, he also envisaged vast rice paddies, the biggest in the world, mining and livestock operations and workers townships, as well as 2,500 miles of roads and about fifty miles of railroad track.' 'Sounds a bit like big agribusiness,' said Dee frowning. Well Ludwig wanted to avoid the mistakes Ford made. But everything that could go wrong went wrong from the start, Murphy's Law. I'm not making excuses, even if I had been there, it wouldn't have made any difference!' he laughed. 'You know those god dammed bulldozers, even scrapped off the top soil, and practically all of Gemilina seedlings failed,' he said shaking his head. 'The rest were attacked by disease.' 'Disease?' 'Not only that, anyway, less than a quarter of the planned plantations had been actually planted, and the success rate of those was fifty percent below what they had calculated.' 'How was that?' asked Ennis, accepting a beer from the steward. 'I suppose the real reasons were a lack of botanists and experienced silviculturists in tropical forestry.' 'What happened then?' 'Ludwig ploughed ahead with his plans and a paper pulp mill was built in Japan.' 'Yeah, I more or less remember that when I was with the New York, they ran several stories on it.' 'Well, as you know, the mill was built on a couple of barges. They towed all the way from Japan, across the Indian Ocean, around the Cape of Good Hope, then across the Atlantic and finally down the Amazon to the Jari River.' 'Yes, quite a pharoahonic achievement.' 'You're right, the barges were beached at the final destination, a ready prepared site on the banks of the river. The mill was started up on time, but the plantations had fallen way behind schedule, so the mill lacked raw material. Because the plantations could not provide all the wood needed, so they started cutting down the natural forest to fuel the power generating plant that fuelled the mills boilers for steam to run the power generating turbines.' 'What about the rest of the project.' 'Well then they hired some Japanese agronomists, but they also ran into trouble.' 'Are you saying there was some kind of sabotage?' 'That's really difficult to say, but my opinion there were too many coincidences. The whole thing was a complete economic disaster after Ludwig had poured in hundreds of million of dollars. They were hiring and firing project directors one after the other, in total over a period of fourteen years, there were about thirty of them.' 'And you were one of them?' 'Yes and no, I wasn't one of the project directors, I was hired as a consultant to put order into the forestry projects and plantations. I visited it several times.' 'And after that?' 'Well the whole thing practically came to a standstill. Ludwig could not obtain any more money from the Brazilian government to extend his operations for a second stage of the pulp mill. Finally he threw in the towel and sold out to a consortium of companies.' 'What about the plantations then?' 'Well they didn't exactly give up, but the Gemilina plantations were abandoned in 1982, too expensive. It wasn't what could be called an outstanding success story!' Ennis said slapping his knee and laughing. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# JULY\n\n# 1\n\n# COAL\n\nIT WAS AS IF THE MINUTE HAND of the doomsday clock hand ticked several seconds closer to midnight. Pat re-read the report in the South China Post to convince himself it was real, a report on the growing number of new coal-fired power plants being built in China. It seemed incomprehensible, but the numbers surpassed the totality of all old coal-fired plants being decommissioned by the rest of the world, and this in spite of China's pledge to limit the use of coal power. China's programme was so out of alignment with the Paris agreement it had signed that it cancelled all the benefits that could be gained if every other country in the world decided to abandon coal. To make matters worse, China had at the same time embarked on the planning, financing and construction of more than 300 new coal-fired power stations overseas, most in developing countries, including Turkey, Vietnam, Indonesia, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Egypt and the Philippines, and in flagrant disregard for the declared objects set by the Paris agreement. The expected life of such power stations was half-a-century. It was confusing and difficult to understand, but the underlying reason only went to confirming John's explanation. The choice was eat or starve, live or die. It was not a difficult choice to make, eating and living was now, starving and dying some time in the future, and in the interval perhaps a miraculous solution could be found. Without energy, China, India, Pakistan and Bangladesh, would collapse into anarchy, a chaos even greater than that caused by China's Communist Revolution and its aftershocks--the Great Leap Forward and the Cultural Revolution, which altogether cost according to some estimates one hundred million lives--the price to pay for problems past leaders had been unable to solve. The untold truth was the world's nations were well on track to produce vast quantities of coal, oil and gas, quantities way beyond the reductions pledged to limit the rise in global temperature. In fact, the estimated fossil fuel production for 2030, would be 50% above the level set by scientists to prevent a temperature rise of more than the 2oC fixed by the Paris climate agreement, which if not met would expose hundreds of millions of people to the dangers of extreme heat, drought, floods and poverty. It was a lose-lose situation, either way the poor would suffer. Without energy to pump water, supply electricity, to drive transport, they would die. With fossil generated energy and the hazards that came with it, those who lived in countries like Bangladesh would die of heat or in floods as the climate changed and the sea rose. To think of the poor having access to clean renewable energy sources was an illusion. Many experts had expressed their concern that even if the cuts foreseen in Paris agreement were respected, the planet was heading for a catastrophic 3-4oC rise. The trouble was after more than two decades of climate policy awareness, fossil fuel production levels continued to rise at an alarming rate. The reasons were clear, fossil fuels played a vital economic role in almost all countries. Build sustainable green energy producing power plants was easily said, especially when it rolled off the glib lips of those who had no idea of scale. China had invested more than 244 billion dollars in energy projects abroad since 2000, who else could muster such vast sums, who could provide the technology to build clean energy alternatives? John knew the answer and it cost Pat's new friend, Kyril, not a brass penny to protest. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 2\n\n# ECOCIDE\n\n'The trouble with getting into a rat race,' the American comedian Jackie Gleason once said, 'is that even if you win you're still a rat.' AS THE IMAGES OF THE FIRES RAGING in the Amazon were flashed across the world and Jair Bolsonaro transformed into an ecocide, the forests of neighbouring Colombia were burnt to make space for cattle ranches and coca plantations. The region of Colombia between the Andes and the Orinoco River was threatened by rampant deforestation, as each year its natural parks lost vast tracts of primary forest to land grabbing ranchers and loggers in the absence of government presence and action. The international media concentrated its reports on Brazil, but ignored the growing crisis in neighbouring Colombia's Amazonian forests, the home to many indigenous communities. Colombia had lost nearly 200,000 hectares of forest in 2018, much of it in national parks and protected regions, less than in the two previous years when nearly 300,000 hectares of secondary and primary forest were sacrificed to the chainsaw. Then, in 2019, in spite of protestation, a further 100,000 hectares were lost in the Tinigua, Serrania de Chiribiquete and Sierra de la Macarena National Parks and in the Nukak National Natural Reserve. Following the peace agreement, signed in 2016, between the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia--the Farc and the government, the guerrillas left the Amazon, creating a vacuum in their wake. Then taking advantage of the newly found peace process, large cattle ranchers and loggers moved in, forcefully preventing indigenous peoples from occupying their own ancestral lands, backed by gunmen and private militias hired to do their dirty work. * * *\n\nBleeding heart luvvies and their fellow travellers in pursuit of causes, rarely gave thought to the consequences of their actions, including organisations like Greenpeace, which was almost certainly the best known non-governmental environmental activist with bases in some 40 odd countries, whose objective was to 'ensure the ability of the Earth to nurture life in all its diversity', a very laudable cause. At times it seemed as if their goal was to perpetuate their own existence. As with many such organisations, they needed easily identifiable enemies, targets, to whip up the enthusiasm of their supporters and above all donors. As with certain other NGOs, Greenpeace did not accept funding from governments, corporations, or political parties, but financed its amorphous organisation through funds raised by millions of individual supporters and foundation grants. With nearly 200 permanent salaried staff, most of whose day-to-day existence depended on their end of the month stipends, the operating costs of Greenpeace, that is to say remunerations and charges, which absorbed more the half of the funds raised. Many critics accused it of being motivated by politics rather than science, which was certainly true, in a time when any personality, political or otherwise, could get a boost from associating themselves with any green or politically correct cause. Patrick Moore, an early but now former member of Greenpeace, criticised its stance on GMOs, notably a new strain of rice, claiming it had 'waged a campaign of misinformation, trashed the scientists who were working to bring Golden Rice to the people who need it, supporting the violent destruction of Golden Rice field trials.' Kyril confessed it had lost its way and had become a 'sad, dogmatic, reactionary phalanx of anti-science zealots who care not for evidence, but for publicity'. Golden Rice, a form of normal white rice genetically modified to provide vitamin A, conceived to counter blindness and other diseases in children, struggled to gain approval, an essential food that would have saved millions of lives lost to malnutrition, and protected countless other children in countries like Bangladesh, India and China. Kyril put the blame for the obstacles blocking genetically modified strain of rice at the door of certain ecological action groups, and more especially with Greenpeace and their action against genetically modified crops. The Greens said, not only was Golden rice an ineffective tool to combat Vitamin A deficiency, it was also environmentally irresponsible, posing risks to human health, and compromising food security. Its development was criticised for diverting resources from the fight against global poverty. Kyril pointed to the Cartagena Protocol on Biosafety, an agreement designed to ensure the safe handling, transport and use of living modified organisms, which was instrumentalised to forestall the introduction of the new strains. He attributed the delay and obstacles to the development of Golden Rice to overcautious regulation, with the cost borne by the poor in suffering, starvation and blindness. Finally, after millions of dollars and years of effort, the US, Canada, Australia, and New Zealand approved Golden rice as safe for consumption and it would soon be approved by regulators in the Philippines and in Bangladesh. In the same way Jair Bolsonaro was pilloried by Green movements and the rest of the eco-warriors. To understand why Jair Bolsonaro became president of Brazil in January 2019, it was necessary to look at the previous military regime, and its successors--namely Luiz Inacio Lula da Silva, better known as Lula, and Dilma Rouseff, Brazil's first female president who succeeded Lula in 2010. Lula succeeded Fernando Collor de Melo, the first President democratically elected after the end of the Brazilian military government, which ruled Brazil from 1964 to 1985. Collor resigned in 1992, following charges of corruption and Brazil welcomed a new era. Luiz Inacio Lula da Silva, a socialist, head of the Workers Party, the antithesis of corrupt politics, arrived as a knight in shining armour with the promise to rid Brazil of its endemic disease, corruption, a scourge that had eaten at its political base for generations, for as long as anyone could remember, and more. Since colonial times, Brazil had been dominated by a small class of very wealthy elites, oligarchs who could do whatever suited them, especially when it came to helping themselves to the country's assets, and they usually did, an example was Petrobras, Brazil's largest state-owned company, which was plundered on a vast scale, even by the country's unenviable standards, by political leaders and private businesses. The fight against corruption was one of Lula's main strengths in the 1990s, but soon after he took office in 2003, corruption started to eat into the Workers Party government. The deception of the poorer classes was profound when first, Lula was found guilty of clientelism and corruption, and second Dilma Roussef was impeached, ostensibly for mishandling of the economy linked to a vast scandal involving Petrobras. Between about 2004 and 2014, the state-run energy firm Petrobras, Brazil's largest company, and one of the largest corporations in the world, was caught up in one of the country's most astonishing corruption schemes ever, and whilst Rousseff was the chairwoman of the company's board. It seemed that no matter which party was in power the rot continued. But with the socialists it was worse, because in addition they they were accused of economic collapse the result of their reckless spending, which had nevertheless improved the lot of the poorer classes. The arrival to power of the former army captain, Jair Bolsonaro, raised the question--why did the Brazilians elect corrupt politicians to power? The answer was clientelism--and clientelism went hand in hand with corruption, not only that but corruption could be overlooked if elected leaders achieved goals seen as a more important objective, with voters backing politicians who 'steal but get things done', those who enjoy a reputation as efficient public managers while accumulating private wealth through corruption, with some voters choosing candidates based on identity, and others on the basis of religious or kinship preferences. Jair Bolsonaro professed conservative values, including the use of strong arm methods to contain the rampant crime that damaged his country and hurt its image. Head of the Social Liberal Party, he presented himself as an untainted anti-establishment politician, a politician free from corruption, loyal to past conservative traditions, one who would restore law and order. In short he represented the white middle classes who had seen their position decline under Lula and Delma. Brazil's place in the world had regressed under the Workers Party, which explained Bolsonaro's victory with many middle-class voters turning their backs on Lula's party as the economic crisis that gripped their country hit them hard and living standards fell. Bolsonaro promised to remedy the economic situation by allowing mining and agricultural companies to expand their activities into previously protected areas of the country, such as the Amazon Forest, and by reducing aid to indigenous people's land protection agencies. The frontiers of Brazil were another problem, especially those with Venezuela, where the military were deployed to control the hundreds of thousands of refugees fleeing Maduro's bankrupt socialist system, causing numerous problems for border towns. South America was not the US, and even less Europe, where refugees could be cared for. Refugees were not wanted, employment was already scarce and sharing was not to be reckoned with. European and US champagne socialists, ecologists and well intentioned good-doers with their politically correct convictions, could not get their heads around the realities of Brazil, a continent sized country, geographically nearly three times the size of India, twice that of the EU, practically the same size as the US, and 30 times bigger than the UK. With a diverse and volatile population of 200 million spread across its vast and often hostile territory, it was not an easy country to manage politically or economically, despite its vast wealth. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 3\n\n# LESSONS OF THE PAST\n\nPAT KENNEDY WAS NOT ALONE in believing lessons of the past were vital to understanding the survival of human civilisation. Studies had shown that deforestation in Central America was nothing new, all past civilisations had cut down large swathes of original forest to provide for the needs of their populations. In the case of the Maya, they clearcut the forest to plant maize, for firewood, and for construction materials to build their monumental temples and buildings. But when cyclic climatic change brought drought around AD900, it coincided with soil erosion and the depletion of forestry resources, bringing war, collapse and the abandonment of cities. Today, some 1,000 years later, the forest had repossessed its domain, but in spite of its apparent density and wealth, the impact of resource depletion could still be felt as could the underlying soil's ability to store carbon. The analysis of sediment cores from lakes in the Mayan lowlands of Mexico and Guatemala, showed the existence of deforestation and soil erosion even in pre-Maya times, when the primary tropical forest was cut to provide farming land. Inevitably, as the centuries passed, erosion intensified with the densification of population centres and the intensification of agriculture, witnessed by palaeoenvironmental records, this not only affected forest cover, but also exposed the humus to tropical rains which increased soil losses by run off. Today, visitors to the land of the Maya often saw the dense forest cover as primary forest, which was not the case. In cutting down the primary forest the Maya fundamentally modified the ecosystem and hundreds of years after the disappearance of their civilisation and the abandonment of depleted agricultural lands, nature repossessed its domain, but the forest never recovered its pristine primeval state. A further complication unexpectedly upset the hopes of reforestation. Secondary forests, even after hundreds of years growth, could no longer sequester the same quantity of carbon as primary forests, a finding that had implications for those who imagined replanting forests would solve carbon storage problems. In any case tree planting projects, if the UK was anything to by, were not promising, as it had missed its targets every year since they were set in 2013, a message that underlined the urgent need to preserve primary forests. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 4\n\n# RAINFORESTS\n\nA LOT WAS WRITTEN IN THE PRESS and talked about on the media about the destruction of tropical rainforests, though little was said about the precise role those forests played in the functioning of local and global weather--thanks to their absorption and creation of rainfall and exchange of atmospheric gases. Indians would open with a presentation of the Amazon forest and how it created between 50% and 80% of its own rainfall. Matt's idea was a simple introduction for viewers of what scientists called a biotic pump, where the evaporation or transpiration caused a reduction in atmospheric pressure as clouds form, causing moist air to be drawn to regions where evaporation is at its highest. With the loss of forest cover a rise in temperatures followed with the result biotopes in Equatorial regions were transformed into drier forests and expanded savannas. In this way viewers could see how tropical rainforests played a vital role in climate regulation, through the surface albedo--a measure of energy and surface reflectance, by absorbing more heat than bare soil. So when moisture from trees and vegetation rose into the atmosphere it condensed as rain and created a local cooling effect. Therefore loss of forest cover meant less heat absorption and less moisture rising into the atmosphere. Any change impacted local climate and effected weather patterns that in turn influenced adjacent regions. Consequently, the continued destruction of the rainforests would inevitably affect the global climate leading to greater instability and extreme weather conditions. Civilisations in tropical regions like those of the Maya and Khmers depended on large scale agriculture and deforestation, not only for food production, but also wood for construction, firing bricks and pottery, and kindling. The same was valid for the Amazon basin where pre-Columbian societies developed, where their success led to local climate change, less rainfall and as a result less food, all of which was compounded by global climatic cycles, like El Ni\u00f1o, which went a long way to the decline of those societies. * * *\n\n'To put things into perspective,' Kyril explained, 'that is in terms of geological time, we are living in an interglacial period, between two ice ages. People forget the ice sheets that cover the poles have expanded and retreated many times in the past, as have our glaciers. 'The last glacial period,' he reminded them, 'when the ice expanded, occurred between about 120,000 and 11,500 years ago, and since that time we have been living in a period scientists call the Holocene.' He went on to explain how geological records, in terms of ice cores drilled in polar regions, demonstrated glacial periods were colder, dustier, and generally drier, whilst interglacial periods were wetter and warmer. Evidence of which appeared through the changes observed in marine and terrestrial life in fossil records around the world. The reasons for these cycles were many and included variations in the Earth's orbit around the sun which changed the amount of solar radiation received. Other variations were caused by the ice-albedo effect, that is the reflection of solar radiation. Another was atmospheric CO2, which is what was commonly called the greenhouse effect. 'Emissions of CO2 created by the burning of fossil fuels and the destruction of CO2 absorbing forests,' said Kyril continuing his lesson, 'has caused the temperature to rise and sets in motion climate change and rising sea levels as ice sheets and glaciers melt. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 5\n\n# VALE DO JAVARI\n\nAFTER A LONG TREK PAST towering tornillo trees and mashonastes erect on their huge splayed buttresses, their trunks disappearing high into the canopy, beneath a lattice work of branches decorated by epiphytes and orchids, they wearily shuffled into a clearing close to a river. The location was set in a region to the south of Leticia, situated in the Brazilian State of Acre, called Vale do Javari, where the Rio Itui joined the Rio Itaquai, one of the most remote and uncharted places left on the planet, where the mysterious Flecheiros Indians lived, whose poisoned arrows targeted all those who entered their territory. Vale do Javari was the home to an estimated 1,350 uncontacted people, including the Flecheiros who painted their faces and bodies red and cut their hair in the familiar bowl cut of the Indians. They lived by hunting monkeys, tapir, peccaries and turtles as well as fishing in the many torrents, rivers and streams, gathering manioc and plants, and cultivating small gardens in forest clearings. The production team's objective was to film another group, known as the Caceteiros, clubbers, who contrary to the Flecheiros used clubs as their weapon of predilection for hunting and defence, they numbered about 150 individuals and lived in malocas, changing campments from time to time. Most lived in total isolation further upriver, however, the maloca they hoped to film with the help of the FUNAI, had more recently opened up to contact with the outside world. From their starting point in Leticia, they set off along the sinuous Rio Javari that separated Peru from Brazil. The maloca they were informed lay about 100 kilometres upstream, about four hours by boat and a trek of a few more hours in the jungle. By now they had learnt the distances in the Amazon were vast, they had started 1,000 kilometres to the north in the Colombian Chiribiquete park, and now in Brazil they were surrounded by tens of thousand of square kilometres of jungle, endless rivers--all greater than any European river, where there were to all intents no roads or anything that resembled a town or a village. Fortunately for them a base camp had been set up in advance by an entreprising local Indian family group that had emerged from the forest and set up a permanent home on the river bank to the north. They now acted as guides, boatmen and porters for forest officials, ethnologists and the occasional hardy reporter from scientific revues--lucky enough to get a permit to visit the reserve. There was nothing to complain about, apart from the heat and the fatigue, it was like a well organised tour, however, Dan Briscoe warned them, the easiest part was over. The next day they set out over a barely visible trail for their first contact with the Indians, a semi-nomadic group, who until a couple of years before had had no contact with the world outside. HG was familiar with the sight, one she had seen so often in the jungles of Sabah in the north of Borneo. It was as if a meteorite had fallen on the jungle, the burnt remains of trees, twisted in agony, their blackened branches pointing to the sky, the low lying vegetation burnt off, but amongst the ashes the green shoots of yuka, sweet potatoes and bananas were appearing. The small family hunter-gatherer group of three dozen or so people had cleared about a hectare of forest to plant their food. This was slash and burn farming to supplement hunting, fishing and foraging, an age old lifestyle, where the group moved on once the game consumed and the soil depleted, which was often the case in tropical forests where nutrients were stored in the biomass and not in the thin layer of humus formed by the decomposition of leaves and other plant material by microorganisms, forcing the community to move on from season to season, clearing another site where they could repeat the process and where there was more game, in the same way as had their ancestors over countless generations. The Indians, in their protected areas with basic medical care, prospered, and the same scene was repeated everywhere, as huge dominant trees went under the axe to create clearings, crashing down, bringing the canopy and smaller trees with them. As a consequence the small population grew, as did their gardens, dotting the forest, as could be observed from satellite images. Soon the Flecheiros and Caceteiros would disappear, on the one hand were the threats from intrusion, illegal loggers and miners, and on the other the lack of sustainable farming techniques as the indigenous peoples' numbers grew and threatened their own habitat. Ever since the arrival of European colonists at the beginning of the 16th century, the peoples of the Amazon had been victims of brutality, slavery, violence, disease and genocide. It has been estimated that between 10 and 20 million Indians had once lived in thousands of tribes across the vast region that now englobes much of Colombia, Ecuador, Peru and Brazil. The first Europeans colonists brought multiple diseases to the Americas--measles, smallpox, influenza and bubonic plague, which devastated the local population and caused the collapse of farming. The total population of North, Central and South America at the time Christopher Columbus arrived had been estimated at around 60 million, and now confirmed by extensive archaeological evidence, found not only in population centres, but also in the vestiges of slash-and-burn agriculture--terraced fields, large earthen mounds and vegetable gardens spread over vast territories. The consequences for the Indigenous populations were catastrophic, according to some estimates disease caused the death of 56 million, over 90% of the total population of the Americas--peoples who had evolved in isolation from Eurasian and African populations for many thousands of years, shielded from the diseases that stalked those then distant populations. As a consequence of this apocalyptic calamity millions of hectares of lands won from forests and jungles by the pre-Columbian Americans were swallowed by encroaching reforestation as nature retook possession of it lost territories.. In the centuries that followed, death by diseases was transformed into genocide, hundreds of thousands more Indians killed, hunted and enslaved in mines and plantations, their lands emptied to make space for European settlers. By the middle of the 20th century the indigenous populations of Amazonia were disappearing at the rate of one tribe a year. Today, there still remains an endemic racism towards Indians in Brazil, who in law were still considered minors and still fighting to gain control over their ancestral lands, a difficult task as Brazil is one of the two South American countries which does not recognise the ownership of tribal lands. * * *\n\nWhen Francisco de Orellana, a Spanish conquistador, sailed up the Amazon in 1541, he did not find Eldorado, but he did report the existence of an unknown civilization composed of large villages and farms lining rivers banks and described seeing the outlines of large cities in the distance. However, Orellanas's successors found nothing to confirm that report, that is until Eduardo Neves, a Brazilian archaeologist made a surprising discovery, something he described as terra preta de indio, 'dark Indian earth', a mixture of charcoal and nutrient-rich earth, a contrast to the usual poor yellowish-orange soil of the Amazon. Archaeologists believed this dark earth was the result of slash and burn methods to open clearings in the forest for agriculture and homes. By adding smouldering organic waste, like animal bones, excrement and straw, the soil was enriched with higher crop yields supporting larger populations in an otherwise not very fertile environment. This terra preta was often found associated with archaeological remains, like potsherds, proof that ancient civilizations had existed in pre-Columbian times, the vast majority of which were wiped out by diseases brought by the Conquistadors. Ken Hisakawa also described how newly developed methods were employed to determine variations in the vegetation relative to different types of soil. By studying light spectrum data collected by satellites, it was possible to detect subtle differences in how light was reflected off trees, enabling scientists to analyse photosynthetic activity in the biomass relative to small variations in leaves specific to terra preta sites. This process helped identify terra preta sites across the Amazon, proof that the land had been once occupied and farmed by unknown civilisations, clear evidence that the Amazon basin was much more densely populated in pre-Hispanic times than previously thought. The idea that unknown archaeological mysteries lay hidden in the depth of the vast Amazon rainforest not only excited Pat, but carried a warning that disease and strife could destroy a civilisation. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 6\n\n# ANOTHER WORLD\n\nTHAT EVENING, HG TOLD HER FRIENDS of the struggle of the indigenous peoples in her homeland, those who lived in the rainforests of Borneo and Peninsula Malaysia. She saw Malaysia as a construct of the colonial power that had ruled different parts of it, together and individually, for different periods over more than two centuries. The story began when the British set up a trading post on the island of Penang in 1771, then fighting the Dutch, Portuguese, Spanish and French, for control and possession of different parts of the region. Once in control the British installed their own system of rule, dividing and redefining its different parts to suit their own ambitions, until the Wind of Change brought independence to the colonies, with London finally quitting its last regional foothold, Brunei, in 1984. Malaysia's indigenous peoples formed a mosaic of ethnic groups--nomadic forest dwellers, shifting cultivators, fishermen, sea peoples, immigrants and invaders, all mixed together living in the territories of Peninsula Malaysia and Borneo, the latter shared with Indonesia and Brunei. On the peninsula were the Orang Asli, the original people of Malaysia ... well those before its present day inhabitants. They were progressively joined by Malays from the north and other peoples who migrated there from northern Asia, many, many, centuries ago, and finally Chinese, Indians from the Subcontinent, and a scattering of Brits--a few of whom put down permanent roots. The problem was some were more equal than others, the Malays called themselves Bumiputra, 'sons of the soil', that is to say Malay, different, 'purer' than the other components of the population, such as Chinese or Indians. The Bumiputra also included the Orang Asli, the true indigenous peoples, who, in spite of that supposed privilege, suffered from multiple discriminations. Those discriminations and impositions, included forced relocation from their ancestral lands, and 'integration', including conversion to Islam. The Islamic Council of one of the Malaysian states, Kelantan, publicly declared its goal of converting all Orang Asli to Islam. Until recently many Orang Asli had led their nomadic way of life in their forest home as they had for countless generations. That changed when they became victims of miners and the palm oil producers, when loggers moved in with chainsaws and bulldozers, to clearcut the forest and make way for industry..\n\nThousands of hectares of forest disappeared with all its rich diversity--gone in an instant were the trees, plants, animals, birds, insects, fish--forever. 'What happened to the people?' Camille asked. 'Some were settled in a few prefabricated concrete buildings, on plots of land designated by officials, far from anywhere,' HG replied. She told of how the Orang Asli were uprooted, torn from a way of life, one that outsiders had difficulty to understand. 'The government talks about schools, electricity and home comforts,' she said describing their drama. 'The forest was their home, their school, their source of food, now they are forced to live off handouts. They are lost in a world that is alien to them, unable to read or write. 'Perhaps the young ones want to change, but schools are too far away, as for their old folk they are faced with neglect, living in misery, in jungle slums, despised by villagers and with little or no hope of integration or finding a job. 'Many fall ill, suffer from depression and malnutrition, loss of immunity, poisoned by insecticides from the plantations, without care, doctors or clinics, forced to watch their old people and children die.' The mines--bauxite, clay, coal, copper, feldspar, gold, gravel, ilmenite, iron ore, kaolin, limestone, mica and tin, brought contamination in their wake, from tailings, chemicals and other discharges from mineral processing, polluting the rivers and streams, with the surrounding vegetation poisoned by toxic rain runoff. There was a headlong scramble to exploit the country's soil without any thought to the future, as manganese was added to a long lists of mineral exports--with more than a million tonnes a year going to feed China's voracious appetite. The price paid by the indigenous peoples was high, their rights trampled on, a way of life gone, their ancestral identity obliterated, forgotten, all in the name of the consumer society, the needs of Europeans, Chinese and Americans, most of whom have never heard of Malaysia, not to mind its original people, the Orang Asli. In HG's own state, Sabah, the forest cover fell from 50% to 15% as 1.4 million hectares of forest were clearcut to make way for oil palm plantations, a terrible disaster for the unique wild life of North Borneo, devastating the already reduced habitats of orangutans and even rarer rhinos and pygmy elephants. * * *\n\nHG told them of the bright red haze that invaded the skies of towns and villages in Borneo and Sumatra every year. Scenes that reminded her of a Hollywood movie, a world invaded by Martians, but this was no movie, it was terrifyingly real, as the toxic red haze from the fires that raged across ancient rainforests, turning entire regions into a living hell. Each year when the dry season arrived, smoke, laden with carbonised particles of burnt vegetation, filled the sky, soot settled on the roofs of houses and on the streets as people wearing scarves and surgical masks tried to go about their daily lives. Fires spewed a toxic haze over Indonesia's islands for weeks on end in one of the country's worst wave of pollution ever. Amongst the culprits were pulpwood and palm oil producers responsible for the fires on their concessions, once virgin rainforest. For decades Jambi, in Sumatra, a region known for its paper pulp mills and oil palm plantations, was the centre of vast fires caused by deforestation, a process that accentuated the age old slash and burn techniques used by local farmers, wreaking havoc on the biosphere as the vast island's population exploded and industrialists invaded the forest. The annual phenomena coupled with drought, caused by creeping climatic change, made life unbearable for humans and animals, spelling doom for Sumatra's unique wild life as pollution made the air unbreathable. The economic effect was immediate, cancelled flights, closed schools, hospitals overburdened as far away as Singapore where thousands of vulnerable people suffered from acute respiratory infections aggravated by the haze that spread to Malaysia and Borneo. HG was too young to remember the origins of the catastrophe, which could be traced back to the 1970s, when logging became a vast industrial enterprise, followed by the arrival of pulpmills, then oil palm plantations, as Indonesia, in order to feed and provide jobs for its population, started to mine its primary forests. John Ennis remembered his first visit to Jakarta, Indonesia's capital, in the mid-seventies, when the population of the vast archipelago approached 110 million. In the intervening years it had grown to 270 million and by 2050 the country would have to provide for 366 million, compared to some 40 million in 1900. To his mind one didn't have to look far to understand the problems of climatic change, it wasn't plastic, air pollution or CO2, it was the human population of the planet, which would soon have multiplied not far off ten fold in a couple of centuries, a raging disease that was destroying the natural biosphere of the planet. If we consider, from the appearance of modern early man to the invention of agriculture, about 12,000 years ago, from the start of the Pleistocene to the end of the Holocene, it is estimated that the total world population never exceeded one million, a very small number compared to other species, like for example herbivores that swarmed across the savannas in countless millions. Historical speaking the human population grew very slowly from this critical point in human history until 1800, passing from one million to one billion. From then, the start of the Industrial Revolution, it took a sudden and dramatic upswing. What caused this sudden explosion? It was not a lack of food, the absence of which had never been an important factor in human history, if ever it lacked it was mostly for political reasons--war and conflict. If we stopped to think that around 100 billion people in total lived on the planet throughout all human existence, it meant that today's population, that is at this precise instant, is equivalent to 8% of the total number of people ever born--eating, consuming, polluting, mining and generally plundering the planet's resources at a never before seen rate. As the plague of human locusts spread, it was no wonder the natural planet was facing an extinction crisis. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 7\n\n# WAR FOR SURVIVAL\n\nAS THEY STRUGGLED THROUGH the rainforest, the silence was suddenly broken by piercing whine of a chainsaw. Their guide stopped, lifted his hand as a sign of warning. 'Illegal loggers,' Dan whispered. It was difficult to say how far away they were. Illegal logging was everywhere, even in protected zones, where small gangs of loggers, equipped with a few chain saws, winches to haul the logs to the nearest navigable stream, and a boat capable of towing the timber rafts, operated with near impunity. The gangs targeted exotic hardwoods like the Ipe, Handroanthus spp., one of the Amazon's most valuable tree species, exported at up to 2,500 dollars a cubic meter. As loggers moved into virgin territories--complex biotopes that took hundreds of millions of years to evolve, they started by selective cutting, which encouraged and facilitated clearcutting, transforming the forest into farmland--after the remaining plants, tree stumps and roots were burnt, opening the way to extensive monoculture. * * *\n\nDan Briscoe detested armchair ecologists, who in the television studios of their big cities--London, Paris, Rome, Berlin or Madrid, dispensed lessons to the general public, brainwashing the collective conscience with their politically correct ideas, with visions of the world seen through rose coloured glasses, whose knowledge and experience of ethnological diversity was in reality near to zero. Well-doers, who confused ethnic diversity with what they saw on their visits to popular market places in London's East End, or for the better-off amongst them, brief vacations in Rajasthan, ballooning in the Serengeti, or luxury cruises on the Nile. Their knowledge of the rainforests went about as far as that of their nearby parklands, where they swooned over the beauty of nature, the trees and fields they admired, epitomised by the bucolic scenes painted by 19th century artists, Vincent van Gogh or Jean-Fran\u00e7ois Millet & company, fields of golden wheat, harvests and the sun-kissed faces of happy peasants. Natural! Nothing could be further from the truth. Not only were cities like London, Paris, Rome, Berlin or Madrid surrounded by profoundly altered landscapes, but so were the entire landscapes of the countries they represented. The primary forests of oak, ash, maple, birch, beech, poplar, elm and pine that once surrounded them, fell under the axe, one, two or three thousand years ago, and the wildlife that lived within them exterminated. Even humble foxes and badgers were still being exterminated as vermin. Not only that, coal mines, slag heaps, centuries of waste to land fill, damaged waterways and coast lines, endless towns and cities, railway lines, road, airports, the list was long, indelibly marked the land. Much of Europe and its western isles were once covered in dense primary rainforests, where trees were decked with moss and lichen, their trunks surrounded by ferns and temperate plants, where wild horses, elk, bears, wolves, wild boar and deer roamed, where countless species of small animals and birds lived in their branches. The hills and moors--where we walk and recite verse eulogising our 'fair land', had been devastated by our ancestors, transformed into barren hills, dotted with their dark satanic mills, by our industries, and even by royalty's Highlands homes, where they shot grouse and hunted stag in the deeply altered biospheres of their estates. The answer was not fragile mono-species plantations, but the regeneration of the natural habitat with all its variety and riches, something that would take generations, without being driven by industrial nurseries and forestry businesses. Activists never ceased to call for more homes to house growing populations, building on the green belts that surround large cities. It was a vicious circle, more people meant less unconstructed land, and less space for ancient endemic species of animals and plants, little wonder insects and birds were disappearing. It was time for activists to focus on the real cause, mankind and its teeming millions, swarming like proverbial locusts, eating everything that lay in their path, on the land, under the land, in the seas and in the air, now crouched ready to spring into space and colonise the Earth's celestial neighbours. * * *\n\nAlfonso's main fear came from the mercenaries, those hired by the agribusiness companies, who arrived in boats and vehicles, cutting trails into the forest in the direction of small semi-nomadic groups of forest dwellers, like the Yuri and Passe who alerted by the animals and birds, fled deeper into the forest abandoning their malocas. The expedition and its film crews could not flee into the jungle leaving their material behind, besides they wouldn't get far, they knew nothing of the hostile world surrounding them. The target of mercenaries was primarily the Indians, but they would not hesitate to attack those who helped or protected them, setting fire to homes and laying forest gardens to waste, a warning to quit the zone the loggers had targeted, to crush and discourage all resistance. Small tribes like the Bocas Pretas, a relatively recently contacted group of just 150 souls, whose name came from their black tattoos made with the juice of the genipap tree, were forced to flee their camp when illegal loggers, gold miners and poachers, empowered by the arrival of Jair Bolsonaro, surged unhindered into their territory. This situation was compounded as lobbyists clamoured for legislation that would allow commercial mining in indigenous territories, where, Bolsonaro had declared to the UN General Assembly, reserves of gold, diamonds, uranium, niobium and rare earths could be exploited and bring development and prosperity to indigenous communities. 'Indians want to grow and to develop, just like any human being,' he declared. 'Most other countries have decimated their Indians. We want them to walk alongside us--because they are Brazilians, just like us.' Not all Brazilians were against Bolsonaro, on the contrary many saw him as on being on the side of progress, theirs was a vast and almost empty land, of humans that is, but what kind of progress--and for which humans, in a country once declared, 'a land without men for men without land'. Brazil's 1988 constitution gave indigenous communities the exclusive right to vast areas, and protected reservations, such as the 1.9m hectare Uru-Eu-Wau-Wau territory in Rondonia State. Progressively, under Lula and his successor Dilma, the situation of the indigenous populations improved, but then, with the arrival of Bolsonaro, it looked like big agribusiness would take priority as Brazil was projected to become the biggest soya bean and beef producer on the planet. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 8\n\n# ON THE BRINK\n\nPAT WATCHED HELPLESSLY, after months of protests Hong Kong had reached the brink of a total breakdown, vehicles were torched, Molotov cocktails were thrown at police cars, an MTR station was sackaged, shopping malls were broken into and police fired teargas at the crowds of demonstrating students gathered in the streets. The intensification of the violence came after police shot a protester at close range, a scene caught on camera. The police later told the media rioters had doused a man with petrol and set him on fire, a story that was unverified. Pat feared it was all going to end badly when roadblocks and barricades were set-up on main roads and protesters rampaged through Central District, the main business area--home to some of the world's most expensive real estate and luxury stores, across Kowloon and the New Territories. Riot-police fought with drawn batons, clubbing demonstrators to the ground near the Hong Kong Stock Exchange, as banks and shops shut their doors and even the venerable Jockey Club was forced to cancel its evening programme of races, a rare happening in the city. Schools and universities were closed as students wearing banned face masks armed themselves with rudimentary weapons, slings and catapults, stock piling bricks and stones, ready for street warfare as chaos descended on the city with explosions echoing through the streets and smoke plumes rising above the crowds whilst the sound of screams and gunfire reverberated off the glass towers. In three days over 80 people were admitted to hospitals for injuries sustained in the confrontations with the authorities. To add to Pat Kennedy's worries was the attempt by Hong Kong exchange to take over the London Stock Exchange, with a bid of 37 billion dollars. London and Hong Kong were two of the most important financial centres in the world and both were wracked by political turmoil. The importance of the LSE was reflected in the fact that it together with the Bank of England and Lloyds made it one of the three pillars of the City of London which dated back to the 16th century. Already the much smaller London Metal Exchange had been bought by the Hong Kong group in 2012, a deal approved by regulators. However, times had changed and Britain would need to control such important assets after Brexit. The iconic Square Mile generated some 60 billion pounds a year, which made it the most important single sector of the UK's economy, and that in the hands of Beijing that would not make for a good post-Brexit start, though it comforted the ineffable Johnson's vision of building a 'buccaneering' Britain, after revealing his plan to create a Singapore-like state on the doorstep of the EU, offering low-taxes and regulation, an idea that would not ingratiate Berlin or Paris. * * *\n\nAs news filtered through from the Mainland that a disturbing number of Chinese billionaires were disappearing or committing suicide, Pat couldn't help thinking he could end up like them. One of them, a certain Guo Wengui, a billionaire property developer, sought asylum in the US, after claiming to be the victim of corrupt high level Communist Party government officials, who countered his accusations by accusing him of acting against the state. In the background were worries about Chinese corporate debt which had climbed to an estimated 19 trillion dollars, difficult to imagine, the 12 zeros nearer astronomers units for measuring distances across the solar system than earthly matters. What was less difficult to imagine was the disaster another financial crisis would create, a huge recession with highly indebted Chinese companies taking a beating, though the US, Japan, Germany, Britain, France, Italy and Spain were not far behind. This time around they would be impossible to rescue as central banks had few if any silver bullets remaining in their arsenal. Low or negative interests rates had fragilised institutions and a sudden event, a terrorist attack, war, epidemic, revolution, could provoke a meltdown of already overvalued markets where risk taking had risen in an effort to boost yields. At the same time government and high quality corporate bonds with negative yields continued to grow as investors such as pension funds, insurers, and financial institutions sought safe places to store their wealth. It was a warning, a flashing light, investors were supposed to get paid interest on their investments, the kind of a deal where you invested 100 dollars and got 90 back in ten years wasn't how it was supposed to work. Something was clearly wrong and Pat, who compared to his London and New York fellow bankers could see the clouds of teargas rising above the streets below from his office or even his Victoria Heights apartment window, quietly instructed his managers to offset risks by hedging options. The problem lay in the fact that low and negative interest rates encouraged more borrowing, as politicians like Boris Johnson started off with wild spending promises, anything to get elected, which gullible voters would have to pay for one way or another at some future date. It was not difficult to imagine a sudden detonator, the Middle East was more than ever a powder keg with a very short fuse as Turkey, Iran and Saudi Arabia faced each other off in an eternal struggle for domination. There was the treaty for the non-proliferation of nuclear weapons, currently pointing at Iran's programme to develop, the ultimate form of dissuasion, eyed by Saudi Arabia, possessed by Israel and Pakistan. Little known to the public, the bomb was already present in the Middle East, more precisely at the Incirlik Air Base in south-east Turkey, in fact there were some 50 tactical nuclear weapons on the base, leaving Washington vulnerable to blackmail by Erdogan as the Turkish forces pushed into Syria thanks to Donald Trump's disastrous decisions, overturning decades of Washington's often maladroit efforts to keep to keep the lid on an explosive situation, decisions that now undermined US interests, giving Moscow's a free hand and giving new life to the criminal Assad and his regime. As the UK procrastinated in its waltz, Brexit or not to Brexit, its financial sector continued its vocation of being the world's laundromat as the ill-gotten gains of crime, corruption and blatant theft continued to swill through the City of London. The National Crime Agency estimated that more than 100 billion dollars of dirty money flowed through the UK every year. The Russian Central Bank and the IMF, estimated that much of that money came from Russia, and over 80% of it had passed through British Overseas Territories, notably the British Virgin Islands over the course of the previous decade, through which a total of 80 billion laundered dollars were invested in above board overseas businesses and assets. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 9\n\n# UNREST\n\nVETERAN BRITISH NATURALIST David Attenborough, took on the role of whistleblower, warning that failure to tackle climate change would lead to massive social unrest. Which, perhaps encouraged politicians, in a headline grabbing a communication, to announce Britain would be the first G7 country to set a goal of zero carbon emissions by 2050. It was hallucinating to watch as countries vied to out do each other in their one-upmanship rhetoric. Transient politicians with short term goals, who rolled out their glib tongued platitudes and policies, revealed how totally out of step with reality they were. Thirty years was an eternity in politics, the blink of an eye in human history, a millisecond when it came to geoclimatic events. Meanwhile Prince Harry set off for the Google summer camp, after Prince Charles had added his grain of salt at Davos, and Boris Johnson declared the UK would clean up its act with the promise of zero emissions. What would happen in reality was quite another thing. By 2050, Charles would certainly be dead or dribbling at the mouth, like Johnson, and what Harry would be doing was anybody's guess, if he was still around he would going on 70, and his brother King William an old man. In human history 30 years was not a long time, but in the 20th and 21st centuries there has been an acceleration of events, starting with the transformation of China. One had only to look back 35 years when at the end of 1984 Margaret Thatcher signed a pact with Beijing, when Deng Xiaoping--the architect of modern China, was paramount leader, agreeing to hand back Hong Kong in 1997. Until 1984, the subject of market economy in China was taboo. Then in October of that year, for the first time, policymakers introduced the idea, paving the way for and market-oriented reforms and the development of a socialist consumer economy. Shortly after that date John Francis revisited Hong Kong and travelled for the first time to Mainland China, Canton and Beijing, where he discovered the first signs of a market economy, when most of that vast country was a backwater, still entrenched in Maoist ideas. The history of Britain's presence in Hong Kong commenced with gunboat diplomacy, when in 1839 it forced China to hand over Hong Kong island. The Second Opium War ended in 1860 when China was forced to hand over Kowloon. Followed by the New Territories which were ceded to Britain in 1898. It was only in the 1980s when Britain finally realised it could not defend its vestiges of empire that London finally introduce a degree of home rule with an early form of legislative assembly, though Zhou En-Lai, Beijing's foreign minister, threatened invasion if UK gave Hong Kong self-governing status and democratic institutions. Though LegCo was democratically elected, with a degree of autonomy as a Special Administrative Region of China, it was crystal clear that Beijing had no intention letting Hong Kong go any further. In fact at the end of the 50 years agreed with London, the SAR would be fully integrated into China. The new LegCo law at the root of the unrest in 2019, foresaw powers enabling China to extradite any person from Hong Kong, charged with an offence carrying a penalty of seven or more years imprisonment. In addition, China could demand the individual's assets in Hong Kong be frozen. A bad deal considering the manner in which Beijing handled the case involving a Hong Kong bookseller, a certain Gui Minhai, who in a closed-door trial was sentenced to 10 years imprisonment for espionage and providing intelligence overseas. Something that did not surprise Pat Kennedy, and even less John Francis and Pat O'Connelly. For John it was the action of an oppressive authoritarian regime, for Pat O'Connelly another affront to intellectual freedom. Pat Kennedy, who had no illusions about Beijing, saw it as another bad business sign on the horizon. Gui Minhai was the second of five Hong Kong-based publishers linked to the independent book store Causeway Bay Books who went missing in late 2015. Gui's publishing company, Mighty Current, was known for provocative titles and had been discussing the publication of a book entitled Xi Jinping and His Mistresses. Not a good thing. Gui was kidnapped by Chinese agents in Thailand and transferred to China, where the other four booksellers then reappeared, and in a trial broadcast on state television, confessed to illegally selling books, that is lurid books that did not please the authoritarian rulers of China. Despite all the talk about democracy and human rights, what mattered more to London or Washington was their assets in Hong Kong. John had explained to Pat Kennedy how the West had erred in the development of relations with post-Mao China, imagining with trade it would become more open, more progressive and more democratic. The West had not foreseen the fusion of Communism with Confucianism and Western capitalism, a mutation that produced a new political-economic model--authoritarian capitalism. A model that combined the worst of tradition with communism and capitalism, one that demanded total obedience to the state, a system that had recreated the personality cult, around the figure of Xi Jinping, a system that would inevitably swallow Hong Kong whole, in one bite. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 10\n\n# GUETHARY\n\nPAT 'DEE' O'CONNELLY WAS PLEASED with his latest acquisition, a vast Belle \u00c9poque villa set in a splendid six hectare park with a spectacular view of the Pyrenean valley landscape. It lay on the edge of Guethary, a small picturesque seaside town situated between St Jean de Luz and Biarritz, fifteen minutes from the airport, an exclusive spot favoured French fashionistas, showbiz and other personalities. It was quiet, sedate, far from the bling of the Cote d'Azur and its tourist masses. His decision was of course to do with Anna, who had warned him she had no intention of quitting her family and San Sebastian for Paris. The property, fit for a lady, was part of his plan to convince her theirs was not just a passing affair. Guethary, just half an hour from San Sebastian by the autoroute, was well served with several flights a day from Biarritz Airport to Paris and London, with nearby San Sebastian Airport serving Madrid and Barcelona. Camille who had just arrived for a few days in the Basque Country felt at ease in the large house, though it seemed a bit big for Dee and Anna, a contrast to her parents who were downsizing--their chateau in Sommieres was being converted into a museum and hotel complex. That evening Liam arrived from Paris together with John and Ekaterina who joined them for a concert at Saint-Nicolas de Guethary, a 16th century church. It was part of the small town's classical music festival with a programme that evening of Beethoven, Mendelssohn and Rachmaninov, under the direction of Bertrand Latour, to be followed by a late diner at Les Freres Ibarboure. Eating before the concert wouldn't have been a good idea. The church was typically Basque with three longitudinal wooden balconies, which in past centuries had been reserved for the menfolk--those who hadn't left to conquer new worlds for the glory of Spain's kings. Glory wasn't perhaps the word, plunder may have been better, but John reminded them of the words of Polybius as they made their way to the restaurant on foot:\n\n'If earlier historians had failed to eulogize history itself, it would, I suppose, be up to me to begin by encouraging everyone to occupy himself in an open-minded way with works like this one (The Histories), on the grounds that there is no better corrective of human behaviour than knowledge of past events.' They could only concur. It was eighteen months since Camille and Liam were married in the village of Sommieres--the home of her parents, in Provence. Theirs was no ordinary home, but a vast chateau. She was part of what they call the privileged classes, even though her family had been hard put to maintain their ancestral home. Had been that is, because their situation changed dramatically with the fortuitous discovery of her great uncle's collection of paintings, forgotten in the cellars of the 40 room demeure. Liam was a very successful self-made Irish banker cum businessman, whose family did not have an aristocratic background like Camille's, but she was not a snob. His success was equally fortuitous, thanks to Pat Kennedy who had spotted his talents as the bank expanded following the financial crisis of 2008 and had taken him under his wing. Camille on the other hand like many girls of her class had attended a private girls' school in Switzerland and then studied in Paris at Science-Po, an elitist establishment, where she had kept a low profile as to her background, for several reasons, one of which was she did not want to be stuck with the label of being a penniless aristocrat, which was far from the case, and two being labelled as an aristo in Paris was not a good thing in the politically correct 21st century where everything was examined under a microscope. Her father, the current Comte de Sommieres, had experienced increasing difficulties in maintaining the upkeep of their chateau and its large estate, and with Camille being the only child, her parent's had hoped she would marry a rich prince, which was not part of her plan, though by chance that's exactly what happened, when she met her future husband, thanks to an extraordinary stroke of fortune--the discovery of \u00c9douard Sommieres' collection of early 20th century Modern Art, which brought Liam to Provence. Ireland was no strange place for Camille, her mother, a friend of Alice Fitzwilliams, had sent her on many a vacation to the Fitzwilliams' fine home in Wicklow, where she spent the summers riding. That was what probably attracted her to Liam, she spoke excellent English and both were Catholics, though not in exactly the same way, being Catholic in Camille's family had little in common with what that meant to Liam's parents and grandparents in Ireland. Fortunately Liam and his generation had shrugged off that burden, like most Irish people today. It was John Francis--a long-time friend of the Fitzwilliams, who brought Liam to Sommieres, after Alice Fitzwilliams suggested Camille's father talk with John's wife, Ekaterina, an art expert, about her Uncle \u00c9douard's collection. But that's another story, in any case everything happened very quickly and in a way Camille was still trying to catch up. * * *\n\nThe next day they all set off for San Sebastian. It was hot, very hot. In Spanish they called it an ola de calor--a heat wave. It was seven in the evening and after a few drinks and pintxos in the Parte Vieja, they strolled along Askatasunaren Hiribidea, or Avenida de la Libertad in Spanish, making their way back over the ornate bridge crossing the Urumea River towards the Zuriolla beach. The temperature was still a sweltering 33oC and the crowds were out to take advantage of the light breeze drifting in from the sea. The occasion that evening was the first concert of the Jazzaldia, Jazz-time, the city's annual jazz festival, starring Joan Baez, one of the last surviving icons of the 60s anti-war movements in the US. It was part of the singer's farewell tour and Anna wanted to see her perform in person, a living legend, one of the most remarkable figures of the feminist movement in her generation . Anna with Camille and Liam were of course much too young to even come closely to remembering Joan Baez's moment of glory, who it seemed to John, would, for many young people, probably figure alongside King Tut. She was a living fossil from a bygone age of counter-culture, after all 50 years had passed since she sang It Ain't Me Babe when the first men landed on the moon. She was still protesting, at the outset against the war in Vietnam, now after more than half a century later against the plight of illegal Mexicans and other immigrants sent home by the Trump administration. Her disk was as worn as the memories of Lyndon Banes Johnson and his war against Communist expansionism. But protest movements were still fashionable, eminently fashionable, especially those led by a woman and Joan Baez was there from the first hour, marking her time with the songs that made her famous, like Blowin' in the Wind. Thousands of spectators were gathered on the beach for the evening concert, for a great many it was a souvenir of their youth, when certain Basque's resorted to terror under a cloak of independence. Times had changed, witnessed by the name of the avenue, Askatasunaren Hiribidea, unpronounceable by the majority of Spaniards. It wasn't only politics that changed, it also seemed as if the weather was a taste of things to come. Climate change had been forecast for so long, it was like shouting wolf, and now for the first time it seemed the wolf was really at the door. Even if Joan Baez was but a fading memory, protest wasn't dead, less than half an hour's drive to the north of San Sebastian things were heating up as the anti-G7 conference got underway. Thousands had gathered for a contra-conference and the French authorities were bracing themselves for street battles when the contras and their allies, the Gilets Jaune, an anti-Macronist movement, would be out in force. That was far from Anna's thoughts as they talked about music and film festivals, and she spoke to her friends about Woody Allen's latest film, which had been shot in San Sebastian. It was entitled Rifkin's Festival, a romantic comedy, the story of an American couple who arrive in San Sebastian for its Film Festival and were enchanted by the magic of the city, the beauty and charm of Spain, with each finding a new love, she a French movie director, and he a Spanish beauty. Woody Allen's links with San Seb went back to the time when he premiered Melinda & Melinda at the city's film festival. He remarked at an official reception in the city hall: 'I'd like to convey to the world my view of San Sebastian the way I conveyed my view of Paris or New York to people.' Poor Woody was now in trouble, like San Sebastian, but for different reasons. The city, like many other European cities, was beginning to feel the effects of mass tourism, a victim of its own success. For Anna it was a sign of its growing prosperity, however, tourism was transforming certain of its neighbourhoods and historical sites into attractions to be exploited by investors, to the detriment of their traditional inhabitants, like Venice, Florence and Barcelona, the souls of which were sucked out, leaving empty though beautiful shells. She was not against gentrification and there was no reason why the citizens of her hometown should not benefit from the inflow of money, but she did not want to see the city transformed into a zoo. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 11\n\n# SUMMER CAMP\n\nLIAM TOGETHER WITH CAMILLE arrived at the camp, invitation only of course. A little more that 18 months or so before, they would have never made that exclusive list, now as if by magic they were part of that elite. Liam had always thought he would refuse an invitation, but now they had become, in a manner of speaking, celebrities, Camille jumped at the idea. Why? Out of curiosity, she told Anna and Ekaterina. They arrived on Sergei Tarasov's yacht the Cleopatra together with the Clan--Pat, Lili, John, Ekaterina and the others, to join some of the world's wealthiest personalities and their celebrity friends who were gathered together at the Verdura Golf & Spa Resort on south-west coast of Sicily. Many guests arrived by helicopter, leaving their jets parked at Palermo airport, then a 100 kilometres hop south, flying over Corleone--home to many mafia capos, real and fictional. Others sailed in on their own yachts, anchoring offshore, a short ride in their tenders to the resort's jetty. The occasion was the annual Google Camp, a three-day bash, just 20 kilometres from the ancient Greek temple of Agrigento. The event, which some called Davos on Sea, was launched by Google's co-founders Larry Page and Sergey Brin in 2012, a gathering of the rich and famous, certain made the front pages of tabloids and people magazines, like Camille, who had made the cover of Paris Match, daughter of Count Olivier de Sommieres, whose art collection had made world headlines a couple of years earlier, and Liam, a high flying investor close to Sir Patrick Kennedy. The theme of the summer camp was climate change, and the guests included top tier names like Prince Harry, Barack Obama, Mark Zuckerberg, Leonardo DiCaprio and Katy Perry, who rubbed shoulders with fashion designer Diane Von Furstenberg, former Google chairman Eric Schmidt, Elon Musk founder of Tesla and SpaceX, New Zealand's richest man Graeme Hart, DreamWorks Pictures founder David Geffen, German pharmaceutical mogul Udo J. Vetter and the silver screen's hero Tom Cruise. The camp was the brainchild of Larry Page and Sergey Brin, a summer break from the humdrum existence of some of the world's wealthiest personalities--stressed-out stars, political and business leaders and tech gurus, a quiet place where mornings they could meditate on the coming end-of-the-world climate crisis, then cocktails and lunch, followed by an afternoon of relaxation at the poolside, or for the more sporting guests tennis on one of the resort's six clay courts, and why not a round of golf under the generous Mediterranean sun. The secretive camp was in fact an open secret, though social media was banned, which didn't stop the paparazzis' speedboats from circling the yachts anchored offshore, like sharks, in the hope of catching a celebrity, preferably female, young and better still topless, sipping champagne on the after deck, on the arm of a star like DiCaprio, or better still Prince Andrew. The Cleopatra was anchored off the resort's private beach and seafront, not far from the Andromeda owned by billionaire Kiwi, Graeme Hart, further away was Barry Diller's Eos, whilst David Geffen's Rising Sun stopped by to drop off Perry and Bloom. The contemporary resort, designed by Sir Rocco Forte and his sister Olga Polizzi, lodged the pampered guests in luxury villas, complete with their own private pools, they could of course also enjoy the beach adorned with fine white imported sand, its jetty jutting out over the translucent waters of the Mediterranean. Their mornings were filled with conferences and discussions on climate change and cities of the future with lectures from renowned specialists, whilst afternoons were free, which gave Pat, always curious, the opportunity to visit the ancient Greek ruins of Selinunte, the vineyards of Sambuca or the picturesque fishing town of Sciacca. * * *\n\nAlthough Pat Kennedy and his Clan saw themselves as standing apart from that media-seeking band of global nomadic celebrities, Pat revelled not only in the easy going spirit of the event, but especially its setting, where past civilisations converged, Greeks, Romans and Carthaginians, where great battles were fought, where the transformation from the ancient world took place, when its pantheon of Greek and Roman gods ceded its place to Christianity. Sicily had witnessed the Crusaders, the Renaissance, the Holy Roman Empire under Charles V, and the conquest of the New World. What happened next was the question that dogged Pat. What did the future world hold for the world? He forgot that question as he headed for the closing gala held before the magnificent 2,500 year old Temple of Concordia which provided a magic setting for the diner and concert starring Elton John and Lenny Kravit. Pat was happy to be surrounded by his friends, his Clan, their Clan, built around friendship and loyalty, roots and family. Preening each other on their yachts or on their islands was not their thing, though on occasions they were drawn into events like Davos or the Summer Camp. They were of course part of that exclusive fraternity of mega-rich, but avoided publicly trying to outdo others in their philanthropic exploits, preferring discretion rather than headline grabbing art sales, outbidding their peers for yet another trophy to decorate one of their multiple outsize homes. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 12\n\n# A NEW PRIME MINISTER\n\nLOOKING AT THE UK AND BREXIT from Hong Kong, it seemed as if it would need more than a prophet to save its citizens from their collective folly. To many Britons, especially the older generation, the question of Brexit boiled down to 'What did we have two World Wars for?' After a series of wimpish uncharismatic leaders, the time was ripe for a Churchillian figure, or an Iron Lady, but with no candidate of that stature on the horizon, Boris Johnson stepped up to take on the role. He was to many a providential leader, one who would save them from the tyranny of Brussels, from the conspiracy against England, to carry the flag of Saint George and the Union Jack into battle against their country's heredity enemies, namely, France, Germany, Italy and Spain, collectively reincarnated in the European Union. Alexander Boris de Pfeffel Johnson was born in New York to British parents, a chance that gave him dual British-American nationality, which following a rocambolesque tax dispute with the American IRS services he abandoned after being elected Mayor of London. He was born in Upper East Side Manhattan, where his parents lived in a bohemian loft opposite the Chelsea Hotel, in the district of the same name, one of the haunts of Bob Dylan, Iggy Pop, and Jimi Hendrix. Johnson's family included English, Turkish, German and French ancestors and amongst them were Christians, Jews and Muslims, some of them aristocrats, which explained how he once described himself as 'a one man melting pot', a vision probably more suited to New York, an emigre rather than a member of the British ruling class, which no doubt left its mark. He was born with more than a fair share of natural bombast which appealed to many less privileged Brits, who saw him as a saviour who would lead them from the dystopian world, in which they believed they lived, to a new dawn, escaping from a destiny worst than that of Mad Max and the Hunger Games. It was probably his promise of a better world outside the EU that attracted many working class Brexiteers who didn't want a 'deal', they wanted 'out', freedom from the 'dictatorship' of Brussels. Most of them lived in the past, still fighting the Bosch, the Jerries and Ities, though there were precious few people alive who could remember the war, not to mind having fought it. It was a paradox, Bojo to his friends and voters, wanted to exchange Europe for the Subcontinent, China and Africa, forgetting what they, the colonised, had not forgotten, domination and oppression, bound only by tenuous self-interest, and often bitter links to England. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 13\n\n# BORIS AND BOMBAST\n\nTHE LITHUANIAN EUROPEAN COMMISSIONER, Vytenis Andriukaitis, compared Boris Johnson to Boris Yeltsin--the same kind of political bombast, their unrealistic promises, and their sidestepping of economic rationales and rational decisions. Yeltsin's decisions led to a new autocratic constitution and finally paved the way to Vladimir Putin and a Russia led by a clique of oligarchs, a pseudo-market economy, governed in a pseudo-democracy. Boris Yeltsin's promises coined a catch phrase after he was told by Yegor Ligachyov, a Soviet politician, 'Boris, you are wrong.' Hopefully, it would not be the case for Boris Johnson. Johnson gained leadership in an arcane contest in which just over one-tenth of one per cent of the British population voted. It was nothing less than a romanesque coup d'etat that Frederick Foresyth would have had difficulty in inventing. Boris 'fuck business' Johnson was elected by 92,153 Conservative Party members, those who had done nothing more than pay a 25 pound membership fee and vote for their chosen candidate. Thanks to this arcane, almost cabalistic procedure, Bojo became prime minster, effectively Britain's leader, at the head of a nation of 66 million, amongst the world's leading democracies and most economically powerful states\n\nIn many countries changing an entire government without an election would have been described as a coup, especially if it had been led by a leader proposing a radical change of policy, ditching his country's closest trading partners, political friends and allies with whom, over the course of half a century, London had worked as an equal partner, in a freely elected parliament in Strasbourg and participating in the European Commission in Brussels. 'Pifflepafflewifflewaffle,' said Bojo in his comments on Northern Ireland according to John Crace, a Guardian columnist, who put the remark down to 'off the cuff bollocks'. As one Member of Parliament put it 'the circus has come to town' with Boris Johnson arriving at 10 Downing Street after plotting his first 100 days in office in a 10 million pound Westminster town-house, owned by Andrew Griffith, a former Rothschild investment banker, who quit Sky--Europe's largest media company, owned by Comcast, a US telecommunications conglomerate--where he had been chief finance and operating officer, and now appointed Johnson's chief business advisor. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 14\n\n# A PROPHET\n\nTEN DAYS LATER AT A DIFFERENT, perhaps more down to earth money grubbing world, night was falling, as Camille led Liam through a crowd of bubbling celebrities gathered at the Domaine Saint Raphael, somewhere in the Mediterranean hills to the north of Saint-Tropez. They were there at the invitation of the Leonardo DiCaprio Foundation for a star studded fund raising diner. One of the evening's notable guests, standing timidly besides Kyril Kyristoforos, surrounded by stars clad in tuxedos and evening gowns, was a small nut brown man, he was dressed in a simple open neck shirt, the coarse denim trousers of a French peasant and worn leather sandals. He seem very small, very wrinkled and frail, compared to the sleek well fed crowd of celebrities preening themselves around him. Liam wondered if it was the same guru they had met in India, to him they were all the same--Mahatma Gandhi look-alikes. The small man had a somewhat bewildered air, like a lost child, in the middle of the extravagant star-studded bash thrown by DiCaprio, as extravagant as Jordan Belfort, the real life investor the actor had played in Wolf of Wall Street, a movie produced by the now infamous Malaysian-Chinese financier, Jho Low. Amongst the celebrities were Prince Albert of Monaco, Sylvester Stallone, Elton John, Naomi Campbell and Marion Cotillard. The actor's foundation was, according to its blurb, dedicated to the long-term health and well-being of all Earth's inhabitants. Through collaborative partnerships, supporting projects that protected vulnerable wildlife from extinction, while restoring the balance to threatened ecosystems and communities. The foundation vaunted work in four fields--protecting biodiversity, oceans conservation, wildlands conservation and climate change. Liam wondered if 'Gandhi' knew the event was sponsored by Swiss jewellers and banks, paying anything between 7,500 and 150,000 euros a throw. To raise funds for his favourite wildlife programmes, indigenous rights movements and to finance the combat against climate change, DiCaprio auctioned his Rolex, the diamond cufflinks he wore the night he won his Oscar, and a seven-night stay at his Palm Springs property. Camille whispered to Liam the Gandhi-like figure was the jetset's favourite guru. It didn't surprise him when he saw Marion Cotillard fawning over the old man. If he wasn't Gandhi who was he then, a holyman, a sadhu, or a mystic. In any case it seemed to Liam, if the crowd around him was anything to go by, he was well connected to the world of showbiz and the media. Kyril appeared and pointed them in the direction of the guru, who beckoned to him. Liam wondered if it was 'get me out of here' sign. The celebrities moved aside to make space for the newcomers. 'Lazarus, let me introduce you to Camille de la Salle and her husband Liam Clancy,' he said. Liam now knew Gandhi's name. They shook hands. 'Please, join us,' invited Lazarus, who then turned to his audience to continued his homily on the state of the planet. 'Is it,' he asked, 'that we have not become aware of the value of our planet, the only oasis of life in a sidereal desert? How is it that we keep plundering it, polluting it, blindly destroying it?' The stars looked at him in awe, as if he had made a startling Christ-like revelation. Liam soon discovered that the 77 year old guru had amongst his followers, rich, powerful and media personalities. Lesser mortals waited three or more months to make the pilgrimage, pay homage, at the court of the guru in Montchamp, Ardeche, near Montelimar, where a winding road ran through sleepy villages, past the sun-dried Mediterranean landscape before arriving at the bottom of a hill. There a stony path bordered by tall oaks led to a large stone farmhouse. Lazarus always waited to meet them personally with outstretched hands. 'Thank you for your interest in my modest person,' he would say pointing them in the direction of the farmhouse. They followed him and once inside he invited them to be seated, offering drinks, then invited them to watch a video on a large TV screen. The subject was always centred around a system of organic farming developed by the guru. Marion Cotillard made no secret of her admiration for the guru, Gerges Lazarus, born in 1938 in Egypt, now a French essayist, organic farmer, novelist and poet, the founder of Gaia, a foundation dedicated to the creation of an ecological and humane society. If fact, on her own admission, she fell had in love with him at first sight, at the famous restaurant Le Train Bleu at the Gare de Lyon in Paris. Since that day, Lazarus had been the mentor for Dior's muse, who donated money to his movement, promoted his farm, and projected him into the glitzy world of media and showbiz. Camille remembered the guru had accompanied a friend of her mother's to their chateau in Sommieres four or five years earlier with an agroecological project. Camille's mother the countess, had complained, 'Money, money, money, that's all Gerges is interested in today.' Her father had called it a scam, but the friend was mesmerised by the charismatic guru and had invested a considerable sum of money to transform part of her domain to sustainable farming, unfortunately the money went up in smoke, 'but at least it was organic smoke,' she joked philosophically. * * *\n\nThe next day Pat announced they were going to Saint-Tropez for lunch. Why? Dee suspected it was something to do with one of his boyhood fantasies, linked to Brigitte Bardot and her iconic film And God Created Woman. It was past midday when their three car convoy arrived at Ramatuelle, on the Saint-Tropez Peninsula, where they pulled up outside Club 55, an open air restaurant, situated amongst the gnarled tamarisk trees that bordered the Pampelonne beach, a spot made famous by Bardot. To their great surprise Pat was greeted like an old friend by Patrice de Colmont, the smiling patron of the restaurant, impeccably dressed in white open collared shirt that accentuated his deeply tanned complexion, at the same moment a couple of valets stepped forward to take the keys of their cars. They were guided by de Colmont over a board walk past affluent looking diners already seated amongst the tamarisks. Their table lay discreetly to one side, protected under a white canvas awning, screened by flowering oleanders, to the south was an unbroken view of the sparkling Mediterranean beyond the impeccably raked white sand of the exclusive beach. Colmont was a friend of the stars, the rich and royals, who patronised his restaurant, including Marion Cotillard and her guru--where they discussed agroecology and climate change, watching their wealthy friends at play, their yachts anchored offshore, outboards ferrying their guests to the jetty for lunch at the famous restaurant. The star graced Pat and his friends with her presence in the company of the guru, reciting the oft told the story of Club 55, one that could have been invented by a Hollywood script writer, which according to popular legend began in 1947, when Colmont's father, an ethnologist and filmmaker, was shooting a documentary in the Mediterranean, when a sudden Mistral forced him to take shelter at Pampelonne. To his surprise he discovered an unspoilt paradise and decided to buy a fisherman's cottage on the edge of the then deserted beach. In 1955, when Roger Vadim arrived with his film crew to shoot And God Created Woman with Brigitte Bardot, they mistook the cottage for a restaurant. Colmont's mother stepped in and took up the challenge, setting up a makeshift canteen to supply the crew of 80 people with meals during the shoot. Club 55 was born, and soon chic Parisian vacationers were queuing at the door. The Colmonts never looked back and nearly three quarters of a century later they had added their own vineyard and olive grove, and in addition fresh organic vegetables were supplied daily from the gurus' sustainable agroecological farm. It was a flourishing business that counted a staff of one hundred during the summer months, the smartest watering hole along the coast, the place to see and be seen, for royals, rock stars, actors, and jet-setters, a definite must for celebrities like Leonardo DiCaprio who after disembarking on the jetty, his yacht anchored offshore, passed between the parasols, his latest girlfriend tagging along, whilst he waved to his friends and admirers just like Gatsby. Camille wondered if he knew its famous tamarisks were considered an invasive species and not especially eco-friendly. Strangely enough Pat had already met the guru in Udaipur, at the unbelievably extravagant festivities for the marriage of Isha Ambani, the daughter of India's richest man. Pat had been confused, confounding the small frail man with Mahatma Gandhi, dressed in a white dhoti and wearing leather sandals, his kind, very wrinkled brown face, radiated benevolence and beatitude. It was some moments before Pat realised he wasn't a reincarnation of India's iconic leader, but something else, something between a saint and a celebrity. 'Namaste,' he said taking Pat Kennedy's hand in his, placing the other over it, holding it for a long moment, looking into his eyes, and softly speaking, 'Ekhrestos Anesti.' Pat replied, 'Namaste.' It took him a moment to figure out the meaning of the other words, then his face light up, Ekhrestos, of course, Christ. Gerges Lazarus, a Coptic Egyptian, was the spiritual leader of Gaia, a foundation created by Kyril Kyristoforos, built on the principles and theories preached by early conservationists, survivalists--Henry Fairfield Osborn Jnr and William Vogt. Lazarus's parents, teachers, had fled Egypt, first to Greece, then France, when he was a child, after their local church in outlying Alexandria was burnt down in a wave of anti-Christian violence following Gamal Abdul Nasser's seizure of power in 1952. Lazarus had his home in Provence, that almost legendary region of France, the home of painters, writers, cinema stars and celebrities. It was a bastide--a fortified collection of buildings, which dated from the 14th century, standing on a limestone ridge, overlooking some 50 hectares of organic olive groves, vineyards and orchards. La Crete-des-Maures lay to the east of Draguignan, which formed a triangle with Nice and Cannes, about an hour from St Tropez, a pleasant drive for billionaires and Hollywood stars, a refuge where they could ease their conscience, breathing the perfume of Provence whilst showing the world, how, in the company of the guru, they cared for the planet, and photographed for their Facebook page with the great man by Gaia's communications manager. The picturesque bastide was dotted with Mediterranean pines and cedars, and a narrow cobbled street wound its way past fountains, small houses, a keep, stables and storehouses, built in the local white limestone and roofed with ochre Roman tiles. There was also a small chapel and what must have been a school, all of which had been left to ruin in the seventies as young people abandoned a life of eking out an existence on the hard sun-dried slopes for an easier world in the cities of Nice and Toulon on the coast, their old folk staying put until they died away. Lazarus and a couple of friends had initially squatted the bastide, setting up their workshop for local traditional artisanal products, bowls and tableware from olive wood, which were sold at farmer's markets in St Tropez and St Raphael. With not much money Lazarus started to grow his own vegetables and care for the neglected olive and fruit trees. He built a reputation for the quality of his organic products and attracted like-thinkers, preaching a clean back to nature vision of life, then as his reputation grew so did the cash from sales and contributions provided by his city dwelling customers and like-thinkers. He then met Kyril, an experienced manager, who set up an association, Gaia, which he later transformed into a foundation, and bought up the ruins of the bastide, where the price of an ancient stone house was less that that of a parking spot in Nice, then its outlying land, restoring the homes for back-to-basics ecologists, who worked the land to supply food for Lazarus and his followers and as a market garden. The organisation under Kyril's impulsion was transformed into a going ecobusiness, offering weekends and workshops in the colourful bastide with organic food from its gardens. As time passed he organised seminars oriented towards ecoagriculture, based on sustainable and natural production methods that took place in the larger restored buildings, training those who saw a future in organic food production, this led to conferences and little-by-little Gaia extended its scope to questions of ecology and environment, then to the protection of wildlife and endangered species. Kyril was a good businessman and progressively the foundation was expanded adding multiple services related to publishing, books, monthly magazines, promotional brochures followed by the production of short documentary films. Kyril Kyristoforos personally managed communications and the organisation of media events, and much more importantly fund raising. Gerges Lazarus was in a sense the foundations image, its icon, the combination of a peasant farmer and a saintly leader uninterested in money or fame. The main building was an 18th century house with its living rooms, bedrooms, kitchen and wine cellar, part of which was reserved for Lazarus and special guests. The style was rustic bordering on the spartan, though behind the no frills appearance was a well run system of management and housekeeping, as good as that of any modern hotel establishment with all food prepared from organically grown ingredients according to the techniques developed and preached by the foundation. Kyril developed political, philanthropical, business relations and links with clean celebrities and stars with the ambition of building the foundation into an influential organisation, capable of lobbying international institutions and governments, and this passed by mediatic success vehicled by mainstream media, television and cinematic productions on themes linked to the natural world, ecology and environment. * * *\n\nSergei Tarasov's yacht, the Cleopatra, was anchored off La Plage de Pampelonne, a short ride on the yacht's tender to the beach where that evening Pat Kennedy hosted a promotional event for Indians at Club55. Like Sergei and Pat, many guests arrived at the jetty from their yachts, small compared to the 85 metres and 2,500 tons of the Cleopatre. The beautiful people gathered for the event included a collection of stars and celebrities from the world of showbiz and of course Lazarus together with Kyril, Mat, Olivier de la Salle with his wife and other members of the Clan. The high point of the evening was the screening of Indians, a 20 minute promotional preview of the still to be completed film, followed by the signing of a special edition of Pat O'Connelly's latest book, The Tragedy of the Amazon, with an introduction by Lazarus, at 2,000 euros a copy, a drop in the ocean for those present. Lazarus, as usual seemed lost before the elegant crowd, it was part of his charm, who rose to applaud him when he finally appeared. Scarlet Johansson took his hand and guided him to his place at the main table as the band struck up an Elton John number. He seemed smaller and even more Ghandi-like than when Pat had last seen him. He raised his arms embarrassed at the attention accorded him. The music stopped and George Clooney appeared on the small stage to ask the guests to rise again for another round of applause as he asked the old man to join him. John remarked Lazarus was no Mahesh Yogi, the Indian maharishi made famous, outside of India that is, by The Beatles in 1967. Pat was just old enough to vaguely remember Flower Power, when the Liverpool lads became mesmerised by transcendental meditation, what he didn't know was the story of how they joined the Maharishi's spiritual training camp in Rishikesh in 1968. Mahesh Prasad Varma had developed a transcendental meditation technique and a worldwide following. It consisted of chanting silent mantras that induced total awareness, when perception was unlimited. His honorary titles Maharishi and Yogi were self-attributed, as was the case for Hindu or Vedic gurus said to possess great mystical knowledge. Mahesh Yogi was a disciple of one of those Indian spiritual leaders, of which there were many, each preaching a different form of meditation in the Hindu tradition, which sought to explain human existence in a harsh and unjust world. As a maharishi, a spiritual teacher, he transformed his teachings into an international movement with worldwide tours and ended up by attracting the attention of Hollywood stars and celebrities in search of spirituality. In the sixties India became a fashionable destination and George Harrison's wife Pattie developed an interest in Oriental philosophy and religion following a holiday in Bombay. Then, when Mahesh Yogi arrived in London, she persuaded George and then the others to listen to the Maharishi speak at the Hilton. They were hypnotised and left with the Maharishi for Bangor in Wales to become followers of the guru. The rest was history, the Maharishi soon realised the Beatles would form catalyst and through them attracted Mick Jagger, Marianne Faithfull and Donovan. A movement was born, Flower Power, along with its gear, long hair and mantras, justly epitomised by the musical Hair. LSD was replaced by transcendental meditation after the Beatles' manager Brian Epstein, who should have joined them in Bangor, died tragically from an overdose of barbiturates mixed with alcohol. John was at the London School of Economics and Political Science--LSE, at the time, and as a result of the Flower Power craze, he followed the trail to India and Sri Lanka where he ended up buying his place near Galle, the Plantation, which went a long way to explaining John's offish approach to Lazarus and Gaia, but he was not about to discourage Pat, any criticism would have appeared mean. Lazurus was helped onto the small stage and Clooney raised his hands again in a call for silence. Lazurus placed his hands together and bowed to Clooney and then the guests. He approached the microphone and started to speak, softly, barely audibly, slowly at first, then urgently to the hushed crowd. 'The more sand has escaped from the hourglass of our world,' he said, paraphrasing the words of Machiavelli, 'the clearer we should see the future we are making for our children. Time is running out and unless we take action, now, they will inherit nothing but a barren desert.' Lazarus's words made a deep and visible impression on Pat Kennedy who was seated at the head table between Amal Clooney and Camille de la Salle. * * *\n\nPat had just arrived from Hong Kong via Egypt where he had visited the Grand Egyptian Museum, scheduled to open in 2020, in the company of his archaeologist friend Ken Hisakawa. The one billion dollar museum, designed by the Dublin-based Heneghan Peng Architects, planned to display the 5,400 treasures from the tomb of King Tutankhamun, along with 50,000 other objects from the old museum in downtown Cairo. Its official inauguration was planned for 2022, the centenary of Howard Carter's discovery of Tutankhamen's tomb. The vast museum was situated at Giza so that visitors could contemplate the marvels of Egypt together after arriving at the new airport just 30 minutes from the site. Visitors would commence with a chronological tour starting from prehistory to the Greco-Roman period, with a presentation of recent discoveries plus monumental pieces too large to be housed in the old museum at Tahrir Square. It would also present objects used in the daily life of the pharaohs, immersing visitors in the royal court, illustrating not only how they dressed and what they ate, but also the embalming and funeral preparations for the afterlife. The object of their visit, in addition to the museum, was to learn more about space archaeology and satellites imagery, which had been used in Egypt to discover unknown ancient ruins, and how it could be employed in Central and South America. Ken had been following the work developed by Sarah Parcak, an Egyptologist, who was based in Alabama in the US. Using satellite imagery and other remote sensing tools, including hyperspectral camera data, she had identified a huge number of new sites belonging to hitherto unknown Egyptian cultures. He saw it as a way to accelerate his work in Central and South America and had persuaded Pat, without too much difficult, to fly to Egypt to meet Parcak. The Egyptologist had identified countless ancient settlements, many pyramids, and more than one thousand undiscovered tombs, including Tanis, the Lost City, excavated in 1939 by the French archaeologist Pierre Montet, who unearthed a royal tomb complex containing three intact and undisturbed burial chambers containing silver coffins, sarcophagi, golden masks and jewellery including bracelets, necklaces, pendants, tableware and amulets. There were multiple possibilities for satellite exploration as the technique had been used for the mapping of an amphitheatre at the Roman harbour of Portus, in what is now Romania; the search for prehistoric hominid fossils in Kenyan lake beds; Viking sites in Newfoundland; and more interesting to Hisakawa, Sarah Parcak's latest work--the satellite-mapping of the whole of Peru, which had already identified some 20,000 previously unrecorded sites, with an estimated 700 of potentially significant archaeological importance. Information that could help trace the expansion of ancient unknown Peruvian civilisations. It was a completely new field compared to the traditional dig, carried out by earthbound archaeologists on their knees, scrapping away at the dirt with a trowel and a brush in their hands. * * *\n\nThe idea of using orbital satellites to discover what was concealed beneath the canopy of the Amazon rainforest seemed to Ken Hisakawa the only realistic approach to discovering the history of the unknown civilisations that had flourished in certain regions of the Amazon Basin and had disappeared for unexplained reasons. Satellites, backed by airborne Lidar systems, could point archaeologists to the vestiges of ancient cities and roads. Many unknown Maya sites had been found in the Guatemalan jungle using Lidar imaging, man-made features hidden beneath the canopy of the forest. In Egypt, one of the most revealing discoveries to Ken's mind came from a study into the causes that brought the Old Kingdom to an end, the period during which the great pyramids of Giza were built. Satellite imagery of the Egyptian delta followed by on-the-ground survey work showed how the number of settlements fell at the end of the Old Kingdom, caused it appeared by climatic change accompanied by long periods of drought, a revelation that could provide answers for present day societies threatened by multiple environmental problems. Technological progress was such that archaeologists now had access to satellite images having a resolution of 0.3 metres, with the promise that advances would soon make it possible to zoom into a single shard of pottery. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 15\n\n# INSOMNIA\n\nPAT 'DEE' O'CONNELLY WAS finding it difficult to work as the distractions piled up, he had taken on the task of writing the documentary script for the expedition and was distracted by the constant flow of bad news, Pat Kennedy and Hong Kong, John Francis and Brexit, riots on the streets of Paris, wildfires in Australia, and Syria--a powder keg as Russia and Turkey faced off. He was beginning to feel like Franz Kafka, the author of Metamorphosis, an insomniac, who disturbed by noisy neighbours in his Prague apartment wrote deep into the night. Unfortunately that was not a solution for Pat, first he was not an insomniac, second Anna would not have been very happy, and third the crisis building up was infinitely graver than noisy neighbours. He had his commitments, the narration for Indians, promotional work for his book The Tragedy of the Amazon, followed by another work centred on Russia--a story of crookery, corruption and money laundering in the City of London. The Fitzwilliams Foundation had observed and monitored the Russian oligarchy against a background of Vladimir Putin's challenge to the Western democracies through a series of extraterritorial ventures reminiscent of the Cold War. With this in mind John Francis had persuaded Pat to co-author a book on how Moscow had instrumentalised the City of London's banking system and British politicians to advance its pawns on the geopolitical chessboard. The Foundation had every reason to watch Moscow closely, as Pat Kennedy--successor to the late Michael Fitzwilliams, stood the head of the INI Banking Corporation, a multinational triumvirate, with its three main pillars situated respectively in Hong Kong, London ... and Moscow. The latter was headed by Sergei Tarasov, who after a dangerous brush with the Kremlin had mended his bridges and was again seated at the head of INI Moscow, thanks to the largely pragmatic concerns of the Kremlin and its occupier. Russia had returned to the forefront of world affairs over the course of the decade, thanks to the hesitations of Barrack Obama and then the bungling unilateral decisions of Donald Trump, encouraged by Europe's weakness--undermined by Brexit. Moscow had finally re-emerged, a phoenix from the ashes of the Soviet Union, regaining its primacy as one of the world's most powerful nations, thanks to its nuclear arsenal, its military prowess and its vast territory spanning the Eurasian continent, from the Baltic to the Sea of Japan, facing the US across the Bering Sea. In spite of the Western sanctions imposed over its actions in Ukraine, Moscow had seen the West off, had dominated the military and geopolitical confrontation in the Syrian conflict, had won two unlikely allies, Turkey and Iran, eclipsing all the efforts made by Washington since Suez, regaining a paramount place in Middle East politics, a new power broker, even finding common interests with Saudi Arabia as an oil producer, whilst maintaining good relations with Israel, where one million Russian Jews lived. At the same time Russian money flooded into the UK financial system and its tentacular emanations, more precisely British Overseas Territories, where the flow of loose money dwarfed even that of the City of London, which nevertheless pulled the strings. How did that concern INI, well Pat Kennedy's bank had wittingly or unwittingly been instrumental in the flow of that money, like many other large banks, but perhaps more so, because of its unique geographical structure and distribution in different legal and administrative systems, jurisdictions and polities, from Hong Kong to Moscow, and the City of London to the Caribbean including Panama, Dominica and Belize to mention a few. Russia was not a superpower in the conventional sense, and although it was strictly speaking a second division player in economic terms, with its oil and gas reserves, its mineral resources, it geographical reach, its military-industrial complex, and its nuclear arsenal, it set its own rules as an independent player that few could afford to ignore. The world woke up to a new reality when Vladimir Putin launched his unexpected gambit, seizing the Crimea and backing Donbass separatists in 2014, a warning to NATO, which had taken advantage of Moscow's weakness to prise former Soviet republics from its sphere of influence. Moscow's ambitions were underlined when Putin invited 43 leaders to Sochi for the first summit held by the Russian Federation for the nations of Africa, a continent that Moscow saw as a market for the arms and know-how of its military-industrial complex. The same went for Putin's unfailing support for Cuba and Venezuela, countries which had long seen Moscow as an alternative to Washington, underpinning revolutionary socialist regimes, though Russia's ideological ambitions had long since faded. Therein lay the key to the Kremlin's motivations, with neither the economic power, a population comparable with those of the US, China or the EU, nor ideological ambitions beyond its own business and security needs, there was the interest of its oligarchy--wealth, a softer kind of power, and the stability to ensure its own continuity, in other words, a good old banana republic dictatorship backed by a terrifying nuclear arsenal, which was maybe a good thing, getting richer was better for world peace than ideological confrontation. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 16\n\n# THE LOST CITY\n\nKEN HISAKAWA HAD INTRODUCED Pat Kennedy to the Moskitia region of Nicaragua, one of the few places on earth where nature's ecological and evolutionary processes still remained intact. A couple of years earlier the two men had explored the dense jungle region in the search for the vestiges of the Lost City of the Monkey God. It was a region of great interest to archaeologists and scientists, where, if they hadn't found significant vestiges of a lost civilisation, they had discovered an amazing nature reserve, 246 species of butterflies and moths, 30 species of bats, and 57 species of amphibians and reptiles, creatures living in the forests surrounding the supposed site of what was also known as the White City, where nature for the moment still reigned, untouched by man. Some thought it had been the home to an ancient civilisation, others like the French archaeologist, Rene Viel, adamantly rejected the idea. In any case the region was a treasure house of nature, a pristine world of the past, to be preserved from the predatory human species that had spread across the face of the planet like a disease devouring all in its path. As the two friends pursued their search for lost civilisations, another one was in the making. Robots were already casting their furtive shadow across the landscape of the developed world. Each day the evidence mounted in an endless stream of reports that landed on the large antique desk of John Francis, in his office at the Fitzwilliams Foundation, on Queen Anne's Gate in the heart of London. It was inevitable, he had foreseen it--the age of Cornucopia, when work as it had been known since the Industrial Revolution would be an individual choice, when the wealth of the nation would be redistributed in the form of a universal wage calculated on the basis of an individual's contribution to the well-being of society. It was a nice idea, but the transition risked being complicated, very complicated. In the meantime, the use of robots caused job losses across the board, for both skilled and unskilled jobs, in all geographical regions. It was estimated up to 20 million manufacturing jobs could be lost in the coming decade, ten short years, in all countries. Already many had gone in the UK, where technological change was impacting all work places. Were politicians capable of managing the transition when they themselves were ephemeral shadows, coming and going, unanswerable to those who had elected them, exposing their electors to capitalism's steamroller, unable to change the way work and employment evolved and how wealth was distributed in modern society. Over the course of three or four decades, privatisation, deregulation and taxation had favoured finance and big business, benefiting shareholders and directors, whilst the employees had been left vulnerable to technological change, be it in the office, on the factory floor or in distribution. Capitalism had long been presented as the only workable model--in spite of all its faults, compared to Communism, the much vaunted alternative, which had been shown to be unworkable in the USSR and in a whole swath of Soviet-like socialist countries. Even so the flaws of capitalism were there and had been exposed and accentuated by the financial crisis of 2008, wage stagnation, increasing poverty, inequality and the emergence of a new kind of populism compounded by the threat of climate change. At the same time there was a growing opposition in the developing world to the use of natural resources by big business, especially foreign business. The question was who owned those resources? Minerals, oil and gas, water, agriculture, fisheries and land. Who should benefit from their use? Who were the deciders? It would need enlightened men and women, those not distracted by useless political squabbles, fighting over power, short-term leaders with short-term electoral interests. The task of finding those men and women would require nothing short of a miracle for West democracies, as they were pitted against behemoths like China and authoritarian leaders like Vladimir Putin in a new battle for survival. That left one overriding question unanswered--was man capable of regulating his world, one that was becoming more and more complex, beyond the capacity of any one individual, committee or even state. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# AUGUST\n\n# 1\n\n# AN OLD FRIEND\n\nSCOTT HAD BEEN BUSY WATCHING over the changes at his new gallery, when Pat 'Dee' O'Connelly and Anna Basurko appeared. The summer vacation had not yet ended and Paris was still quiet when they set off along the banks of the Seine under the Plane trees, enjoying the fine weather and watching the tourists, as they walked from their place on quai des Celestins to rue des Beaux-Arts, just fifteen minutes away across the Seine. The Left Bank gallery was Scott's third in Paris, recently acquired to take advantage of a thriving market in primitive arts. On seeing his friends, Scott dropped what he was doing, impatient to announce the news just received from Indonesia--the discovery that Homo erectus, popularly known as Java man, was thought to have lived at Ngandong much more recently than previously believed. Anna was nonplussed, perhaps she had misunderstood the name, she was Spanish, and though her English was excellent, there were always problems with accents and pronunciation, especially when the two men, long-time residents in Paris, flipped from English to French. They both laughed and Pat reminded her of Scott's extraordinary, but controversial discovery, made a few years earlier, a calvarium, identified as that of an ancient human ancestor, Homo erectus, evidence that a small population of modern man's predecessors had survived into historical times on the island of Borneo. Anthropologists had thought that the Ngandong erectus, who had lived on the island of Java, had become extinct 400,000 years ago, but new scientific methods now revised that to just 100,000 years. This went in Scott's direction, as the recent discovery of Homo floresiensis, a small primitive human, named by the media as 'the Hobbit', found on the island of Flores, near Bali, was 12,000 years old, like the fossils of Homo luzoniensis found in the Philippines, both of which were considered to have been offshoots of erectus. Scientist's believed that the new date, thanks to improved technology, was proof that a small group of human ancestors had made their last stand at Ngandong on the Solo River, where they had been wiped out by a climate change event, one that transformed their savannah-like habitat into a hostile rainforest. Scott suggested they continue over lunch, at L'entrecote a couple of streets away, Anna nodded in approval and they set off towards boulevard Saint Germain. The two men chatted enthusiastically about erectus, first discovered by Rene Dubois, a Dutch military doctor, in the late 19th century, fossils that were later shown to be 1.9 million years old. The skull caps and shinbones used to establish the new date of the Ngandong erectus were in fact not new discoveries, but had been found by a Dutch expedition in 1930. The new dating of the Javanese erectus fossils comforted the knowledge that other survivors had continued to live on neighbouring islands, where perhaps further fossils remained to be discovered. Between about 120,000 and 110,000 years ago, an Ice Age came to an end. Sea levels rose as glaciers melted, and the climate became warmer and wetter, transforming the biosphere of Java, one in which erectus was unable to adapt, as borne out by evidence that the bones of erectus had been swept, together with those of many other animals, into the Solo River by catastrophic flooding. * * *\n\nMan, an unremarkable creature during two million years, suddenly, ten or twelve thousand years ago, burst out of his modest niche, and in a flash in terms of history, emerged from being just another creature living in equilibrium with the natural environment to become the dominant species. After leaving Africa 70,000 years ago, Homo sapiens succeeded in reaching every corner of the earth in the space of about 50,000 years, occupying and transforming almost every niche of the natural environment for their own benefit and to the detriment of their fellow creatures. As the number of humans continued to grow on man's rapid march towards ten billion, they succeeded in transforming the environment and climate in a way that no other living organism had succeeded in doing so since the formation of the oceans and continents. There were many well argued commentaries on migration, starting with definitions of what migration was--humanitarian and political issues, causes and responsibilities with the later linked to colonisation and imperial history, which inevitably involved an euro-centric gnashing of teeth and tearing of hair, as if European nations had been the only expansionists in human history, even if they--starting with Alexander of Macedonia and Julius Caesar, had made a significant contribution to European expansionism in history. They were only copying the examples set by the Hittites and their near neighbours, or for that matter all of those Homo sapiens who had preceded them, and their ancestors including erectus. The fact is all human history has been punctuated by movement and most certainly atrocities with our distant ancestors going as far as eating each other. The riposte that men were civilised and capable of rational thinking was nonsense and had been proven so throughout human history, which mostly recorded man's achievements in terms of war, conquest and colonisation. Even civilisation's artistic and literary achievements often glorified success in war and the domination of the other, not forgetting their respective gods with whom certain had covenants. Dee recalled a discussion on a Parisian street with a Good Samaritan militating in favour of the Rohingya people, Dee asked him why Burma, a country the activist had never visited, and why not the homeless on the streets of his own neighbourhood. He looked at Padraig as if he was another of those right-wing racist fascists. Of course the Rohingya were more exotic, needed less explanation than the reasons why poor immigrants, or hapless French men and women, slept in shop doorways near to the Good Samaritan's home. El Ahram reported Egypt imported 10 million tonnes of wheat in 2018, from nine different countries to fed its population. That figure was forecast to increase to 12.6 million tonnes for the year 2019/20 when Egypt's population would top the 100 million mark. At the same time the 16 year-old Swedish climate change flag carrier, Greta Thunberg, set off for New York to address the UN Assembly, on a sailing boat, an example of how the world should change its gas-guzzling habits. Dee wondered if she had given any thoughts as how those millions of tonnes of wheat could be transported to Egypt on sailing boats, or how a country could allow its population to grow beyond its capacity to feed them, and what would happen if Egypt's main suppliers, Russia and Ukraine, suffered crop failures. Once again the problem returned to population, and not specifically that of Egypt, which simply served Dee as an example to illustrate a point. Speaking of climate, Anna changed the subject to Pat Kennedy and his research project in Colombia. There was nothing new, except confirmation Pat would be arriving the following week and until then they'd have to wait. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 2\n\n# THE MEDITERRANEAN\n\n'THE LUVVIES ARE AT IT AGAIN,' John moaned, as he read Ekaterina a story of Richard Gere praising migrants in Lampedusa as extraordinary people. It was true they had endured extraordinary hardships to make it to the Mediterranean. But things were not as simple as the 69 year old Hollywood actor imagined. 'Once his summer break is over, he'll be back to the comfort of his New York pad with his new 36 year old wife,' John casually remarked. Ekaterina shot him a black look, their own age difference was even greater than that of the Gere pair. John studiously re-concentrated his attention on the article in Hello. Ekaterina knew about hardship, John had never experienced the kind of life she had remembered during the twilight days of the USSR and the chaos of Boris Yeltsin's Russia. Not that she was in favour of uncontrolled immigration. Gere had taken a break from his holiday in Tuscany to meet migrants on their ship, drifting at sea, without a home port to dock, to drop anchor. The actor delivered essential supplies of food and water, taking the opportunity to show the unfortunates pictures of his newborn son. 'As if they cared a damn about an ageing American actor they'd never heard of,' said Ekaterina, 'and his sprog!' John looked up surprised, Ekaterina's English vocabulary was making considerable progress, even if it wasn't exactly in the right direction. He wondered where she'd picked the word up. Perhaps the decline of the language was a symptom of what was wrong with Britain, like Brexit, not a solution to its ills. A trip to the poorer districts of London told a different story to that of his own, around Royal Hospital Road in Chelsea, where he and his small family lived in splendid isolation, shielded from the common folk and violence of districts like Croydon and Southwark, where knife crime was rampant. Social centres and public parks were disappearing almost overnight in the poorest districts and suburbs, as were pubs, shops and banks, even churches were being abandoned, left derelict as communities lost faith. Health and social services were underfunded whilst politicians focused on austerity and budget cuts ignoring the pain it cost to the more needy. When the high street shops closed people hunkered down at home, tele and takeaways, pub life disappeared, a way of life where men and women entered another world, one in which they were actors, rather than spectators. As for the young, many turned to solitude, lost in their own lonely worlds of video games and Netflix. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 3\n\n# CRISIS\n\nFAR FROM THE AMAZON JUNGLES the situation was deteriorating quickly in Hong Kong, caught up in a crisis that seemed to have no issue but a bad one. The Global Times, a tabloid published by The People's Daily--the Chinese Communist Party news organ, showed a video filmed in Shenzhen, of thousands of soldiers in helmets and shields in an exercise battling with mock demonstrators disguised as students. The world was concerned by what was happening in Hong Kong, which to all intents was a city state, and one of the most important financial hubs in Asia. It looked like David against Goliath, a nice biblical parable with a happy ending, in reality the denouement risked looking more like Tiananmen or Sebastopol, with the rebellion crushed in blood. The situation had got out of control and Pat Kennedy had set up a crisis room with his closest associates and advisors, including the Wu family and heads from the bank's overseas centres in London and Moscow. From the banks headquarters in Central on Hong Kong Island things looked normal, that is apart from the banner waving demonstrators on the forecourt of the bank's skyscraper home. But from the Peninsula in Kowloon, where they were gathered for their crisis meeting, away from distractions, the bankers had a ringside view on what was really happening on the street as the demonstrators swarmed past the luxury boutiques, their window displays filled with the kind of goods that few of them could afford--Vuitton handbags, designer watches, jewellery fit for oligarchs and Red Royalty, and shoes that cost a worker's annual wage. The expensive cars that normally dropped the wealthy shoppers off were nowhere to be seen, safely parked in deep underground garages. The usual flocks of well-heeled tourists were sheltering in their hotels or had flown on to more peaceful destinations. * * *\n\nIn Moscow, yet another world, whilst Ekaterina waited for John to return from a visit to Sergei at the Russian headquarters of INI, she half watched the evening television news. In their large apartment off Tverskaya, where they were staying to catch up on the Russian art scene, she felt only vaguely concerned by the state of ebullition in the world that summer. Alena ignored her mother's complaints and continued to type away on her mobile phone as the nanny grabbed her brother Will to pack him off to bed. Ekaterina zapped news channels and paused at an image she recognised, the terrace bar of a recently renovated market hall overlooking Trubnaya Square, where a well-dressed crowd sat drinking, the men from bottles of craft beer and their wives and girlfriends sipping at what she supposed was Aperol spritz. Below the terrace, on the esplanade, as the sun slowly went down over the Moscow skyline, the scene was quite different, riot-police harassed a crowd of predominantly young demonstrators, chasing one group across the square into the adjoining streets, those who weren't fast enough were grabbed and manhandled into waiting police vans, whilst loudspeakers threatened those remaining with arrest, a sure guarantee of detention for the more hardy opposition activists. The crowd was demonstrating in protest against the exclusion of opposition candidates in the Moscow local elections. The clampdown ended in one of the biggest protest movements in recent recent times, a sure sign of growing discontent as the Kremlin veered towards even greater authoritarian rule as Vladimir Putin's popularity dropped. Leading the protests were those close to Alexei Navalny who campaigned against rampant corruption at all levels of power, witnessed by irrefutable evidence in videos circulating in Moscow. Navalny, who was banned from state television, had been arrested and jailed on numerous occasions and barred from standing as an independent candidate in the 2018 presidential election. His bank accounts were frozen and masked police raided his offices where they seized documents and computers. One of Navanly's associates, Lyubov Sobol, an Anti-Corruption Foundation lawyer and member of the Russian Opposition Coordination Council, had planned to stand as an independent in the Moscow elections, only to be told the voter signatures required were fakes and that her candidature was void. She riposted with a hunger strike and was arrested in spite of her protestations, 'Who are you frightened of? Your own citizens, a woman on the 20th day of her hunger strike?' The euphoria of the Crimea annexation was over and fewer Russians were willing to make the kind of sacrifices that sanctions entailed. Real incomes had fallen and that coupled with pension reforms hit Putin's popularity ratings. The younger generation of Muscovites had grown up in a different world to that their parents and grandparents. Putin, called the 'dwarf' by anti-government media, was a pure product of the USSR and the Cold War, that was history to the young generation who wanted a different more open and easygoing world, where they could enjoy the benefits of their likes in Western Europe and the US, one where they didn't have to make useless sacrifices and fight mindless wars. The same old tired anti-Western rhetoric no longer went down with them and they feared falling foul of the arbitrary rules of their authoritarian Kafkaesque state that dragged its screaming victims into police vans with vicious blows to discourage resistance--as had their Soviet predecessors. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 4\n\n# JAKARTA\n\nPAT KENNEDY WAS WHAT they called a 'Taipan' in Hong Kong, one of the legendary few who had built a colossal fortune by force of character and daring. From his Hong Kong base he had spread his business across South East Asia, building on the base of the network developed by INI's Amsterdam based bank, the Nederlandsche Nassau Bank, and the Smeaton family's Anglo-Dutch Commercial Bank founded a century earlier in Jakarta. Since those days, Indonesia had gone from being part of the Het Nederlandse Koloniale Rijk--The Dutch Colonial Empire, to a vast and fiercely independent nation. At the same time its population had grown from around 50 million to 270 million and was projected to grow to 330 million. Its capital Jakarta, called the 'Big Durian' by its inhabitants, together with its sprawling suburban area, was the home to 30 million. To most Indonesians, and many other people in the region, HG amongst them, the news that Jakarta was sinking into the Java Sea was nothing new, for decades it had been settling into the mud, silt and polluted slime, a reality visible to anyone who visited the city's port, Tanjung Priok, and especially the city's hapless population. The news that Indonesia was to create a new capital in the sparsely-populated region of Kutai Kartanegara and Penajam Paser Utara, on the island of Borneo, came as forest fires swept through vast regions of the archipelago, added one disaster to another, after decades of destruction by logging, mining, sugar cane and oil palm plantations. The idea of two million migrants arriving from Jakarta was apocalyptic, the death knell for what remained of the natural environment in East Kalimantan, targeted as the site for the new capital. The announcement came as a thick haze hung over large parts of Peninsula Malaysia, Sarawak and Sabah, setting off a war of words between Kula Lumpur and Jakarta with accusations and counter-accusations as Malaysian authorities pointed to data released by Indonesia's Disaster Mitigation Agency with satellite data showing more than 3,600 fires on Sumatra and Borneo. That was contradicted by data from the ASEAN Specialised Meteorological Centre, which clearly showed the total number of hotspots in Kalimantan and Sumatra were dwarfed by those recorded in Malaysian territory. A lot of chest thumping and little action. The blame game did nothing to help those affected when schools were shut as the air became unbreathable and face masks were issued to the population of Sarawak. At the origin of the crisis was a cycle of dry weather that caused a steep increase in the number of forest fires across the region, which according to data published by the Copernicus Atmosphere Monitoring Service, produced over 14 megatonnes of CO2, three times greater than that produced over the previous 15 years. Many of the fires became uncontrollable after being deliberately started by farmers to clear their land. However, the underlying soil of large areas of Sumatra and Borneo was made up of deep peat deposits--vegetable matter accumulated over thousands of years, which once set on fire continued to burn for weeks. As distant corners of the planet were hit by uncontrolled fires, raging across hugely different regions, from Indonesian to Brazil, Bolivia, Colombia, the Congos, Siberia, Alaska, Greenland and Australia, vast quantities of CO2 were ejected into the atmosphere and the temperatures rose inexorably. * * *\n\nPresident Joko Widodo's announcement came on the heels of dire predictions for the future of Jakarta and its population, choked in permanent gridlock as more than three million commuters struggled to get into and out of the city each day. Not only was the city sinking into the sea, its drainage and sewerage systems overflowing, it was also overshadowed by the threat of natural disaster. The island of Java was the home to some of the world's most active volcanoes, situated on the ring of fire. Jakarta and other cities lived in the permanent shadow of calamity--the constant threat of volcanic eruptions, shifting tectonic plates, earthquakes and tsunamis, as John Ennis and Scott Fitznorman had witnessed three years earlier when they fled the eruption of Krakatoa. The new administrative capital would attract millions of migrants to Kalimantan, whilst Jakarta would continue as a commercial and financial centre, the majority of its 30 million residents certainly opting to stay put, in spite of the impending disaster, as city's population inexorably spread out in all directions. HG was shocked when she learnt hundreds of square kilometres of land would be bulldozed to build the new capital, as the state institutionalised the destruction of the Borneo's natural environment. It was nothing less than former president Suharto's transmigration programme that was introduced in the 1970s. Suharto's government, in an effort to reduce the demographic pressure on the densely populated islands of Java and Madura, forcibly relocated thousands of villages and countless families to the less crowded islands of the vast archipelago, notably to Borneo, transporting them to isolated regions where rough airstrips were built for the huge versatile C5 air force cargo planes that carried the villagers and their meagre belongings, providing each family with a few sacks of rice and other basic necessities, plus a parcel of summarily cleared forestland to be cultivated for their future needs. The arrival of vast numbers of migrants created an often deadly conflict with the indigenous peoples. Today the Paser Balik tribe, which had already suffered from the incursion and destruction of its lands by logging and mining companies over the years, feared that the new capital would raze their homeland forests, drain its waterways, exterminate its remaining wildlife, and transform its world into an urban desert. Much of the land in the region destined for the new capital was already exploited by mine operators, palm oil producers and logging companies, some of whom would certainly profit by selling the land back to the government for the building of the new capital. HG told her friends the people of Borneo did not fear the forces of nature, but ran in fear of civilisation and its concrete jungle. Neighbouring Malaysia, HG's home, was faced by many other problems after it had undergone a series of deep political changes, returning 92 year old veteran politician Mohammed Mahatir to power following the 1MDB scandal, which amongst other things had indirectly involved Pat Kennedy's bank. Mahatir had marked Malaysia's modern history as the country's long-time prime minister, between 1981 and 2003, when he been the advocate of hard-line Bumiputra and Muslim tendencies in a multiracial, multi-religious, country with a diverse geography--its two largest states lay on the island of Borneo, isolated from Peninsula Malaysia, a structure created by the British at the moment of their colony's independence, as a bulwark against Sukarno's Indonesia, then threatened by communism. After years of economic progress, an example in Southeast Asia, it was threatened by instability as the Muslim majority practised discriminatory policies against large Chinese, Hindu and indigenous communities, fomenting violence and forcing Islam on the indigenous peoples, threatening religious pluralism with ultra-conservative policies, wielding religion and race in favour of ethno-nationalistic-economic domination by the Bumiputra majority, widening the cultural divide between the country's diverse ethnic groups. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 5\n\n# A LIGHTHOUSE DINER\n\nWHO WOULD HAVE BELIEVED ten years ago that America and the West would lose the Middle East and that Bashir El Assad would emerge victorious in a conflict against an American led coalition, in a geometrically variable battle against the Caliphate, allied with Kurds and a variety of anti-Assad groups. Under Donald Trump the Middle East had lost its importance for a number of complex reasons, amongst them was his trade war with China and his vision 'Make America Great Again'. It was with this in mind he headed for the G7 conference in Biarritz where he was to meet the leaders of Canada, France, Germany, Italy, Japan and the United Kingdom. It would be complicated as he was to a great or lesser degree in disaccord with them all. As for Vladimir Putin he was absent, expelled, justifiably following sanctions for his annexation of the Crimea. Macron had become Western Europe's most active leader on international issues by default--Germany's Merkel was in difficulty, and the UK's new premier was embroiled in the Brexit battle. Putin, however, hoped to reinforced his position, but in truth Russia was a giant with feet of clay. Although he had performed an almost impossible task, considering Russia's catastrophic post-communist legacy and the chaos bequeathed by Boris Yeltsin, his country's weaknesses had persisted, commencing with chronic underinvestment, compounded by its over dependence on energy export revenues, poor infrastructure, corruption, rising social stress and discontent, set against the background of an oppressive authoritarian state. In spite of its vast territory, energy and raw material resources, Russia's population was small, its economy no better than a middling European power, it was no match for the other world powers, especially its neighbours--China to the east, the EU to the west. The former, a populous industrial giant, flexing its muscles, the latter an economic powerhouse which was still undecided as to its future role in the world. Though Vladimir Putin was solidly ensconced in power, apart from a vague vision of a Greater Russia, he had no clear constructive vision for his country or successor should he stumble. * * *\n\nAs the leaders met, anti-globalisation and climate activists converged at two points, each situated on the opposite side of the border that divided the Basque Country between France and Spain. Their goal was to confront the rich-poor divide that was widening at an alarming rate, caused by the indifference of political leaders and the speed of technological change. Inevitably the jamboree attracted eco-warriors of all ilks, it coincided nicely with a midsummer trip to the clean and green Basque Country with its gastronomic traditions, offering side trips to St Jean de Luz and the 16th century fortified town of Fuentarabbia as well as Hendaye's beach, four kilometres of golden sand, flanked by the foothills of the Pyrenees. Their leaders included national media personalities on the forefront of green parties and activist movements, all of whom saw the event as an opportunity to broadcast their narratives, reiterating their crusade slogans, out of fear they--themselves that is, be forgotten. It was a mediatic business and having one's image flashed on TV screens, blogs, and the front pages of the press was all part of the vote getting, fund raising, battle. It didn't take much communications savvy to know it was better being photographed rubbing shoulders with the troops at an eco-conference in northern Spain, than being spotted, like an idiot royal prince, teeing off at the Real Club Valderrama, an exclusive golf club in Sotogrande, Andalusia, at the opposite end of the Iberian Peninsula. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 6\n\n# A SUMMIT\n\nMORE THAN 13,000 SECURITY AND LAW enforcement troops were gathered in and around the historic town of Biarritz. They were there to ensure the safety of the heads of states and their delegations gathered for the G7 summit in the French Basque Country and prepare for the arrival of leaders of the world's rich nations. They included Donald Trump, Boris Johnson, and their host Emanuel Macron, present for three days of talks on global issues, from the climate emergency to trade wars. The forces of law and order present included 44 CRS companies and 48 mobile gendarmerie squads, plus specialised units, amongst which was the RAID--the National Gendarmerie Intervention Group and the Republican Guard. Facing them was a ragtag army of anti-G7 demonstrators that mounted desultory skirmishes near the camp where they were installed outside the small picturesque Basque town of Urrugne, a dozen kilometres to the south of Biarittz. The chic seaside resort of Biarritz was in lock-down with traffic restricted to residents and officials, all requiring badges. Railway stations and the local airport were shutdown for the duration of the summit, sailing boats banned from approaching the coast, and surfers from the beach. It was no-go zone, bang in the middle of the tourist season. Demonstrators' feeble attempts to enter the town at a roundabout exit from the motorway that linked Biarritz to the Spanish border were quickly repelled at road checks set-up at the border and major crossroads. The assorted mob then attempted to block access to their camp by setting up rough and ready barricades and bombarding the police with anything that came to hand. Their makeshift projectiles were of little use as the police surged into the camp firing tear gas canisters and flashballs in front of the astonished eyes of vacationers at a nearby holiday residence. * * *\n\nIt was going to be a hot day in Biarritz with the temperature expected to reach the mid-thirties. The splendid resort was an armed fortress as the summit was set to kick-off. Emanuel Macron arrived onboard his presidential jet at Biarritz Pays Basque Airport, about six kilometres from the town centre, Trump arrived at Bordeaux Airport on Air Force One, a Boeing 747, where he transferred to a smaller C32--a military version of the commercial 757 airliner in the colours of the US presidential fleet--for the 200 kilometre hop south to Biarittz. Waiting for them was the army of gendarmes and other security forces with their vehicles to ensure they and the other world leaders were not troubled by the plebeian mob. A few kilometres to the south in Hendaye the temperature had already reached 30C and a light mist hung over the beach obscuring the the twin rocks, Les Jumeaux, and the 19th century Chateau d'Abbadie that looked out over the sea from a high point in the distance. Between the old mauresque casino and the place du Palmier, the normally busy beach centre with its cafes and shops was almost deserted, just a scattering of tourists and a handful of locals out for their baguette and morning newspaper. Many of the cafes were however closed, the bank and its ATM boarded-up, as were the real estate agencies and the ladies swimwear boutique, Pretty Woman. Preparations that reminded Pat O'Connelly of a Caribbean beach resort before a hurricane, if it hadn't been for the fact he'd seen three suspected agitators in handcuffs and five others seated on a bench surrounded by heavily armed police the previous evening. That morning Hendaye had started to empty and by midday it was deserted. Where had the 10,000 demonstrators gone? Bayonne, according to the rumour that was making the rounds. Pat grabbed his car and took off for the autoroute just outside the town. Bayonne lay a little under 40 kilometres to the north. Some 30 minutes later he crossed the Garonne, took the exit Bayonne Nord and swung back into the city where he parked nearby the railway station. There he headed into the historical centre on foot crossing back over the river where he joined the crowd that was starting to build up, one that was different from the anti-G7 crowd in Hendaye, uglier and looking for trouble. At the same moment Donald and Melania Trump arrived in Biarritz where they were greeted by the French president and his wife Brigitte. First was an impromptu lunch, then a tete-a-tete between the two men on the terrace of the Hotel du Palais, where Trump seemed tense, but let Macron have his moment announcing, '... every once in a while, we go at it just a little bit, not very much, but we get along very well. We have a very good relationship ... we couldn't have asked for better weather or a more beautiful location.' The meeting was essentially one of the US and its allies, and Trump would need them as he ratcheted up his war of words and tariffs against China whilst leaving Russia to sulk in its corner. In any case there would be no joint communique, which would avoid the heads of state leaving under a cloud, as they had at their last meeting in Canada, when Trump refused to sign the document and consensus was consigned to the bin, a result that Macron wanted to avoid. It would be a loss of face before African leaders from five nations, the Australian prime minister, India's prime minister, Brazil's president and the Chilean president, congregated in the fashionable resort town, a haven for Russian oligarchs, celebrities and well-heeled tourists. Boris Johnson arrived, seemingly as confused as ever as he jumped out of his car and headed in the wrong direction. He counted on Trump to bail him out of his self-made Brexit predicament and desperately needed a pat on the back and the promise of a trade deal. Incongruously, the Hotel du Palais overlooked a large Russian Orthodox church, built more than a century earlier for Czar Nicolas II, a reminder of Vladimir Putin's absence, an absence Trump regretted, it would have been '...much more appropriate to have Russia in, particularly the G8, because a lot of things we talk about have to do with Russia.' Beyond the vast ornate gates of the Palais, Biarritz was tense, a special magistrates court had been set up to handle demonstrators as control points were set up at crossroads where armed police were posted to prevent trouble makers invading the red zone--declared off limits to the public. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 7\n\n# DIVISIONS\n\nEMMANUEL MACRON PUT CLIMATE change at the centre of the event. However, the subject was not on Donald Trump's agenda, in fact it was far from his multiple preoccupations; a trade war with China; a simmering dispute with the EU over tariffs; and a slanging match with the other half of the planet. The solidarity the Western world had enjoyed since WWII was in tatters in spite of the greats grandstanding in Biarritz. It was divided not only over trade, but just about everything else, from climate change to dealings with China, Iran and Russia, and of course there was Brexit with Trump pouring oil on the fire by the promise of a fantastic deal for Johnson. * * *\n\nIn spite of the perfect setting under clear summer skies, the summit got off to an embarrassing start when against a background of raging forest fires in the Amazon, Emmanuel Macron and Jair Bolsonaro commenced by trading insults. Macron accused Bolsonaro of lying on Brazil's position on climate change and threatened to block the free trade agreement negotiated the previous month between the EU and the South American trade bloc Mercosur, which included Brazil. Bolsonaro riposted by accusing Macron of having a colonialist mentality and treating Brazil like colony. Matters were made worse after Bolsonaro posted photos on Facebook comparing pictures of his and Macron's wife, with the comment: 'Now do you understand why Macron is persecuting Bolsonaro?' twisting the knife by adding, 'Don't humiliate the guy. Hahaha.' Bolsonaro was accused of favouring an agricultural policy for his country, one which would have a catastrophic effect on the Amazon's environment, rather than defending the rainforest, where according to his critics the rate of deforestation had surged to the point new agribusiness was consuming an area the size of Manhattan every day. Not satisfied with that, Bolsonaro had opened public lands to agribusiness, lands settled by ribeirinhos and the quilombolas, the former lived by fishing, rubber tapping and the traditional harvesting of Brazil nuts and other forest products, the latter were the descendants of rebel slaves who had won their right to territories occupied by their ancestors. After five centuries of European colonisation, the indigenous peoples, who had already suffered under their Portuguese masters, were now faced with the threats of deforestation on a vast scale and the destruction of all the plants and creatures that lived in their homelands. Pat O'Connelly often wondered why no one never pointed to the intensive agriculture policies of the US or the EU, where in the latter case the natural biotope had been degraded over two millennia to feed Europe's population which had grown more than six-fold since Roman times. * * *\n\nAs demonstrators prepared to bang their drums for the last day of the conference and delegates packed their bags, the result was summed up by the general reaction of financial markets. Friday Trump announced an additional duty of 5% on Chinese goods, then over the weekend, he announced he may have second thoughts, then followed by saying he wished he had raised tariffs on Chinese goods even higher whilst adding he did not plan to follow through with a demand that US firms find ways to close operations in China. Monday Asian markets slid sharply with the Nikkei opening down by over 3% as the business world was shaken by the generally confusion created by Donald Trump. As one analyst wrote there was an uneasy feeling that the very fragile negotiations were spiralling out of control. Gold rose and oil dived with the prolonged uncertainty following rumours linked to the possible presence of Iran in Biarittz--the thought of easing sanctions threatened a flood of Iranian oil onto the already weakening market. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 8\n\n# ANOTHER VERSION\n\nTHE VAST MAJORITY OF THOSE supporting environmental movements were well intentioned, but amongst the activists was a hard core of extremists. Certain of those bore a religious fanaticism in their actions, bordering on hysteria, which at times was exploited by individuals whose interests lay in their own gain, influence or profit. Environmentalist groups were prone, like in every associative movement, to individual ambition, power and glory. Where leadership cults flourished behind a fa\u00e7ade on green sanctitude. The hysteria over the rainforest fires in Brazil was the occasion to focus well-fed, privileged Westerners, on an easy target, especially since Bolsonaro had replaced leaders favoured by champagne socialists, even if they had been imprisoned or ousted for corruption. Bolsonaro was targeted for having the temerity to use his country's resources as his government saw fit. He was white, wealthy, Christian, conservative and even worse had an army background. Luvvies, like Leonardo DiCaprio, friends of crooks such as Jho Low, claimed the fires in the Amazon were the worse since records began, perhaps, but put into perspective those records began a decade ago. Though slash and burn agriculture had existed since the dawn of agriculture. Tracking by NASA reported that the annual variations were within what would be normally expected over the vast and varied territory of the Amazon which englobed a number of different biospheres. The general dialogue often turned around the idea that the developing world was incapable of managing its own affairs and only developed countries held the solution to their problems, which in the case of the New World was laughable considering the damage conquistadors like Cortes and Pizarro had inflicted on their civilisations, not forgetting American heroes like Buffalo Bill and Custer, who together contributed to the destruction of wildlife and the decline of indigenous peoples. It was easy to point to the misery of India, the pollution of China's industries, from a comfortable home in London or Paris where people in developed nations enjoyed the kinds of privileges the poor and less well-off aspired to. The gloating schadenfreude of well-heeled tourists snapping the slums of Manilla or the favelas of Rio with their smartphones, congratulating themselves on their intelligence and their environmentally friendly home countries. Images they would paste on their Facebook pages with temples and smiling street urchins. In 1989, Dean Edwin Abrahamson wrote in his book, The Challenge of Global Warming:\n\n'A world with a doubled or tripled human population, with a several fold increase in consumption, and with greenhouse gases, industrial pollutants, and other assaults on the environment proportional to those of today is not only virtually unimaginable, but impossible. If societies attempt a several fold increase in economic activity described in the Brundtland Report (published in 1987), using the present means of production, increasing emissions of greenhouse gases will have consequences similar to those of nuclear war.' Today, more than 30 years later, the world is well along that path, since over those three decades next to nothing had been done to counter the effect of emissions and the world population had jumped from 5 billion to 7.5 billion and would reach 10 billion within a generation. Brazil needed to develop its economy and its natural resources were the key: agriculture, forestry industries, mining and urban development, whilst striving to maintain an acceptable level of sustainability. If the international community wanted something greater at the expense of Brazilian growth, then it would have to contribute to safeguard its biosphere. From humanity's point of view, protecting the Amazon was vital, but to keep the rainforest as a pristine reserve at the cost of 200 million Brazilians was unacceptable to its government. The multiplication of foreign NGOs agitating against industrial development of the rainforest and other biospheres in Brazil had become a serious bone of contention between the greens and the country's leaders, who looked at the policies of Ecuador and Peru, both of which had taken measures to expel foreign-funded NGOs that acted against their interests on questions of environment. As a sovereign nation, Brazil had every right to pursue its economic development as it saw fit, including the management of its forest resources which after all belong to them. The claim that the Amazon rainforest was the lungs of the planet was on every politicians lips, claims it recycled 20% of the planet's oxygen were bandied about, though according to climate expert Michael Mann, it was nearer to 6%, a nevertheless very significant figure. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 9\n\n# A SAVIOUR? JOHN FRANCIS HAD HOPED a new Margaret Thatcher--in the form of Theresa May--would cut the Gordon's knot, but she failed. Now it was the turn of a Churchillian figure, Boris Johnson, who after more than 1,000 days of political infighting, sensational headlines, with plots and counter-plots, public insults by the different partisans, against a background of catastrophic predictions, wavering financial markets and the near collapse of sterling, promised the final Brexit battle was about to start as parliament returned from its summer recess. The summer had seen the first truly visible signs of climate change, blistering heat, storms and flooding, as the weather ran its topsy-turvy course. At the same time the economy was paying the price for political turmoil and a trickle of bad news was building up into a steady stream as businesses and consumers started to cutback on investments and spending as the festering crisis came to an ugly head. After the summer break, Britain's parliament was about to open the new session with an historic showdown between Boris Johnson--who had vowed to leave the European Union on October 31, and the anti-Brexiteers who viewed themselves as the last bulwark against impending disaster as the UK staggered towards its historic destiny. Finding a majority in a very divided parliament to prevent Britain withdrawing from the bloc without an exit deal seemed an almost impossible task. Whatever the outcome, the Brexit battle would go down in the history books with a referendum that had cleaved the country in two, from the government down to the common folk, with little chance of reconciliation. The trouble was Johnson's Conservative government had a majority of just one seat in the 650 seat house, thanks to the support of the DUP, a small, almost inconsequential, Northern Irish Party. It was with deep regret that John Francis observed the opposition, as it stood at the crossroad of history, a moment when its leader with courage and vision could have deflected the government from its destructive path. That was not to be as the opposition was led by an old fashioned Marxist reactionary, who left the way clear for the mop haired adventurer, who as a last resort opted for parliamentary elections, confident his socialist adversary stuck in his 1950s time warp could never gain the confidence of the British people. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 10\n\n# BREXIT\n\nJOHN, ALTHOUGH HE WAS a firm Remainer, was more complacent about Brexit than certain of his friends, in the belief that a compromise face saving arrangement would be found. However, whilst he did not believe in a plot, he had no doubts that a certain class of UK politicians saw the UK's natural partner as the US, especially those whose financial interests lay in a Transatlantic alliance, and who were resolutely set on separating the UK from its European friends. It was clear that certain Americans including the billionaire Robert Mercer, former head of Renaissance Technologies, a supporter of Donald Trump, played a key role in the Brexit campaign. A long time friend of Nigel Farage, he was a major donor to right-wing political causes in the US, such as Breitbart News, to which Steve Banon was linked along with Cambridge Analytics. The decisive nature of Brexit was a continuum of European history that went back to Henry VIII and his continental contemporaries, Francois I and Charles I of Spain and their successors, an almost permanent state of confrontation in the balance of power, peaceful or otherwise. The danger was this time around the UK would end up as somebody else's pawn in a game to weaken Europe, a tragedy in view of the cost paid in World War I and II to all concerned. Britain's weakness was illustrated by the artist Ai Weiwei, who told the BBC that Beijing sees Britain as a nonentity and that it and the West in general were uninterested in getting involved in the Hong Kong crisis. When asked if Britain had a specific responsibility, the artist replied that the Chinese government simply laughed at London, noting they could not even manage their own problems. Seen from afar Britain's Brexit entanglement seemed Ruritanian, transforming the country and its parliament into a laughingstock, epitomised by Monty Python-like characters, namely John Bercow bellowing, and Boris Johnson with his theatrics, characterising what was in effect a toothless circus lion. After all what did the West do when the Chinese government sent in its tanks to literally crush the Tiananmen demonstrators into a bloody pulp? Pat remained confident in spite of what he saw as posturing by the central government in Beijing, he did not envisage another Tiananmen Square horror. For the moment, as far as he was concerned, the former colony offered a highly desirable advantage to his bank when doing business with China, thanks to its British based style legal system which guaranteed rulings based on fair laws and not corruption. Hongkongers were justifiably alarmed when non-stop news flashes started scrolling across their TV screens of tank and troop movements on the other side of the border. On the opposite banks of the creek that separated the city of Shenzhen from the New Territories, less than a dozen or so kilometres from Pat's gleaming headquarters, large numbers of paramilitary forces were seen gathering at different points in the city. In total 12,000 troops with armoured personnel carriers, helicopters and amphibious vehicles were on standby waiting for the order to move. Pat reassured himself it was nothing but intimidation, a game drawn from the Art of War, the ancient Chinese treatise by Sun Tzu. He recalled one of its main tenants--avoiding direct armed conflict confrontations, a last resort, only justifiable when all other alternatives had been exhausted, and even then, a direct clash of arms was to be avoided. He talked to a puzzled Lili of the dangers of a Pyrrhic victory as they sipped their morning coffee looking out at the panoramic view of Victoria Harbour far below their vast apartment. Pat was in many ways a self-made man, an autodidact, who compensated for his lacunas by consuming every book of history that came his way, a diversion from the endless stream of documents that arrived from the bank's branches strung across the world. A Pyrrhic victory would profit no one, he said as he kissed Lili on her forehead, before leaving for his car waiting forty floors below for the short drive to the bank. Normally he would have walked, but the temperature and humidity had risen several degrees as a tropical depression approached the city, besides he did not want to confront the demonstrators and security forces, even at that early hour. In spite of Pat's optimism, observers generally agreed that something bad was about to happen. Everything pointed to a brutal crackdown as Beijing finally lost patience after weeks of riots and the chaotic incursion that shutdown Hong Kong's airport. Mainland news reports spoke of treachery and terrorism as it prepared the public for an invasion by its special forces whose methods would even make the efforts of Hong Kong's raptors look tame thirty years after the Tiananmen demonstrations were crushed. At that time China's then supreme leader, Deng Xiaoping, confronted by the death of 3,000 young men and women, commented, 'You must remember in this country, a million is not a big number.' To make matters worse for Zhongnanhai, the events coincided with the 70th anniversary of the founding of the People's Republic of China, to be celebrated in grand style. The old ones remembered Chairman Mao boast 'Kill one, frighten ten thousand', but today that would no longer work, brute force in Hong Kong would not only shatter its economy would also provoke urban warfare. The leaders greatest fear was contagion, though for the moment that seemed unlikely as prosperity stifled political discontent. What would happen if China's economy stalled, if Trump pursued his trade war, or a black swan appeared on the horizon. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 11\n\n# AFTER PUTIN\n\nAS THE AMAZON BURNED, WILDFIRES raged across the Taiga, Vladimir Putin was forced to call in the army to fight the inferno that was devouring vast areas of Siberia, smothering towns and villages in a dense blanket of smoke. It was estimated three million hectares in Central and Eastern Siberia were burning with the Krasnoyarsk region being one of the worst hit, where its governor declared there was little that could be done, the huge almost empty region of Taiga forest was unreachable and Russia had neither the means or the manpower to combat the fires, the most important in living memory. The fires, triggered by high summer temperatures, were accompanied by lightning, strong winds, dry thunderstorms and in general exceptional weather conditions, sending smoke and haze across the vast and often inaccessible region rendering the sun almost invisible. Such fires were not uncommon during the summer months, but they had spread much further than usual with a total of 12 million hectares of forest affected. Paradoxically, as the temperatures rose and the fires spread, Siberia flooded as the permafrost melted. Russia was rotting at its edges, its industrial cities suffering from the gravest forms of pollution, starting with Norilsk, 400 kilometres inside the Arctic Circle, which was slowly sinking into the ground, a city built on permafrost, now thawing rapidly, causing its foundation to crumble, threatening its very existence. Climate change was poised to claim its first major industrial victim. Norilsk a city of 180,000 was the world's most important producer of nickel and palladium, accounting for three quarters of its needs, in addition it produced a vast range of other metals from gold to cobalt with the mining company Norilsk Nickel generating yearly revenues of almost 12 billion dollars. 'Our temperatures are rising two-and-half times faster than the global average,' Vladimir Putin told the press. 'We, are a northern country--70% of our territory is located in the northern latitudes. We have entire cities above the Arctic Circle built on permafrost. If it begins to melt, just imagine the consequences. Catastrophic.' It was a change of attitude, considering Putin had previously voiced doubts about climate change, even suggesting warmer temperatures would benefit his country. The danger was the collapse of residential and industrial buildings and already a doctor was seriously injured on the front steps of a Norilsk blood bank when part of the concrete canopy covering the entrance collapsed. Norilsk was the most polluted city in the Russian Federation and climate change was accelerating the damage, Greenpeace warned of the dangers as thawing permafrost caused thousands of oil and gas pipeline to crack leaking large quantities of crude oil into the environment. Permafrost covered two-thirds of the country's vast territory, where giant craters had been discovered caused by the explosion of methane gas escaping from the ground. In the extreme north of Russia, off the Arctic coastline, islands were disappearing as permafrost thawed and sea ice melted, washed away by storms and waves. Roads and railways were hit by subsidence and toxic radioactive pollutants were released into the environment when landslides hit waste water retention dams. In the recent past, temperatures in Norilsk, which could fall to minus 50oC, were stable, but these had risen two degrees and the surface thickness of the permafrost reduced, with more moisture in the soil, freezing and expanding in winter, undermining the structures of countless buildings. The same problem affected many other Arctic cities in Russia, including Salekhard, Nadym and Dudinka, and the port on the Yenisei River through which Norilsk Nickel shipped its products. Twenty years after Vladimir Putin was appointed acting prime minister by Boris Yeltsin, he remained popular at home for having brought stability and a certain degree of prosperity and modernity to Russia. This popularity peaked after national pride was restored following the annexation of the Crimea, after of the humiliation that followed the collapse of the USSR. At the same time the modest looking former KGB officer was transformed into an authoritarian leader, whose declared goal was the restoration of Russia to its rightful place as a first-class world power. His rejection by the West was accentuated when the Kremlin cracked down on opposition parties, seized control of the media and closed its eyes to rampant corruption. The encirclement of Russian resulted in a Russia first policy, rebuilding relationships with the Kremlin's former Soviet bloc friends, especially Assad in Syria and Madura in Venezuela. Little-by-little Putin's Russia resembled an old fashioned dictatorship, structured around a new form of government, a politico-economic oligarchy, built on authoritarian consumerism, with resource based exports subsidising state revenues. However, in spite of its vast resources, Russia did not compare to the other economically powerful Western nations, only its nuclear arsenal justified the Kremlin's pretensions. Its population of a bit more than 140 million was declining, much smaller than Jair Bolsonaro's, who as head of the world's fourth largest country, a vast warm and fertile land filled with incalculable riches and a population of over 200 million, who could afford to cock a snoop at France's president, insulting Macron's wife Brigitte with impunity. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 12\n\n# TIPPING POINT\n\nIT WAS WIDELY REPORTED that deforestation in the Brazilian Amazon had surged, various comparisons were cited by the media and by their armchair experts to impress the scale of the reported disaster on the minds of a non-specialised public. One said three football pitches a minute, another an area the size of the UK each year, or monthly losses the size of Greater London, and yet another spoke of 750,000 square kilometres disappearing since 1978. No one disputed the fires, or the deforestation, legal and illegal, on the other hand the disinformation and sloppy reporting with unverified figures bandied about by so-called experts was misleading, discrediting the work of scientists and serious journalists. Pat Kennedy viewed the South American continent as a vast new market in which to expand his bank and had met Jair Bolsonaro and his ministers to discuss his plans. He kept an open mind on the Amazon and agribusiness, it was better to work with Brazil than against it, especially as it was a major supplier of foodstuffs to China. Some said the number of hectares cut was pushing the world's biggest rainforest closer to a tipping point beyond which it could not recover. Pat saw his foray into the Amazon as an opportunity to explore the facts and the historical context, which as ever, provided him with valuable tools for tracing a path towards the future. His historical reference point was Hardenburg's report and Casement's mission at the time when robber barons ruthlessly exploited the indigenous peoples. Brazil's population stood at 208 million, which meant that in comparison to Europe or China it was almost empty, and it would remain that way, since according to forecasts its growth would not exceed to 233 million before it stabilised at 228 million in 2060. Which went against the popular theory that explained the world, before the Industrial Revolution, was caught in a Malthusian trap, where increased prosperity was translated into larger populations, leading to no real gains in per capita income. Bolsonaro could have well taken Bertrand Russell's words to encourage his people, 'Civilised man is distinguished from the savage by prudence, or, to use the slightly wider term, forethought. He is willing to endure present pains for the sake of future pleasures....'\n\n|  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# SEPTEMBER\n\n# 1\n\n# THE BANK\n\nPAT KENNEDY'S BANK, like most other Hong Kong banks, was highly profitable, if fact the city's banks were among world's most profitable, thanks to low costs, and high asset quality. Hong Kong was part of the City of London's unspoken of post-imperial empire. A string of financial centres that controlled nearly half of the planet's capital flow. Besides Hong Kong was Singapore, the Channel Islands, the Caribbean and a confetti of former imperial outposts, all part of a network run by the elite for the elite in a totally opaque system beyond the reach of serious government, for the simple reason that every member of the reigning establishment had their snout in the trough. A system perpetuated by cupidity and need for survival. All that meant nothing to Zhenbao, who like Henrique had studied in London, where both both had met radicalised Mainland students. Zhenbao had befriended Henrique at the bank's sports club, though their paths had crossed many times, their backgrounds were poles apart, his position at INI was in the legal department, a nine to five job in the arcane complexities of Hong Kong law, inherited from the British. However, what both young men shared was their enthusiasm for martial arts. Outside work, Zhenbao's interest in martial arts took another turn, his hero was Bruce Lee, and Lee's Cantonese form of the art, Jeet Kune Do. Lee in the tradition of the Shaolin monks fought injustice. As such Zhenbao saw the demonstrations as a combat and the opportunity to put his skills into action. After hours, like Henrique, he donned his street gear, dressing from head to toe in black, a hard hat and protective glasses, packing his gas mask, arm protectors and walkie-talkie in a compact rucksack that also served as body armour, then quit his Kowloon East apartment and headed out onto the streets to confront the raptors, a special unit of the anti-riot police. Zhenbao owed his radicalisation to his family background, which had been amongst those who had fled the Mainland in 1969, during the dark days of Mao's Cultural Revolution. They now feared the plans Beijing had for the former colony, and he, a brilliant student, who had studied economics at the LSE in London, where he discovered his grandfather's stories about Mao's China were not just the imagination of an old man. Like Henrique he no longer believed in 'one-country, two-systems', the promise made by China, under which Hong Kong would enjoy autonomy during a period of 50 years from its handover by London in 1997. During the Umbrella Revolution in 2014, Zhenbao had met a girl, Ailin, a political scientist and a member of a group of hardcore activists at Hong Kong University, called Demos, who enrolled him into their movement. The declared goal of Demos was nothing less than outright independence. From that point on Zhenbao participated in the often violent protests that rocked Hong Kong, organising and spearheading the demonstrators, building barricades, dashing from one district to another in a frenzied game of hide and seek with police. His group's tactics involved targeting Mainland MSS undercover operators and their agent provocateurs, amongst whom were certain criminal triads, who staged vicious attacks on police, firemen and public facilities which were attributed to students in the state controlled news agencies. Zhenbao and his friends, were amongst a growing number of radical Hongkongers who were targeting Beijing and its oppressive policies. Their objective was to organise a structured movement capable of resisting the march towards authoritarianism. The plan was to pressurise the government into abandoning the policies being imposed by Beijing in a direct challenge to China's Communist Party, bent on transforming Hong Kong into just another Chinese city. Zhenbao's plan was independence, which was as dangerous as it was audacious. He with his friends organised themselves in cells, used pseudonyms, wore balaclavas, dark glasses, dressed in black, risking the fury of Hong Kong's masters by their calls to liberate Hong Kong. To Zhenbao and his friends, the Hong Kong puppet government saw any challenge to the authority of Beijing as an illegal act, it was why they were determined to overthrow LegCo at any cost. Chinese officials in an article published in the Global Times, a state controlled media organ, publicly accused the demonstrators of terrorism following the storming of Beijing's Central Government Liaison Office by black-clad activists who ransacked the glass and steel skyscraper bearing the state seal of China. Thousands gathered and eggs were hurled at the building and its walls tagged with slogans 'Revolution in Our Time'. In the battle to dislodge the intruders considerable means were deployed with anti-riot police armed with batons, tear gas, pepper spray and water canons tearing into the crowd. The demonstrators objective was to send a clear message to Zhongnanhai, the seat of the red princes in Beijing, with tactics borrowed from Bruce Lee:\n\n'Be like water making its way through cracks. Do not be assertive, but adjust to the object, and you shall find a way around or through it. If nothing within you stays rigid, outward things will disclose themselves. Empty your mind, be formless. Shapeless, like water. If you put water into a cup, it becomes the cup. You put water into a bottle and it becomes the bottle. You put it in a teapot, it becomes the teapot. Now, water can flow or it can crash. Be water, my friend.' To young people like Zhenbao and Henrique, who were adolescents in 1997, the 50 years transition period would be up in their lifetime, when those who made the deal were long dead. Beijing's vice like grip was slowly tightening and their future under an authoritarian regime looked grim, but they would not relinquish their freedoms and rights without a fight. Leaving Hong Kong for London, Lisbon or Vancouver, was not an option for them. They had little choice but to heed Hong Kong's richest man, Li Ka-shing, who commended Hongkongers to 'love China, love Hong Kong and love yourself'. Li's message figured in front-page advertisements in two major newspapers, the Hong Kong Economic Times and Hong Kong Economic Journal, with the two large characters 'No Violence' stamped on the international red 'forbidden' sign. However, the side slogans, according to a learned scholar in Oriental studies, Victor H. Mair, contained a cryptic message that suggested something else: 'The cause and the result depend upon China. Let Hong Kong rule itself', or, 'No violence; China is in overall charge of things, but let Hong Kong take care of its business too.' The message followed the seemingly endless confrontations between police and protesters that had plunged Hong Kong into its worst crisis since China took over in 1997, which only went to confirming Pat Kennedy's worst imaginings, Hong Kong had embarked on a long slippery road to direct rule from Beijing, which was not a good augur for his bank's future. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 2\n\n# UNWELCOME VISITORS\n\nTHE MEDITERRANEAN WAS AT the centre of an almost daily drama linked to climate change, or was it was more realistic to say the overpopulation of the planet, an idea that did not please the politically correct luvvies of London and Paris, who either saw shades of racism in anything linked to immigration controls, or eugenics where it came to population control. The focal point was the Italian port of Lampedusa, where the captain of Sea-Watch 3, a 31 year old German woman, had rescued 40 African migrants from their sinking boat. An undeniably laudable act. However, two weeks later Carola Rackete, a Greenpeace activist was arrested trying to enter Italian waters, to illegally land the immigrants at Lampedusa. The wretched men and women were victims of multiple dramas, first, poverty and strife in their homelands, second, being caught up in the Libyan civil war, third, shipwrecked at sea, and now the legalities of EU immigration controls in the form of Matteo Salvini, Italy's interior minister, who refused entry of the vessel into his country's territorial waters. The captain of the vessel declared: 'What I'm really scared of is the damage we are doing to our planet, and the hostility that may be unleashed against those fleeing drought, famine, fires and storms.' She was of course right about the dangers of collapse, but the root cause for the collapse was the proliferation of the human species, wherever it lived. Helping the immigrants was a humanitarian gesture, but a drop in the ocean, the problem was not there, it was to stop galloping population growth, which was inevitable linked to food, consumption and the need for agricultural land. None of that was the fault of those desperate migrants seeking salvation in better climes. Her diatribe about right-wing politics, capitalists, profiteers, 'who either manufacture disaster or take advantage of it to gain wealth and power. The climate crisis will cause disasters that could help tyrants and fascists seize the reins,' missed the point. It was the human species collectively at the source of the problem, their numbers, that motivated the kind of misguided eco-warriors who focused their movements on the political arguments of the past to justify their actions. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 3\n\n# VERNISSAGE\n\nSCOTT FITZNORMAN WAS uncharacteristically anxious, with yet another public transport strike, another chaotic weekend ahead in Paris, he was about to inaugurate the first exhibition at his new gallery on rue des Beaux-Arts, a couple of minutes walk from Saint-Germain-des-Pres. The transformation and the installation of a collection of fine primitive art had taken a considerable amount of time and effort and he was fretting about the effect the strike could have on the many guests he had invited for the champagne vernissage, part of Parcours des Mondes, an annual art show dedicated to traditional art from Africa, Asia, Oceania and the Americas. He needn't have worried, it was not as if Scott's clients were the kind of people to take a bus, though a few did use the metro, one of them was Camille. She took Ligne numero 1, from Bastille to Palais Royal. It was automatic, no driver, and for the moment automats had no social issues. It was just four stops and once emerged on rue de Rivoli she cut through the Louvre, past the tourists ambling around the Cour Carree, to the other side and the Seine, to the footbridge. The weather was pleasant, a change from the sticky tropical Amazonian heat she'd endured over the previous two weeks. She wound her way through the crowd, over the Pont des Arts, where a groups of Chinese filmed their visit, snapped selfies, or were simply admiring the view. On the Left Bank she turned up rue Bonaparte, then onto rue des Beaux-Arts where Scott Fitznorman's fine arts gallery was situated next to l'Hotel--that was its name, l'Hotel, a splendid five star boutique hotel, noted for its style, which corresponded to the name of the street on which it stood. Pat had acquired the gallery to expand his field into African and pre-Colombian art. Gallerie Blumenthal was divided into two wings situated either side of the entrance and reception. The gallery's sober facade remained unchanged, which its late owner, Charles Blumenthal, had maintained for almost half a century. Blumenthal's Swiss family, long standing business friends of Pat's, had decided to cede the business to him. Charles Blumenthal's widow was passing the last year's of her life on the Gold Coast of Lake Zurich, whilst their children and grandchildren, now bankers and real estate developers in London and New York, had neither the desire nor the time to consecrate their efforts to the arcane field of ethnic art, though they remained dedicated collectors. The one condition was the gallery continued as Blumenthal's, a kind of monument to the old man, a lingering vestige of his German grandfather's interest in African Art, which glossed over the fact he had made his fortune in tropical hardwoods following the Scramble for Africa, when the German colonial empire, under its three successive kaisers had colonised the Cameroons, an area then larger than Nigeria today. Blumenthal's grandfather moved to Switzerland at the outbreak of WWI, where he continued to trade in tropical hardwoods and supply the belligerents with the wood needed for pit props in their coal mines and sleepers for their railways, logged by bonded Africans, often under their Ashanti masters. That history was forgotten now that African Art was prized by rich men for their collections and the collections of reputed museums such as the Getty Center, the Metropolitan and the Smithsonian. The principal change in the Parisian gallery was the addition of a collection of pre-Columbian pieces, concentrated mostly on South American civilisations, as opposed to those of Meso-America. Fitznorman was delighted to see Camille, even though there was still another couple of hours before the other guests arrived. 'Where's Liam?' 'With Pat, looking at a property in the Marais.' 'Ah, Pat's investing in a real place in Paris.' 'It seems like it.' Scott presented the exhibits on display, African figures and masques, then some even stranger stone figures from Colombia, Chimu-Chavin, a style more distinctive and primitive in comparison with the more recognised classic pre-Columbian styles. 'So Scott, are you ready?' 'As ready as I'll ever be,' he replied turning to admire the exhibits. 'I mean for our next film shoot.' 'Oh, yes, the end of next week. HG will be here in a couple of days. After a rest we'll be ready to leave for Bogota.' 'Great. Have you swatted up on Brazilian collectables?' she asked a little seriously. 'Sure, don't worry Camille, everything is ready.' |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 4\n\n# LIDAR\n\nKEN HISAKAWA had shown how his field of work had been transformed, thanks to Lidar technology, as had the work of other archaeologists, who until recently had to depend on what was visible to the human eye when searching for evidence of unknown sites. Now thanks to laser Light Detection and Ranging, known by the acronym Lidar, all that had changed, as the technology introduced a new way of scanning entire regions in search for undiscovered archaeological sites. There were two types of Lidar, topographic and bathymetric. Topographic Lidar used a near-infrared laser to map the land by penetrating overlying vegetation, while bathymetric Lidar used water-penetrating green light to measure sea floor and riverbed elevations. Recently archaeologists with their airborne lasers had explored the Mexican states of Tabasco and Chiapas where they identified hitherto unknown sites through the dense forest cover. In total the ruins of 27 Maya religious and cultural complexes were located. In 2009, the same methods were used to map Caracol, a Maya city in Belize, a site Pat Kennedy and his friends had visited in 2018. Thanks to this new technology archaeologists discovered parts of the city previously unknown. There were many questions concerning the origins of the Mayan civilisation and its links with the Olmecs, a culture that preceded it, and more importantly the origins of Mesoamerican civilisations and their links to other in pre-Columbian cultures, especially sites in the triangle formed by the frontiers of present day Brazil, Ecuador and Peru. The research was comparable to that of ancient cities of the Khmer civilisation in Cambodia, where apart from the temples and stone structures, there was little trace of the dwelling places of the inhabitants of those cities. The central areas would have been surrounded by the homes of the privileged elite, and beyond by the modest dwellings of the ordinary people. All would have been crossed by networks of roads and waterways, beyond which were the gardens and fields that provided the city with food. Almost all of the dwellings would have been built of perishable materials that were long since swallowed up by the tropical forest after the collapse. Even the stone temples were forgotten, overgrown by dense vegetation until 19th century explorers and archaeologists stumbled on the ruins. It was a subject of intense interest to Pat Kennedy, and the existential question--why? Why had those cities been abandoned? Why had those civilisations collapsed? More importantly was the question of the future of today's civilisation, which seemed more and more fragile, with so many dysfunctionalities. It was why INI, as part of partnership programme, backed research in China, Egypt and Latin America. The reason for this apparent goodwill was image building, by participating in projects related to social and environmental issues, which had a positive impact on the bank's reputation and in the end its profitability. Pat did not of course manage this personally, it was not his role, his was to guide his ship through the shoals of a world where the financial and geopolitical order was in constant flux\n\nPat Kennedy had his preferred interests with art, history, archaeology and anthropology at the top of the list, and he keenly followed all the news on those subjects, especially research carried out at major pre-Columbian sites, where until recently most effort had been concentrated on the restoration of the monumental works. Regrettably, little attention had been given to how the ordinary people lived, that is until Lidar was invented. Pat had first remarked the results of Lidar in Nicaragua and Honduras, and when it was suggested he broaden the scope of Indians to investigate the existence of early pre-Columbian civilisations in the Amazon, he had in truth needed little persuading, especially when it came from Camille Clancy and Anna Basurko. Kyril, like Pat, feared that unless the ways of man were rapidly changed, collapse was inevitable, to his mind the absence of a post-apocalypse survival plan was a political aberration. It was why Kyril, who was no anthropologist or archaeologist, had attached his movement to a revered guru, whose philosophy preached preparedness and survivalism, through a return to the soil, using the same methods as had early agriculturalists, methods that preserved a balance with the natural environment. Kyril also believed that if civilisation was to survive after the collapse, it would have to do so in an area far from the dangers of densely populated regions, starting again, and safe from the risk of being overrun by Mad Max rabbles bent on pillaging the survivors. There were few places in the world that offered isolation and inaccessibility. Amongst them were the Andes, its western flank, where the source of the Amazon and its tributaries lay. The idea of raising goats in the Alps or the Pyrenees was unviable, for the simple reason that Europe, like all densely populated regions, was indefensible, easily accessible via its dense networks of highways over open country and the relatively short distances potential safe havens lay from its great cities, rendering those safe havens vulnerable. Kyril's logic was based on two criteria:\n\nFirst, he ruled Europe out, it was too densely populated, its cities, towns and villages never far from marauding armies, throughout the centuries footsoldiers like those of Napoleon's Grand Army had marched great distances across Europe, as far as Moscow, in the same way as had Julius Caesar almost two millennia earlier when he marched his legions from Rome to Cologne, defeating all those they met on their way. Secondly, once the outpost of a new civilisation was established, its priority, by definition, was its survival, its ability to defend itself, what was the use of sustainability if it was open to sack. Whilst the Andes and Amazonia were isolated, and to all intents empty, there was sufficient evidence to show that previous civilisations had prospered in those regions in the distant past. Civilisations that had subsequently disappeared. Why they had not survived was an open question, one which Kyril intended to answer. All archaeological research needed financing and Kyril's fortuite meeting with Pat Kennedy, thanks to Camille Clancy, offered an almost unique opportunity to explore the Andes-Amazon basin in his search for a post-apocalypse refuge. It was Camille's story of the discovery of the Espiritu Santo, a sunken treasure galleon, that had sparked Kyril's interest, its excavation carried out by an expedition to the Alta Guajira led by Pat Kennedy's team--off the coast of Colombia, and the fabulous treasure salvaged. The documentary film Indians was conceived to explore the Amazon and its indigenous peoples and their history. The plan was not only to shoot the homes of representative Indian tribal groups or families, but also archaeological sites identified by Pat Kennedy's friend, Ken Hisakawa of New York's Columbia University, under his Lidar archaeological exploration programme. Ken's intention was to determine the extent of those settlements and the size of the population they could have supported, and provide an explanation as to why they had disappeared. His exploration project was modelled on work carried out in Cambodia by fellow archaeologists who had sought to discover the pre-Angkorian capital of the Khmer Empire, which until recent times had attracted little scientific attention given the difficulties of exploring the terrain. Sources indicated the city had been situated on the Phnom Kulen plateau in the mountainous jungle covered region to the north-west of Angkor, less than 30 kilometres from the famous temples. Until the advent of Lidar technology little had been uncovered by field expeditions in the dense dense and largely unexplored forest, apart from the modest vestiges of a few brick temples. The lack of accessibility compounded by the presence of landmines, a frightening reminder of the terrible Khmer Rouge dictatorship, had not encouraged modern archaeologists, who in any case were often attracted by the more prestigious monumental sites. Scott Fitznorman had often spoken to Pat Kennedy of the research work carried out in Phnom Kulen, a site which was believed to have played an important role in the early history of the Khmers, before the foundation of Angkor. New research had been focused on a Lidar scanning programme to map the site, putting into relief the underlying contours and geometrical forms, hidden beneath the vegetation of the jungle, man-made structures built like city grids on east-west and north-south axis. The aerial survey revealed two essential points, firstly systemic urban planning, and secondly, a network of trenches that supplied reservoirs cut into the bedrock, which indicated a highly structured irrigation system to ensure food for city's population and that of its outlying districts, estimated to have been as many as one million at its peak, when the Khmer Empire covered one million square kilometres, stretching from the frontier with China's Tang Dynasty to the South China Sea. The mysterious lost city of Mahendraparvata, or the Mountain of Indra, King of the Gods, lay on a densely forested plateau, one of the first capitals of the Khmers, of which little was known apart from a few inscriptions discovered at other sites. Once the high resolution Lidar images were transposed onto maps, they would then be used by specialised archaeologists in the field to explore and study the remains of temples, palaces, canals, reservoirs and dams. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 5\n\n# THE UN-UNITED KINGDOM\n\nTHE GIRLS DEVOURED THE NEWS from London where the media was in a frenzy as revelations linked to the Epstein scandal grew by the day, into which Prince Andrew was drawn after a picture surfaced of him with his arm around a teenage girl. His reaction revealed 'Airmiles Andy', as he was known in the tabloids, as a self-important, patronising and out of touch royal--who had once rebuked a journalist, when it was suggested he might consider using trains or the Underground to improve his image, retorting, 'But I am the son of the monarch ...'\n\nWhilst the media was occupied with sex scandals, the scenes in the House of Commons recalled the kind of chaos seen in newly democratic countries, when members of legislative assemblies started pushing and shoving each other around. Soon it seemed Westminster would end up in an all out punch up. It was well into the night when John Francis glued to his TV screen watched an astonishing and extraordinarily long session in the House, which terminated in a five week suspension of Parliament, and the Speaker announcing his resignation, riposting when one Conservative member objected: 'I couldn't give a flying flamingo what your view is.' As the Speaker prepared to walk from the Commons through to the Lords, as was required by ceremony, a Labour lawmaker threw himself in front of John Bercow in an attempt to prevent him from leaving the chamber. Officials immediately intervened and a scuffle broke out as not so young parliamentarians grappled with the overexcited lawmaker, stumbling and crashing into those around him, an undignified farce, which was more akin to a slapstick comedy sketch, than the traditional restraint of Westminster's ancient parliament. Bercow then announced, 'I will play my part, but this is not a normal prorogation, it is not typical, it is not standard. It is one of the longest for decades. And it represents, not just in the minds of many colleagues, but huge numbers of people outside, an act of executive fiat.' The United Kingdom was in limbo, a kind of drole de guerre, awaiting exactly what was unclear. Did it matter? Well it did to Pat Kennedy--London was the seat of one of the world's greatest financial centres with its arcane rules and traditions that protected the rich, the elite and the planet's crooks and tax dodgers, through which flowed half of the world's wealth at one point or another on its circumvoluted route to the Cayman Islands or another fiscal paradise, and what happened there affected the future of INI. Would the Incredible Hulk--Johnson break the law, or break free from the manacles of Brussels, or would he find a way to a general election? Nothing was more uncertain as Brits watched the drama enter a new and even more dramatic episode of the Brexit saga with a special eye on the strange figure of Dominic Cummings. Cummings, the man behind the Hulk and the Vote Leave, was now Johnson's sinister henchman, often seen wearing a Levi's hoodies, a look somewhere between the Dan Dare comic Mekon or Dickens' Edwin Drood, at best a refugee from a Silicon Valley geek camp, rather than that of the spin doctors Brits had gotten used to. Cummings, whose blog used forgettable commentaries like: 'MPs and pundits who get up, read each other, tweet at each other, give speeches, send press releases, have dinner, attack, fuck or fight each other, do the same tomorrow and think \"this is reality\"', was scribbling the plot for the next episode which promised even more twists and turns than Game of Thrones. The political and media discourse had sunk to the level of a delirious football lout's foul mouthed rant after watching Liverpool lose a premier league match against a local team in a Benidorm bar, fuelled by 12 lagers and heatstroke after sleeping off his last round of binging under the burning Mediterranean sun on the nearby playa. What seemed really galling to sane minded Brits was David Cameron's lamentations in a promotional interview that announced the publication of his 752 page book For the Record, his legacy, a tainted one at that, which led to his ignominious downfall, and for which he was being paid 800,000 pounds. To paraphrase the words of Lady Macbeth, all the perfumes of Arabia would not remove the foul odour of Brexit from the hands of 'Call me Dave', one which would mark him for generations to come. With Cameron's short-term perspective, he had calculated a referendum as a low-risk option to swaying the balance in favour of a re-election victory for the Conservative Party and he as its leader, the British prime minister. Whatever. In any case his legacy would cast a long shadow when the UK sought to adapt to life after Brexit. The only good news was Call me Dave promised to donate the Judas money to charitable causes, those close to the Camerons, a sad sequel to a personal tragedy, the death of his son who died of severe epilepsy and cerebral palsy at the age of six. Cameron told the Times of London how he was depressed and seemingly spent sleepless nights thinking about the consequences of his historic blunder, placing the blame on a 'mendacious' Michael Gove, and Boris Johnson, prominent figures of the Vote Leave campaign, whom he accused of appalling behaviour by 'trashing the government' with the Vote Leave campaign to quit the EU. Dave was however right on the mark when he spoke of the 'Tory psycho drama', an understatement, a Greek tragedy of excessive pride, in which he himself had defied the gods, and found his nemesis, a national trauma that would plague the UK for decades to come and indelibly mark the history of the United Kingdom. The problem was no written codified constitution existed for the UK, which depended on convention and precedent, a system that unfortunately left the door open to dangerous adventurers who could choose to ignore those ancient points of reference, meaning anything could happen, unless they were stopped. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 6\n\n# A STRANGE WORLD\n\nMANY BRITS SAW BRUSSELS AS a Soviet style dictatorship from which they wanted to free themselves, a pure fantasy compared to the authoritarian state of affairs in Russia. Ekaterina feared for her family in Moscow where Putin's uncompromising state was a reality. The municipal election campaign had been marred by raids on outspoken opposition leaders by government security forces--not that any of her close relatives were outspoken in anyway. But she feared the relentless decline of life and freedom in her home country under Vladimir Putin, who was in the course of changing the system to establish himself as life president, transforming a semblance of democracy into a hard-line dictatorship along the lines of a modem Stalin, Mao, Ceausescu, Lukashenko, or perhaps a somewhat watered down version of the Kafkaesque Kim Jong-un. She concluded it was time her parents, sister and her children move permanently to the safety of London. John told Katya she was being a little paranoid. It was not as if her now elderly parents or her sister's family represented any threat to the Kremlin. Ekaterina saw it differently. John, her husband, was part of Pat Kennedy's Clan, as was Sergei Tarasov, head of INI's Moscow bank. Which meant there was certainly a file somewhere--a spravki, on Ekaterina and her family. They were probably spied upon by the many paranoid Russian security agencies, with their CVs, backgrounds, work, friends and relations, political interests, cultural activities, travels, and especially overseas links, regularly updated. Little had changed since the days of Joseph Stalin, or for that matter the Cheka. Ekaterina shrugged off John's remarks by telling him he knew little of how the Russian security apparatus functioned and how it was instrumentalised to put the fear of God into the people by targeting well-known figures and their families, especially if one of them lived overseas. What sparked her concerns was the story of Oleg Smolenkov and his family, who in June 2017, had flown from Moscow to Tivat, a coastal resort in Montenegro favoured by Russian tourists--where he disappeared, never to return. It was only when turned up in Stafford, Virginia, less than an hour's drive south-west of Washington, was the story of his disappearance solved. He had been exfiltrated by the CIA, for whom he had been spying. Smolenkov had flown from Moscow to the small airport at Tivat, used by Russian package tours during the summer months, where he and his family would have blended in with the crowds of Russian holiday makers. From there he was believed to have slipped out on a yacht from nearby Porto Montenegro. Porto Montenegro was a base for rich yacht owners like Sergei Tarasov, where wealthy passengers were treated with discretion and from where the Smolenkovs had probably sailed across the Adriatic to Italy. Russians lived in a strange world where according to Ekaterina, nothing was true and everything was possible, a world which the UK now strangely resembled, one in which politicians spun their tales with little concern as to the veracity of their words. Brexiteers like many others on the lunatic fringe spread fake news and ideas in support of their twisted platforms that had little to do with traditional party politics and ideologies, if any proof was needed one simply had to look at the exodus of various parliamentary lawmakers who crossed the aisle to join one fringe group or another. Their plans as vague and ephemeral as making Britain great again, an absurd idea, as if history could be replicated in a world that was totally different to that of Queen Victoria's empire builders, when technology and the momentary opening of a serendipitous window had allowed a small island nation to build its empire--brief like so many others before it. The call reminded Ekaterina of the slogan 'Raise Russia From Its Knees with Putin', intoned by Putin's sycophants, convinced he was the man who had raised Russia from its knees, restored its power, divinely inspired by a deep belief in his and Russia's destiny. Defying the US, looking down on a weak sclerotic Europe, mocking a ludicrously shrunken Britain led by its buffoon. She had left Russia in 2014 to join John in London, a time so recent when rational politics still ruled. Less than two years later all hell broke loose when David Cameron was elected on a promise to hold a referendum on the future of the UK's membership of the European Union. Almost overnight otherwise sensible politicians of all tendencies were spreading ideas and spinning lies that led to alarming comparisons between the European Commission and Nazi Germany, of a totalitarian, undemocratic, Europe, oppressing the UK. Men like Farage, and others normally more serious, promoted an image of fortress Britain, inspired by the spirit of Dunkirk, where its only hope was exit from the EU, in short a litany of lies that attracted the aficionados of every wild conspirational theory in the book. Behind all that was certainly a desire by part of the UK's establishment to escape the EU's regulatory policies concerning big finance, taxation and offshore fiscal havens where the very rich could evade the tax authorities of their respective countries and ... criminal law. That apart, any comparison with Ekaterina's homeland was unreal, one that had abandoned its failed socialistic state for a dictatorship, without any clear ideology other than that of making Russia great again, adorned by the theatrical trappings of Czarist Russia. With Trumpian amateurism coloured by naivety on the other side of the Atlantic and Xi Jinping's enthronisation in Beijing, one wondered what the world was coming to, where words were meaningless and Tweets meant more than serious reflection by seasoned diplomats. The root lay in the power of the Internet, which bestowed each and every serious individual and crackpot the means of publicly airing their views, where moderation was nigh on impossible and where instant opinion led the public and the media alike astray in a world of real time news, commencing with breakfast news flashes, mostly forgotten by the late night talk show. The Internet had become a chaotic battlefield for minds where truth and its multiple versions struggled to be heard, where politics competed with showbiz, celebrity sport, and reality television, where end of the world catastrophism was mixed in a kaleidoscope of competing and often wild ideas. Some called for transparency on the internet, but whose transparency, Putin's, Trump's, Johnson's, or that of some authoritarian state? Ekaterina after watching Tarik Saleh's film The Nile Hilton Incident, realised that her's in London in spite of its faults was far from the dystopian world of Egypt--one that had echoes of Putin's. In any case the genie was out of the bottle, images of crowds rampaging through the streets of Hong Kong, Paris or Beirut, were more resemblant of anarchy than of participative democracy. It recalled post-Soviet Russia, where a totalitarian state built around Communism and the dictatorship of the party had defeated itself, replaced by a personality cult comparable to a Ceausescu-like regime without any real guiding ideology to reinforce its amorphous vision. Perhaps a form of non-partisan government was the answer, where policies could be hammered out by serious leaders, but how could such leaders be elected when all semblance of order in society was absent, when tweets and bluster counted more than well-thought-out political vision, where men like Boris Johnson could win power on promises even more empty than usual. After three years of twists and turns, it appeared that the staid Michel Barnier along with his EU Commission colleagues were the only figures of wisdom on an otherwise blurred horizon. The dangers came not from Brexit itself, but the weakening of the Western Alliance. Where Turkey, a member of Nato, with Trump's encouragement could stumble into a war with Syria as new forces jostled for position in a redistribution of roles, with Russia, Turkey, China and Iran asserting themselves, filling the vacuum left by the West, threatening Europe's stability, security and prosperity. It would be a new kind of war using weapons of disinformation to undermine politics, economics and the credibility of institutions, arming proxies like Serbia, with fighter jets, attack helicopters and tanks. Xi Jinping's ambition was to restore the Middle Kingdom's geopolitical role in crisis zones using his proudly announced new Silk Road--the Belt & Road Initiative, weaving a vast network of infrastructure developments linking the Eurasian continent's many countries by land and sea to spread the flow of Chinese goods and the influence of Beijing. Europe struggled with Brexit and the deterioration of relations with Washington. A task complicated with the volatile American president, ill-fitted as a world leader, a bull in a China shop, overturning agreements, alliances and commercial treaties, whilst even smaller men dreamt of their imperial past victories, crowing about sovereignty in their imaginary worlds. Costa-Gavras said, discussing his film, Adults in a Room, 'No, there are no winners. Everyone loses something. What we really lose is a strong Europe.' As China's military capabilities grew, the UK decided to go it alone, forgetting that imperial lesson--economic power goes hand in hand with military power, forgetting how in WWII, their colonies, Singapore and Hong Kong, were overrun in hours by the Japanese Imperial Army. China's rapidly developing blue water surface and submarine fleet would in the years to come make short work of the UK's much diminished fleet, reducing London to a bystander, forced to accept the order imposed by the powerful. * * *\n\nAt the same time INI had enjoyed a record year as it concentrated its business on corporate banking and wealth management, where the value added was greater than ever, in an ever richer world. Retail banking was localised to Irish and Dutch markets, where INI's historical roots lay, and to a lesser degree the UK and Hong Kong. The same couldn't be said for Pat Kennedy's compatriot, the interim head of HSBC, Noel Quinn, who was cutting back after a steep fall in the bank's profits, even though the HSBC posted an overall 13 billion dollar gain. Unlike several of his predecessors, Quinn was not from of the HSBC's traditional international manager class. He came from a much more modest background, like Pat Kennedy. Quinn attended the Birmingham Polytechnic before training as an accountant. He told the press his first job was a labourer digging holes on a building site, but his real career commenced at the Midland Bank, bought by HSBC, in 1992, originally the Shanghai and Hong Kong Banking Corporation, founded in the 19th century. There he worked his way up the hard way, step by step, to the commercial-banking business, much of that time in Asia, until he arrived at the summit of the unit in Hong Kong in late 2015--not long after Pat Kennedy commenced his own fulgurant accession to the top of INI. Of course there was a difference between Pat Kennedy and Quinn. Pat was one of the main shareholders of his bank, and a very very rich man, a charismatic leader who had reached the summit of his world, not only by chance and circumstance, but by an extraordinary sense of intuition that had opened all the right doors. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 7\n\n# CHAOS\n\nCHAOTIC SCENES OF THE parliamentary debate were flashed across TV screens, tablets and smartphones as the House of Commons held a special debate on the question of Brexit. Time was running out as the fatal date set by Boris Johnson approached. With October 31, the limit for reaching an agreement on the conditions for the UK's exit from the EU, parliament had been transformed into a daily goon show, light years from Churchillian speeches, as leaders and members bumbled, stuttered and spat venomous accusations and counter accusations, which even the theatrically stentorian voice of John Bercow, the Speaker, could not quell. John Francis couldn't help imagining many viewers being horrified by the scene, when 1,000 years of parliamentary history was reduced to a TV reality show as the future of the UK was put up for grabs. The small chamber, not even large enough to seat all its members, was transformed into a vaudeville show, where most of the actors were incapable of pronouncing their lines without stumbling as cheers and jeers were launched across the central aisle. What had happened to the pomp and dignity of the Queen's Speech? Who was this rabble of amateurs that had taken control of the country? On one side Johnson, looking like a villain from a Batman movie, on the other Corbyn, looking like he had stepped out from Brezhnev's politburo, spluttering his invective in a flow of spittle, backed by various overweight red-faced fellow travellers and bit players. Johnson told the chamber 'he thinks the UK's friends are in Paris and Berlin and in Washington, Corbyn thinks they are in Moscow and Tehran and Caracas. Corbyn is Caracas and Corbyn is calling for a general strike.' Another member declared Corbyn's economic policies as being 'shit or bust', Johnson added they were both. Even worse, Johnson pointed at Corbyn and said, 'There's only one chlorinated chicken that I can see in this house, and he's on that bench.' Then, 'Call an election, you great big girl's blouse.' Full of finger jabbing bluff and bluster Johnson brought the house to never before seen lows. If he could have, Churchill would have certainly descended from his pedestal in Parliament Square and headed for his flat in nearby Morpeth Mansions, disgusted by the state the country had blindly staggered. At home he would have probably listened--a glass of good Scotch Whisky in his hand, to a soothing broadcast of Desert Island Discs on the BBC Home Service. Johnson's ploy failed as a number of conservatives voted with the opposition, including Nicholas Soames--the grandson of Boris Johnson's hero Winston Churchill. It was described by commentators as a grotesque circus, a Mad Hatter's tea party, and in many ways it was. To see Britain's elected parliament exchanging insults reduced the country in the eyes of the world to a third rate power, the sad vestige of a once mighty empire that had defeated Hitler's Third Reich. For the moment, it seemed to John Francis, that the UK would no longer leave the EU without an agreement, as parliament refused to cede to the lunatics who had taken control of its destiny. Corbyn had wriggled out of an election which he would have certainly lost. Whilst Johnson saw 21 Conservative MPs vote with the Opposition. Three years after the referendum the UK was back where it started, it had been a slow-motion car crash that had brought British parliamentary democracy to a full stop. To cap it all, the Leader of the House, Jacob Rees-Mogg, was photographed, arrogantly displaying the disdain of his class for plebeian members struggling with the English language, reclining with his feet on the front bench like Lord Snooty, taking a pause at his Eton debating society. Whoever said that politics is showbiz for ugly people had been proved more right than he could ever have imagined. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 8\n\n# 24 SEPTEMBER\n\nBORIS JOHNSON HURRIED HOME at the end of the week, to strike a blow at his enemies, both at home and in Brussels, by presenting the Queen of England with a fait accompli, obliging her to sign a document for the prorogation of Parliament. Most people had to look up the meaning of the word prorogation. What it meant was suspension--the suspension of Parliament, which was declared just days after MPs return from their summer break. Johnson's plan was to prevent them from passing laws to stop a no-deal Brexit on October 31. The now internationally famous Commons Speaker, John Bercow, labelled it a constitutional outrage. His words were of little avail as Johnson pushed ahead, promising the UK would leave the EU on October 31, with or without a deal, leaving MPs just over a week to debate Brexit, before Parliament adjourned. Moscow must have been delighted by the farce during which questions of the utility of the Nato Alliance were raised. The post-1945 order and the Cold War between East and West were to a large degree a product of WWII and the establishment of Nato and the European Economic Community, designed to contain Germany and restrain the ambitions of the Soviet Union. It was a bold and risky strategy that ultimately changed the political map of Europe, which led to the demise of the Soviet Union and 15 new countries when its Eastern European and Central Asian empire collapsed. The Berlin Wall had fallen, bringing German reunification, followed by Czechoslovakia's 'Velvet Divorce' and two new nations, the Czech Republic and Slovakia, which together with the other former Soviet satellites joined Nato and the EU. All that was far away from the worries of Boris Johnson and the British electorate. Hitler was long dead, Germany was safely reunited and memories of the Soviet Union slowly slid into history with Francis Fukuyama famously proclaiming The End of History. Nearly three decades on, it was clear that Fukuyama had spoken too soon. The financial crisis of 2008 was a watershed, announcing the retreat of globalisation, then in 2019 the EU questioned its future as Brexit loomed, and populism cast its shadow across Europe, when Donald Trump turned isolationist, Vladimir Putin reinforced authoritarian rule, and Xi Jinping flexed China's muscles in his new role as president for life. It was a sombre reminder of Charles I, whose prorogation, from 1628 to 1629 led to the English Civil War and his beheading in 1649, not that Elizabeth II deserved or even risked that bloody comeuppance. No doubt Charles I felt he had no choice, as he was confronted by 'some fewe cunning and ill affected men' plotting against him in parliament. The hapless king's suspicions were confirmed, when on January 30, 1649, he was led to the scaffold in Whitehall wearing a white bonnet, from where he declared: 'I go from a corruptible, to an incorruptible Crown; where no disturbance can be, no disturbance in the world.' With no more ado the king laid his neck on the block and one clean blow of the executioner's axe severed the king's noble head from his body. Charles paid the price for thwarting Parliament, suspended for 11 years, an act that led to war, bloodshed and the Commonwealth of England under Cromwell's dictatorship, which ended with his natural death in 1658 and a state funeral, though shortly after he was dug-up and his corpse beheaded. The rotten head of the Lord Protector of England, Scotland and Ireland was then displayed on a stake outside the Tower of London for all to see. One way or another Boris was walking on thin ice. * * *\n\nAll of that coincided with a sombre anniversary, it was one hundred years since a lowly German army corporal returned from the Western Front, half blinded by mustard gas and bitter after the defeat of the Kaiser Wilhelm's imperial army. This inconspicuous former soldier was to transform Europe and set its destiny for the next century to come. Today Adolf Hitler still casts a long shadow over Europe and the institutions founded after WWII, commencing with NATO, designed to pre-empt the adventurism of Joseph Stalin and firmly anchor Western Europe in the US camp. Today, even though the defunct USSR and Cold War are fading memories for most older Brits, and outright history for the generation set to vote for the first time in the election planned by Boris Johnson, NATO still dominated the defence policy of the EU, facing off against Vladimir Putin's newly ambitious Russia. Regretfully it seemed the new leader in Downing Street had learnt nothing of Europe's recent history, which in a sense was logical since he was born more than two decades after that war and went up to Oxford in 1977. Later according to a biography written by Andrew Gimson, Boris--The Adventures of Boris Johnson, he recounts the story of Johnson as correspondent for The Times and then The Telegraph in Brussels:\n\n'I saw the whole [European Union] change. It was a wonderful time to be there. The Berlin Wall fell and the French and Germans had to decide how they were going to respond to this event, and what was Europe going to become, and there was this fantastic pressure to create a single polity, to create an answer to the historic German problem, and this produced the most fantastic strains in the Conservative Party, so everything I wrote from Brussels, I found was sort of chucking these rocks over the garden wall and I listened to this amazing crash from the greenhouse next door over in England as everything I wrote from Brussels was having this amazing, explosive effect on the Tory party, and it really gave me this I suppose rather weird sense of power.' Johnson as a journalist and a writer gave the world an interesting insight as to how he perceived himself, especially in his remarkable biography of Winston Churchill, where it was easy to see Johnson cast himself as his own hero, resisting the enemy single handed and single minded. 'These days it is probably fair to say that thrusting young Tories--and especially males--will regard Winston Churchill as a sort of divinity. These honest fellows may sport posters on their teenage bedroom walls: Churchill in a pinstripe suit and toting a Tommy Gun, or just giving two fingers to the Hun. 'On entering university they may join Churchill Societies or Churchill Dining Clubs that meet in Churchill Rooms where his portrait grimly endures their port-fuelled yaketing. They may even wear spotty bow ties. 'When they make it to Parliament they piously trail their fingers on the left toecap of the bronze effigy that stands in the Members' Lobby--hoping to receive some psychic charge before they are called on to speak. When they in due course become Tory Prime Minister, and they find themselves in a bit of a corner (as inevitably happens), they will discover that they can make a defiant speech in St Stephen's Club, where the cameras will capture them in the same frame as the image of the old war leader--pink, prognathous and pouting down at his successor with what we can only assume is pride.' In Johnson's own words he found himself 'in a bit of a corner (as inevitably happens)'. He saw himself leading '... his country in war...' commanding 'not just the long-faced men' perhaps Corbyn and the Remainers, but also, 'hundreds of Tories who had been conditioned to think of him as an opportunist, a turncoat, a blow-hard, an egotist, a rotter, a bounder, a cad...'\n\nThe moment that would be remembered in British history commenced when Boris Johnson asked the Queen to suspend Parliament, when the Brexit drama reached its endgame. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# OCTOBER\n\n# 1\n\n# SANTIAGO DE CHILE\n\nFAR FROM THE AMAZON and comfortable in the belief he was far from the dangers of poisoned darts, arrows and loggers' bullets, Tom Barton couldn't help worrying about Lola and her friends on their 'camping trips' as he jokingly called their forays into indigenous lands. The strike of transport workers in Santiago de Chile seemed like one of those that regularly hit Latin American capitals. A reminder of how rising prices, fuel costs, poverty, inequality, corruption, the age old tribulations that often wracked those countries. Recently it seemed things had improved and Tom had almost forgotten those turbulent scenes, with of course the exception of Venezuela. It was why he was surprised when he heard the sound of helicopters clattering overhead, and looking from his hotel window above the main square he saw lines of army truck rumbling past in the street below. He left his room and hurried down to take a look, he was a firm believer in experiencing events first-hand when the opportunity arose. Not far from the hotel he was surprised to see groups of armed men in masks assembled on the street corners. Knowing South American methods, he promptly turned around and headed back to the hotel, he did not relish the idea of being beaten up by thuggish police auxiliaries. From the bar with other anxious hotel guests he watched the TV news and images of police firing what seemed to be live rounds in the direction of the protesters. The newsreader announced the establishment of martial law and an immediate curfew, followed by Chile's president, Sebastian Pi\u00f1era, who solemnly announced his country was at war. His speech was followed by live images of mobs looting shops and attacking petrol stations, the violence followed clashes with police that left at least 12 dead according to the television report. It was the first time soldiers were seen on the streets of Santiago since an earthquake devastated the country in 2010. Perhaps it was time to get out of the city, but the transport systems had ground to a halt and reports of more riots came in, burning gas stations, as police riposted with teargas and water cannons in their attempt to regain control of what was becoming a desperate situation. There wasn't much to do but relax and wait for a lull in the rioting. He wondered what Chile's unlikely hero, Bernardo O'Higgins, would have thought of the troubles, his statue Tom had discovered the previous day in a park a couple of blocks from the Palacio de la Moneda--the presidential palace. Few outside of Chile had ever heard of Ambrose O'Higgins, the viceroy of Spain's richest colony, the source of the silver that built an empire, or his son Bernardo, the first president of Peru. Bernardo O'Higgins was born in 1778, in Chile, the illegitimate son of Ambrosio O'Higgins, 1st Marquis of Osorno, a Spanish officer born in County Sligo, Ireland, who became governor of Chile and later viceroy of Peru. Ambrosio, or Ambrose, was born in 1720, in Ballynary, County Sligo, Ireland, he was the son of Charles O'Higgins, an impoverished farmer, who at some point moved to County Meath where Ambrose is said to have been employed by Lady Jane Rowley of the Rowley-Langford family. In 1751, O'Higgins quit Ireland for Spain at the time when anti-Catholic Penal Laws were in force, laws imposed in an attempt to force Irish Catholics and Protestant dissenters to accept the established Church of Ireland, in fact the Anglican Church. He arrived at Cadiz as an employee of the Butler Trading House, an Irish merchant firm. At that time the port of Cadiz was a prosperous city, the trading hub of the vast Spanish Empire and base of the Spanish navy, then the most powerful in the world. He sailed for the New World in 1756, where on behalf of a group of Spanish businessmen he set up his trading post in La Plata Colony, now Buenos Aires. From there he opened an overland route to Chile over the Andes. It was the start of an extraordinary rise to fame and power for this modest Irish lad, starting in southern Chile, where he became friendly with a landowner Don Simon Riquelme y Goycolea, a member of the Chillan Cabildo, or council, and in particular his teenage daughter, Isabel, with whom he fathered an illegitimate son Bernardo Riquelme, who he never met. Then, after series of adventures and successful business enterprises in Spain, he was named 1st Baron of Ballinar, his home town, by the King of Spain and appointed governor of Chile and in 1795 he was made viceroy of Lima, the highest royal official in Spanish America. Bernardo, who was never openly recognised by his father, lived with his mother's family and used her surname, though a distant relationship was maintained with his father who supported him financially. At the age of 15, he was sent to Lima by his father and soon after Isabel married a friend of the family. His father, concerned about the education of his son arranged for him to be sent to school and then to London at the age of seventeen where as an almost impoverished student of history and the arts he soon became fired with American ideas of independence. When his father died in 1801, he left his fortune to his son and Bernardo returned to Chile the following year where he adopted his father's surname and began life as a gentleman farmer on the large tract of land bequeathed to him. In 1808, during the Napoleonic wars South America was largely abandoned by Spain and Chile decided to form an autonomous government to rule in the name of the imprisoned the Spanish King. As for Bernardo, he joined the anti-Royalist movement, leading a long war for independence, finally defeating the royalists in 1817, becoming the first leader of an independent Chile. After six years Bernardo O'Higgins was deposed and lived in exile in Peru for the rest of his life. When Tom Barton recounted the story of O'Higgins to Pat O'Connelly, Pat wasn't in the least surprised, after all many Irishmen had quit their island home, forced or otherwise, and not a few had left their mark, especially in the arts, starting with James Joyce. We don't know what Ambrose O'Higgins thought about the country of his birth, where he grew up, perhaps he saw it like other famous Irish expatriates, such as Joyce, a country trapped in the legacy of its English occupiers, where the only hope for Irishmen was anywhere but home. James Joyce, closer to our world, died in Zurich in 1941, his passing provoked the secretary of the Department of External Affairs in Dublin to ask the representative of the Irish government in Switzerland to wire the details about Joyce's death, and 'If possible find out if he died a Catholic?' So much for what Ireland thought of great Irishmen in those dark days. 'Exiled,' Joyce liked to tell people. He left Ireland in his early twenties, forced to flee his country's spiritual impoverishment, its ever present and crushing oppression, a religious, narrow-minded, oppression that left so many with no other alternative than exile. Of course in the days of the Irish Free State his book could not have pleased the likes of Eamon de Valera. Ulysees, then very controversial, was published in Paris, in 1922, by Sylvia Beach, an American, who owned a bookshop and lending library, Shakespeare and Company, the name of another now famous bookshope, which first opened in 1919, on rue Dupuytren, in the 6th arrondissement, just around the corner from 12, rue de l'Odeon, where it moved to soon after. After WWII it never reopened. The bookshop of the same name, now visited by countless tourists, was opened by George Whitman, in 1951, at a time when the Beat Generation was just making its mark in Paris with the arrival of writers like James Baldwin and Allen Ginsberg. George first called it Le Mistral, then in 1964, he changed the name to Shakespeare & Company in 1964, in Silvia's honour, after her book of the same name, which was published in 1956. The change of name also coincided with the 400th anniversary of the Bard's birth. Sylvia Beach was a monument to pre-war literature, her bookshop and lending library became a hangout for Lost Generation writers. She was a friend of Hemingway, D.H.Lawrence, Scott Fitzgerald, Gertrude Stein, Ray Man, Ezra Pound, and of course Joyce as well as many other famous literary personalities of the period. It was Sylvia Beach who first published Joyce's Ulysses in its complete form since it was deemed obscene in Britain and America, not to mind Ireland where Joyce would have been condemned to hell and brime stones for such a blasphemous work. Just across the Seine from Pat O'Connelly's Paris home, on quais des Celestins, the bookshop has become a tatty tourist attraction visited by innumerable Chinese, amongst others, who unfortunately understood as little of Joyce as we do of Zhou Erfu. Pat 'Dee' O'Connelly, as a writer, was in certain manner of speaking, a witness to his times as well as the places he travelled to and lived in. It was the case of all writers, even science fiction writers who imagined worlds different to their own, but which were in effect conditioned by their owns visions, fears and desires, and those of the societies in which they themselves lived. Some writers spend their lives trying to explain the past, their own past, like Joyce, who had spent most of his life in exile, starting in Trieste, the principle port of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. It was a good starting point for his great literary odyssey, a cosmopolitan city on the Adriatic seaboard of a soon to vanish world, that of Kafka, Stefan Zweig, Karl Kraus, Hugo von Hofmannsthal, Arthur Schnitzler, and Rainer Maria Rilke, and where Freud was inventing psychiatry. Joyce left Dublin in 1904, at the age of 22, and set off for the Continent, leaving behind the city and country that to him had become intolerably suffocating and provincial. With him was Nora Barnacle, a country girl from Galway, whom he had met just a few months earlier, and finally married in 1931. After a pause in Zurich the couple moved to Trieste in 1904, where, after a series of peregrinations, they settled the following year when he was hired by the Berlitz School and commenced one of the most productive phases of his literary career. Curiously, in spite of the strange new world that surrounded him, he remain fixed on his home town, Dublin, completing Dubliners, started work on Exiles--a play, and on his ground breaking novel Ulysses, neither of which were completed until he moved to Paris after the war in 1919. He remained in France for 20 years, where he joined Getrude Stein's circle of artists and writers, meeting Picasso, Dos Pasos, Hemingway, Man Ray, Henri Matisse, Scott Fitzgerald, Ezra Pound, George Orwell and many others. George Orwell's account of his vagabond years, Down and Out in Paris and London, gives a startling glance at a past world with harsh, vivid, descriptions of his own experiences. In contrast, Stefan Zweig's epic story of his early years in the latter part of the 19th century, The World of Yesterday, bears witness to the now forgotten life of Vienna in those times, in which he paints a broad and fascinating picture of the resplendent capital of the Austro-Hungarian Empire and its slow decline, driven by the nationalistic divisions, towards the end of the long reign of Franz Joseph, who ruled his empire for 68 years. As for Joyce, when asked toward the end of his life whether he would ever consider returning to Dublin, he replied, 'Have I ever left it?' At the time Joyce sailed from Ireland, it was a dull, oppressive, theocracy, one that was to continue unchanged for nearly three quarters of a century more, a society that stifled intellectual and sexual freedom, and for that matter individual freedom in general. In his book A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man through the character of Stephen Dedalus, Joyce settled his account with Ireland, when Dedalus told his friend Davin: 'My ancestors threw off their language and took another Stephen said. They allowed a handful of foreigners to subject them. Do you fancy I am going to pay in my own life and person debts they made? What for?' and then:\n\n'Do you know what Ireland is?' asked Stephen with cold violence. 'Ireland is the old sow that eats her farrow.' A damning judgement of the Ireland Joyce left behind, where he was a servant of two masters: 'The imperial British state, Stephen answered, his colour rising, and the holy Roman catholic and apostolic church.' A century has passed since the publication of Ulysses in Paris and Ireland had become one of the most outward looking nations of Europe, a paradox and a strange reversal of roles, as England, once the centre of a great empire, stumbled blindly towards Brexit led by the pastiche of a Churchillian figure. Pat 'Dee' O'Connelly couldn't help thinking of Dublin, where Joyce had left an indelible mark through his works, the Liffey, the city's Georgian architecture, Croke Park, the National Library, the Ormond Hotel, the house where The Dead was set at 15 Usher's Island, now derelict, and the street where Stephen Dedalus and Leopold Bloom passed each other on the afternoon of 16 June 1904. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 2\n\n# A PAINTING\n\nEKATERINA WAS BACK IN PARIS for the pre-opening of the Louvre's Leonardo da Vinci exhibition. She wouldn't have missed it for anything with the mystery surrounding the painter's work, Salvator Mundi. She like many others was disappointed, it was nowhere in sight. The painting, one of a series painted by Leonardo, was believed to be owned by Saudi Arabia's Crown Prince Mohammed ben Salmane, who was implored by the president of the French Grand-Palais, when attending an investment forum in Riyadh, to send the painting to the Louvre for the October 2019 exhibition set to mark the 500th anniversary of the painter's death. What she saw was another version, believed by the Louvre to have been painted in the studio of Leonardo da Vinci, the Ganay version, which had been attributed to Leonardo's disciple Marco d'Oggiono, or, to Leonardo himself, by the art historian Joanne Snow-Smith, who wrote that it had been painted 'between 1507 and 1513, when the artist was in the service of Louis XII.' The real question was whether the other Salvator Mundi, a 65 x 45 centimetre treasure depicting Christ emerging from the darkness, blessing the world with one hand while holding a transparent globe in the other, was on the Saudi prince's 500 million dollar mega-yacht Serene, or not, since it had not been seen in public since its sale, at Christie's in New York in 2017, for a phenomenal record breaking 450 million dollars. Rumour said it had been acquired as a gift for the Louvre Abu Dhabi, a partner of the Parisian Museum, in any case it was not in Paris, as Ekaterina could confirm, at least for the moment. As for the Crown Prince's yacht it was believed to be in the Red Sea somewhere off Sharm el-Sheikh, on the Sinai Peninsula, which was not an ideal place for a fragile work of art. There was another story linked to Salvator Mundi, which Pat Kennedy had seen at its auction in New York in December 2017. Where it was sold for a record price, the highest ever paid for a painting--450,312,500 dollars precisely, painted by one of history's greatest and most renowned artists, Leonardo da Vinci. Pat was amongst nearly 1,000 art collectors, dealers, advisors, journalists and onlookers, packed into Christie's main auction room at the Rockefeller Center in New York. The painting had made a profound mark on him two months earlier, when he viewed it at Christie's Hong Kong in Alexandra House on its world tour before the sale, when it was estimated at 100 million dollars. He learnt more of its history a year later after the re-discovery of the Sommieres collection, when Ekaterina told him the storey of its previous owner, a Russian oligarch. Leonardo da Vinci's Salvator Mundi disappeared in 1763 and did not surface again until 1900, when Sir Charles Robinson bought it for the Cook Collection, at Doughty House, on Richmond Hill in London. At the time the painting had been attributed to the school of Giovanni Boltraffio, a pupil of Leonardo. In 1958, the entire Cook Collection was sold off at an auction in which Salvator Mundi fetched forty five pounds when sold to a buyer named 'Kuntz', and disappeared from public view. The painting did not reappear again until 2005, when it was purchased from an American estate at an insignificant regional auction house for an undisclosed sum, though it was rumoured to be ten thousand dollars. After six years of research and restoration, Salvator Mundi was attributed to da Vinci and acquired for Dmitry Rybolovlev, the Russian oligarch, through the intermediary of a Swiss art dealer Yves Bouvier. Rybolovlev paid Bouvier near on one hundred and twenty seven million dollars for the painting, then, believing he had been cheated on the price launched a legal battle with accusations of breach of trust directed at Bouvier. In January 2015, Rybolovlev's lawyer, filed a complaint in Monaco for fraud against Bouvier, citing the sales of the Leonardo and paintings by Modigliani, on which Bouvier was accused of making around seventy million dollars in dishonest profits. That all changed in November 2017, when there was a sudden and unexpected twist in the drama. Salvator Mundi was bought by an unidentified buyer for the staggering sum of over 450 million dollars, at the Christie's auction, exploding all previous price records, and, exceeding by far the 127 million paid to Yves Bouvier by Rybolovlev in 2013. With the sale Rybolovlev made a stunning profit of 300 million dollars over the price he'd paid for the painting. In any case the sale saved Bouvier, made a stunning commission for Christie's, and inspired Pat Kennedy to name his Campus in Barichara, Salvator Mundi--Saviour of the World. Ekaterina's visit to Paris coincided with the annual Foire internationale d'art contemporain at the Grand Palais, which came on the heels of a sudden spurt of activity in the French capital, as London galleries, like Ekaterina's, opened new spaces in the city. Paris was again in vogue, a renaissance that recalled the traditions of rue Laffite and its art dealers like Ambroise Vollard who at the beginning of the 20th century dominated the art scene. The arrival of newcomers was due in part to the imminence Brexit creating a movement towards Paris under the influence of the billionaires Fran\u00e7ois Pinault and Bernard Arnault. The new poles of attraction were Arnault's Fondation Louis Vuitton in the Bois de Boulogne and Pinault's new museum situated in the ancient Bourse de Commerce, in the Quartier des Halles, planned to open in the middle of 2020. * * *\n\nEkaterina had asked John how a small countries like Abu Dhabi with its spectacular new Louvre could afford to invest huge sums of money on museums and collections. He reminded her it was oil and gas and perhaps one day when the oil boom came to an end the paintings would come back to Europe. Inevitably those cities that lined the shores of the Persian Gulf would end up like Manaus, forgotten backwaters, after the Brazilian rubber boom came to an end. If the clean energy promises of today's politicians were fulfilled, oil would suffer the fate of Brazilian rubber, or guano after the Peruvian Chincha Islands were depleted of nitrate bearing deposits in 1873, bringing Lima's Guano Era to an end. Manaus and Lima had known an extraordinary period of prosperity in the 19th century when the world was desperate for rubber and nitrates. Would the countries that had prospered during the oil boom fade into seedy forgotten flybitten vestiges of their former selves like Potosi in Bolivia. Or would they become new Eldorados like Brazil, which was riding a new wave exporting soya, palm oil and beef to China? Perhaps the oil and gas rich countries of the Middle East had learnt the lesson. Besides, for the moment there was no cheap viable alternative to oil or gas, and based on that certainty another crop of towering glass, steel and concrete forms was rising out of the desert sands on the Qatari coast, an entirely new city, Lusail, the Sheikhdom's hedge, just in case, for after-oil, whenever that came, the diversification of its economy. It was a pharoahonic enterprise, the vision of the country's former emir, Sheikh Hamad bin Khalifa al Thani, in an effort to wean itself off its dependence on oil, a project that took form when Qatar was selected as the host country of the 2022 World Football Cup. Pat Kennedy was not convinced, the Middle East's history was one of war and strife, 3,500 years or more. Competing civilisations, gods and cultures. The population of the Middle East had exploded, its extraordinary resources--oil, gas, water and agricultural land squandered. Qatar's hopes that people would be attracted by the new city's marina, shopping malls, business districts, golf courses, artificial islands and amusement park, seemed vain when war was a permanent threat. Who would want to live there with ayatollahs, across the water, mullahs and terrorists across the borders, not to mention medieval justice. The thought of missiles pointed at the glass towers was enough to frighten any normal European off. What Westerner in his right mind would think of permanently settling on the Persian Gulf, perhaps for a vacation, in Dubai, but to build a future? As for the likes of immigrant workers, from Pakistan, Nepal and Bangladesh, life as third class citizens was a daunting option in a country where a mere 20% of its 2.6 million inhabitants were full citizens. Why would Europeans migrate to the parched deserts of Arabia when they could go to South America, as they had for centuries, a continent where they found themselves in a familiar world. For the moment, the Middle East made the headlines not for its quality of life, but for missile strikes or attacks on cargo vessels passing the Strait of Hormuz, a shipping lane through which a fifth of the world's oil transited. For decades, the Gulf had been at the centre of regional tensions and now the narrow waterway, where nearly 20 million barrels of oil passed each day, was being used by Iran as a pawn to blackmail the US. Unfortunately, Europe and the rest of the world would be the first victims of its closure, given the US was no longer dependent on the Middle East for its oil and gas. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 3\n\n# REFLECTION\n\nJOHN FRANCIS SAT COMFORTABLY laid back in the plush armchair of Pat Kennedy's Gulfstream. He was flying to Bogota via Panama City accompanied Anna and Camille, where they planned to meet up with Tom and Lola Barton before heading down to the distant region where Colombia and Peru met in Amazonia to film the closing sequences of Indians. He flipped through the English news papers before he settled down for the long flight over the Atlantic. He stopped when he saw an article on the spending habits of the super-rich. As always he felt a little uneasy, a sense of guilt, in the carbon spewing jet he was so comfortable in, his old bones were his excuse, a weak one, but it wasn't just him, it was the planet with its teeming billions, like locusts eating their way to an early extinction. He thought of the Roman emperors and oriental potentates of antiquity and their profligate luxuries. Theirs was a problem of inequality, not environmental destruction. In those ancient historical times, the population of the whole world was just 300 million, the Roman Empire's share a mere 65 million--less than today's population of the UK, compared to the 600 million that live today in the same space that was once occupied by Augustus. The idea that the planet would soon reach 10 billion was indeed reminiscent of the biblical scourge of locusts eating their way through Egypt's wheat fields. If the clock could be turned back to 1900, when the population of the planet was 1.5 billion, with good management and a better distribution of wealth, the people of the world could have lived well with easier lives, for all, including the super-rich, who were a natural part of the human termite mound's hierarchy. His thoughts were not a justification, but very hard reality, which did not however justify corruption, the theme of which lay at the heart of his newspaper's article, based on a report produced by Transparency International, an NGO based in Berlin--a German registered voluntary association, financed mostly by government institutions. John knew of them well, and the Fitzwilliams Foundation, of which he was head, had cooperated with the NGO and made donations to their different projects. It was a wise thing as the bank, INI, had been, and probably still was, the unwilling vehicle for the movement of dirty money, it was unavoidable, no bank could control all the sources of the money that flowed through its accounts. Transparency International in their latest investigation revealed the assets bought by corruption and money laundering included 421 luxury homes, three super-yachts, seven private jets and even a hovercraft. Their analysis showed hundreds of billion of suspect dollars had passed through UK banks, and, law and accountancy firms. Much of it was spent of the acquisition of prime properties, yachts, luxury cars, art works and jewellery--including more than one million dollars on Cartier jewellery, and fifty thousand on a Tom Ford crocodile-skin jacket with a matching crocodile-skin handbag from Harrods. More than 400 cases of bribery, corruption and money laundering were analysed in 116 countries--involving 582 UK firms and individuals who had rendered services that enabled the beneficiaries to channel funds into the UK through 17,000 shell companies, 1,455 of which were registered at a single address situated above a wine bar in Birmingham. The rot was everywhere, even in prestigious schools and universities--amongst which were Charterhouse, Harrow, Lancing College and the London School of Economics, where fees were paid through shell companies for the education of the offspring of criminals and dictators, including a niece of the Syrian tyrant, Bashar al-Assad. Then there was the case of Vlad Luca Filat, the son of the former prime minister of Moldova, who lived in a one thousand dollar a day Chelsea penthouse and drove a Bentley Bentayga, all paid for by companies registered in offshore tax havens including the Cayman Islands where money was transferred through HSBC bank accounts. According to Organized Crime and Corruption Reporting Project, a consortium of investigative centres, media and journalists based in Eastern Europe, the Caucasus, Central Asia and Central America, the Russian oligarchy and its friends used the so-called Troika Laundromat scheme to obtain places for their children in top private schools in the UK. Billions of dollars flowed out of Russia, allowing oligarchs and politicians not only the possibility of paying school fees, but very much more, including the secret acquisition of shares in state-owned companies, property, jets and luxury yachts, and in general an extravagant life style paid with the money stolen in one way or another from Russia's citizens. Russians not only recycled their money through the UK Laundromat, they lived in London, bought second or third homes in London and sent their children to the UK for their education. That education not only made them citizens of the world, but also taught them a lot about their own country and how it allowed their parents to get where they were. A lesson they could apply for the continuity of their families power and wealth. Returning to Russia with their Western education and gloss they were better able to understand and control the machine of state and how their country's economy could be better milked. It was as if the czarist system had returned, when an elite with European ideals ruled over a country of serfs, only instead of farming the land the serfs worked in hellholes like Norilsk, digging nickel from the ground and refining it, or drilling oil and gas wells in the uninhabited frozen landscape surrounding Norilsk in the vast region of Krasnoyarsk, Siberia. Whilst the Russian elite lived like nobility in the UK, in stately homes and on their estates, they never forgot the man who ruled them--like a latter day Czar, all powerful, deciding who was rewarded with what for their loyalty to his authoritarian state. Putin's plan was not to recreate the Soviet Union, but a New Russia with its zone of influence, without the burden of socialism and its costs. It was all so familiar to John Francis who regularly warned Pat Kennedy of the dangers to getting to close to politicians and billionaires. John Francis, an economist and historian, personal friend and advisor to Pat Kennedy, had himself become one of those billionaires and almost by accident, freely admitting he had been born with a silver spoon in his mouth, which didn't mean he wanted to end his days in an orange jumpsuit, prisoner of the FBI, caught up in some financial scandal. In the case of INI, it was certain that money from pulp and paper mill companies, loggers and oil palm plantation owners, passed through their accounts. Pat Kennedy explained banks were neither moral guardians nor politicians, and even less law makers, but they obeyed the laws and whenever they suspected gross infringements they quietly alerted the competent authorities. INI operated on all continents, though its presence was less so in North America, and no more than a token in Africa. Their primary bases were in Europe, Asia and the Caribbean. That the finger was always pointed at the Caribbean, China and Russia, was part of INI's everyday existence, and their sins were no less than those of other businesses. As Pat often remarked, 'Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar's, and unto God the things that are God's' were a few of the words worth remembering from his school days at the Christian Brothers in Limerick. Corruption, economic crime and wilful destruction of the planet's natural resources involved some of the world's best known investment banks. Banks such as Goldman Sachs, JPMorgan, Bank of America and Morgan Stanley, invested heavily in the Brazilian agribusiness, a sector that was largely involved in the burning of the Brazilian rainforests to open new land for plantations and cattle raising ranches. Between 2001 and 2015, according to Global Witness, over 300 million hectares of tree cover was destroyed, equivalent to the size of India, that's two-thirds of 1% of the planet's land surface, for oil palm plantations and farms. It was a contradiction in terms, considering much of that was backed by well-known international business corporations and financed by major banks, all of which crowed about their attachment to ecology and ethics, policies that were barely worth the paper they were printed on. Many financial institutions had publicly declared policies designed to limit deforestation by legal and illegal loggers, an activity that was linked to human rights abuses and corruption. Amongst these institutions were investors, managing eight trillion dollars in assets, who publicised their efforts to force the palm oil industry to limit or stop deforestation. Added to that were banks that had signed the Soft Commodities Compact, an agreement that was aimed at zero deforestation in industries and supply chains linked to the production of soya, palm oil, beef and paper, in which 400 companies, having combined sales of 3.5 trillion euros, were engaged. Unfortunately, as was the case for so many good intentions, they were very far from reaching their objectives, and not only that, their actions were opaque, unverifiable, and even worse simply window dressing, developed by their communication teams, since they and the world's leading financial institutions continued to sink vast sums into agribusiness companies, in blatant violation of their own policies and public commitments. Amongst them, according to Global Witness, were: Barclays, Deutsche Bank, HSBC, Santander and Standard Chartered, in addition to those were the big name investment bankers. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 4\n\n# EVENT201\n\nAS THE GULFSTREAM FLEW over US airspace, an event which would prove to be prophetic was taking place in New York City at The Pierre Hotel, where 130 people were assembled for an exercise named Event201, the simulation of a severe pandemic. The following text was taken from The Johns Hopkins Center for Health Security Homepage:\n\nThe Johns Hopkins Center for Health Security in partnership with the World Economic Forum and the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation hosted Event 201, a high-level pandemic exercise on October 18, 2019, in New York, NY. The exercise illustrated areas where public/private partnerships will be necessary during the response to a severe pandemic in order to diminish large-scale economic and societal consequences. In recent years, the world has seen a growing number of epidemic events, amounting to approximately 200 events annually. These events are increasing, and they are disruptive to health, economies, and society. Managing these events already strains global capacity, even absent a pandemic threat. Experts agree that it is only a matter of time before one of these epidemics becomes global--a pandemic with potentially catastrophic consequences. A severe pandemic, which becomes 'Event 201' would require reliable cooperation among several industries, national governments, and key international institutions. The conclusion was the following call to action:\n\nThe next severe pandemic will not only cause great illness and loss of life but could also trigger major cascading economic and societal consequences that could contribute greatly to global impact and suffering. Efforts to prevent such consequences or respond to them as they unfold will require unprecedented levels of collaboration between governments, international organizations, and the private sector. There have been important efforts to engage the private sector in epidemic and outbreak preparedness at the national or regional level.1,2 However, there are major unmet global vulnerabilities and international system challenges posed by pandemics that will require new robust forms of public-private cooperation to address. The Event 201 pandemic exercise, conducted on October 18, 2019, vividly demonstrated a number of these important gaps in pandemic preparedness as well as some of the elements of the solutions between the public and private sectors that will be needed to fill them. The Johns Hopkins Center for Health Security, World Economic Forum, and Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation jointly propose the following:\n\nGovernments, international organizations, and businesses should plan now for how essential corporate capabilities will be utilized during a large-scale pandemic. During a severe pandemic, public sector efforts to control the outbreak are likely to become overwhelmed. But industry assets, if swiftly and appropriately deployed, could help to save lives and reduce economic losses. For instance, companies with operations focused on logistics, social media, or distribution systems will be needed to enable governments' emergency response, risk communications, and medical countermeasure distribution efforts during a pandemic. This includes working together to ensure that strategic commodities are available and accessible for public health response. Contingency planning for a potential operational partnership between government and business will be complex, with many legal and organizational details to be addressed. Governments should work now to identify the most critical areas of need and reach out to industry players with the goal of finalizing agreements in advance of the next large pandemic. The Global Preparedness Monitoring Board would be well positioned to help monitor and contribute to the efforts that governments, international organizations and businesses should take for pandemic preparedness and response. 2. Industry, national governments, and international organizations should work together to enhance internationally held stockpiles of medical countermeasures (MCMs) to enable rapid and equitable distribution during a severe pandemic. The World Health Organization (WHO) currently has an influenza vaccine virtual stockpile, with contracts in place with pharmaceutical companies that have agreed to supply vaccines should WHO request them. As one possible approach, this virtual stockpile model could be expanded to augment WHO's ability to distribute vaccines and therapeutics to countries in the greatest need during a severe pandemic. This should also include any available experimental vaccine stockpiles for any WHO R&D Blueprint pathogens to deploy in a clinical trial during outbreaks in collaboration with CEPI, GAVI, and WHO. Other approaches could involve regional stockpiles or bi- or multinational agreements. During a catastrophic outbreak, countries may be reluctant to part with scarce medical resources. A robust international stockpile could therefore help to ensure that low and middle resource settings receive needed supplies regardless of whether they produce such supplies domestically. Countries with national supplies or domestic manufacturing capabilities should commit to donating some supply/product to this virtual stockpile. Countries should support this effort through the provision of additional funding. 3. Countries, international organizations, and global transportation companies should work together to maintain travel and trade during severe pandemics. Travel and trade are essential to the global economy as well as to national and even local economies, and they should be maintained even in the face of a pandemic. Improved decision-making, coordination, and communications between the public and private sectors, relating to risk, travel advisories, import/export restrictions, and border measures will be needed. The fear and uncertainty experienced during past outbreaks, even those limited to a national or regional level, have sometimes led to unjustified border measures, the closure of customer-facing businesses, import bans, and the cancellation of airline flights and international shipping. A particularly fast-moving and lethal pandemic could therefore result in political decisions to slow or stop movement of people and goods, potentially harming economies already vulnerable in the face of an outbreak. Ministries of Health and other government agencies should work together now with international airlines and global shipping companies to develop realistic response scenarios and start a contingency planning process with the goal of mitigating economic damage by maintaining key travel and trade routes during a large-scale pandemic. Supporting continued trade and travel in such an extreme circumstance may require the provision of enhanced disease control measures and personal protective equipment for transportation workers, government subsidies to support critical trade routes, and potentially liability protection in certain cases. International organizations including WHO, the International Air Transport Association, and the International Civil Aviation Organization should be partners in these preparedness and response efforts. 4. Governments should provide more resources and support for the development and surge manufacturing of vaccines, therapeutics, and diagnostics that will be needed during a severe pandemic. In the event of a severe pandemic, countries may need population-level supplies of safe and effective medical countermeasures, including vaccines, therapeutics, and diagnostics. Therefore, the ability to rapidly develop, manufacture, distribute, and dispense large quantities of MCMs will be needed to contain and control a global outbreak. Countries with enough resources should greatly increase this capability. In coordination with WHO, CEPI, GAVI, and other relevant multilateral and domestic mechanisms, investments should be made in new technologies and industrial approaches, that will allow concomitant distributed manufacturing. This will require addressing legal and regulatory barriers among other issues. 5. Global business should recognize the economic burden of pandemics and fight for stronger preparedness. In addition to investing more in preparing their own companies and industries, business leaders and their shareholders should actively engage with governments and advocate for increased resources for pandemic preparedness. Globally, there has been a lack of attention and investment in preparing for high-impact pandemics, and business is largely not involved in existing efforts. To a significant extent this is due to a lack of awareness of the business risks posed by a pandemic. Tools should be built that help large private sector companies visualize business risks posed by infectious disease and pathways to mitigate risk through public-private cooperation to strengthen preparedness. A severe pandemic would greatly interfere with workforce health, business operations, and the movement of goods and services. A catastrophic-level outbreak can also have profound and long-lasting effects on entire industries, the economy, and societies in which business operates. While governments and public health authorities serve as the first line of defence against fast-moving outbreaks, their efforts are chronically under-funded and lack sustained support. Global business leaders should play a far more dynamic role as advocates with a stake in stronger pandemic preparedness. 6. International organizations should prioritize reducing economic impacts of epidemics and pandemics. Much of the economic harm resulting from a pandemic is likely to be due to counterproductive behaviour of individuals, companies, and countries. For example, actions that lead to disruption of travel and trade or that change consumer behaviour can greatly damage economies. In addition to other response activities, an increase in and reassessment of pandemic financial support will certainly be needed in a severe pandemic as many sectors of society may need financial support during or after a severe pandemic, including healthcare institutions, essential businesses, and national governments Furthermore, the ways in which these existing funds can now be used are limited. The International Health Regulations prioritize both minimizing public health risks and avoiding unnecessary interference with international traffic and trade. But there will also be a need to identify critical nodes of the banking system and global and national economies that are too essential to fail - there are some that are likely to need emergency international financial support as well. The World Bank, the International Monetary Fund, regional development banks, national governments, foundations, and others should explore ways to increase the amount and availability of funds in a pandemic and ensure that they can be flexibly used where needed. 7. Governments and the private sector should assign a greater priority to developing methods to combat mis- and disinformation prior to the next pandemic response. Governments will need to partner with traditional and social media companies to research and develop nimble approaches to countering misinformation. This will require developing the ability to flood media with fast, accurate, and consistent information. Public health authorities should work with private employers and trusted community leaders such as faith leaders, to promulgate factual information to employees and citizens. Trusted, influential private-sector employers should create the capacity to readily and reliably augment public messaging, manage rumours and misinformation, and amplify credible information to support emergency public communications. National public health agencies should work in close collaboration with WHO to create the capability to rapidly develop and release consistent health messages. For their part, media companies should commit to ensuring that authoritative messages are prioritized and that false messages are suppressed including though the use of technology. Accomplishing the above goals will require collaboration among governments, international organizations and global business. If these recommendations are robustly pursued, major progress can be made to diminish the potential impact and consequences of pandemics. We call on leaders in global business, international organizations, and national governments to launch an ambitious effort to work together to build a world better prepared for a severe pandemic. Exactly six months later--as thousands of New Yorkers died of Covid-19, America, and just about every other nation on earth, was asking why not one single country had taken note, not to mind action, following the recommendations issued by Event201. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 5\n\n# HONG KONG\n\nTHE INVOCATION OF EMERGENCY LAWS, which dated back to colonial times, were a sign that things were getting out of hand in Hong Kong, a situation that prompted Pat Kennedy to quietly accelerate the measures he had taken to pre-empt the consequences for his bank of an eventual crackdown by Beijing. The crisis was deepening, the worst since the handover in 1997, which transformed the city into a semi-autonomous Special Administrative Region of the People's Republic of China. By deciding to invoke the draconian Emergency Law to quell months of unrest, the Hong Kong government under Carrie Lam, had bypassed the legislature, signalling a turn of the screw, which Pat feared could lead to a totally unpredictable situation. In anticipation of further violence, major shopping malls as well as banks and businesses in central districts closed following the announcement government offices and schools would shut early as a new wave of protesters thronged onto the streets. As night fell the cycle of violence continued as the mob lit fires at metro stations and attacked what they saw as symbols of Beijing's presence, smashing shops fronts and sackaging businesses believed to have links with the Mainland. As news broke of a young demonstrator being injured by police gunfire, it was clear that a radicalisation was underway, some spoke of Beijing's agent provocateurs, others of foreign interference, as security forces deployed water cannons, rubber bullets and tear gas, pushing back the demonstrators with shields and batons in street battles as tolerance gave wave to force. It reminded Pat of the streets of Paris, the difference was France was not under the control of a one party authoritarian state under a life-president with dictatorial powers. The slow erosion of rights had been inevitable since the handing over of the colony by the British, and now the people, especially the young, were beginning to understand their days of Western style freedom were numbered. The future, defined by the Chinese Communist Party leaders, where consume and be happy, was their version of Huxley's soma in his Brave New World. The Emergency Law, originally introduced by the British, gave the government widespread powers. It had been introduced in 1922 to control striking dockers and had last been applied in 1967 to put down pro-communist riots. It was a complete reversal of the original scenario where the Communists now called the shots with the power to impose censorship, control communications, arrest, detain and deport Mainlanders or foreigners, search, confiscate and freeze assets. Pat saw it an example of falling investor confidence in Hong Kong's rule of law and freedom of speech, principals that had formed the cornerstones of Hong Kong's status as a global financial hub. At first Pat had been surprised and relieved when Cathy Lam announced the withdrawal of the extradition bill that had provoked months of protests and plunged territory into its greatest political crisis in decades. He liked to explain that as an Irishman he had nothing to do with the colonisation of Hong Kong, though John reminded him Ireland was part of Great Britain at the time when treaties were forced on China and Irishmen were engaged in the British administration and formed a large part of its army. It was argued that no living person had anything whatsoever to do with the events of the early 19th century agreements that ceded Hong Kong Island to the British crown. However, that no living person was victim of those events was highly debatable, as well as the fact part of the responsibility lay with the Imperial Chinese authorities, who through weakness and corruption were signatories to that treaty. Needless to say when the withdrawal of the extradition bill finally came, it did little to put down the demonstrators ardour, the result was the invocation of the Emergency Law that gave government the power to do as it liked. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 6\n\n# CHALLENGES\n\nPOLITICIANS READY TO GRAB the opportunity offered by climate change conferences talked tough, eco-warriors declared war, luvvies swooned, celebrities climbed on the bandwagon, and Greta Thunberg squeaked angrily. By now everybody had understood the urgency, but where was the action? Keeping the global mean surface temperature at no more than 1.5oC above post-industrial levels was the declared target, less than the 2oC agreed at the Paris conference in 2015. In order to achieve this target the world would have to cut emissions in half by 2030 and completely by 2050, which in turn meant a 100% transition from fossil fuels to renewable energy sources. According to the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change this would require an investment of some 2.4 trillion dollars annually, figures that are difficult to grasp, but putting it into perspective, the totality of present investment in energy production is less than this annual sum. In other words an impossible 48 trillion dollars would have to be found over the coming two decades to cover the investments needed to generate clean energy. 'The alternative we know is a dangerous world,' John told people. 'Only by reducing our lifestyles and putting a brake on the burgeoning populations of the developing world--many of whom don't enjoy the luxury of clean water or electricity, could we help improve the poverty stricken existence of the disinherited.' Many of the countries that signed the agreements were paying simple lip service when it came to ensuring the flow of aid from the rich nations--certain of whom did not even honour the recent conference with their presence not to mind signing the agreements, starting with the US, after Donald Trump pulled out of the treaty. It was a long way from the time when the US led the way for the 1995 Kyoto Treaty, when many countries pledged cuts, but few delivered. Most renewable energy sources relied on favourable weather conditions, for example hydro power needed sufficient rain to fill dams, wind turbines needed wind to turn their blades, and solar panels needed clear skies. With current technology it would be difficult to produce the same quantity of electricity as that produced by traditional fossil fuels. The best alternative, or compliment to renewables, was nuclear power, however, environmentalists were opposed to it. This opposition was due to the dangers, risks such as those that caused the disasters at Three Mile Island, Chernobyl and Fukushima, and of course radioactive waste, and not the least the huge cost of building nuclear power plants and dismantling old ones. But there was hope on the horizon, new nuclear technologies, including Bill Gates Terrapower reactor that used waste radioactive by-products from conventional reactors, but development was hampered by politics as Trump's sanctions forced Gates out of his agreement with China to build the first reactor. It was not good when saving the planet could always be put-off for another day by the whim of one man. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 7\n\n# MADRE DE DIOS\n\nDEE AND JOHN ENNIS stared ahead, the road was barely visible through the clouds of rose coloured dust churned up by the buses and trucks that thundered by. The village finally appeared out of the choking haze, then the mine, which lay another few kilometres further up a valley. It was there the tailing sludge originated, running down into the river, polluting its waters, and on towards the forest where it joined one of the many streams that ultimately flowed into the Amazon. They with a camera crew had followed up on the story of gold miners in the Peruvian region of Madre de Dios, an operation owned by a European group based somewhere in Switzerland. The hills surrounding the mine had been denuded of trees over dozens of square kilometres to make way for the excavators that dug the ore from vast open cast pits. On the shores of an artificial lake smoke belched from the smelters that reduced the ore, its foul smell saturating the surrounding air twenty four hours a day, seven days a week. The Indians that lived in the forest downstream had seen their once green world transformed into a polluted hell, crossed by unsurfaced access roads that cut through their lowland forest, covering it in a pall of dust and pollution, where the leaves of the trees withered and low lying vegetation yellowed and died, abandoned by birds, animals and insects. Forced from their homes to make way for the miners, the Indians spoke of poisoned drinking water and food shortages, as their vegetable gardens perished, and their children fell ill with persistent coughs, skin rashes and eye infections. Those who dared demonstrate against the mines were harassed, arrested and even murdered. The mine denied responsibility, pointing to illegal miners who had invaded the area on the periphery of the company's concessions, which was the responsibility of the government that had neither the means nor the desire to intervene. They preferred to prioritise economic development in an industry that employed 100,000 workers across the country, producing two billion dollars of illegal gold exports each year, more than that of drug trafficking, destroying tens if not hundreds of thousands of hectares of the Amazon forest in region of Madre de Dios. The goldmine was owned by a Canadian company, but who exactly was behind it was nebulas. It was normal for that kind of business, where investors hid behind a cascade of offshore companies. But checking more closely Dee had discovered, one of the prominent Canadian gold miners was Frank Giustra. Giustra in an investors' document for a new GoldX mining project at Toroparu, in Guyana's part of the Amazon forest, declared, 'I believe we are in the third and final phase of the gold market that started in 2001 and this will be the most explosive phase for gold.' Giustra had hit the headlines in the sensational story surrounding Meghan Markle and Prince Harry, when it was revealed he, or his pal Yuri Milner, had loaned a villa to the royal couple with the help of a mutual showbiz friend, David Foster. It was funny, but as they say, birds of a feather--and these were some very high flying birds, friends of Meghan and Harry. In addition to Yuri Milner, there were the Clintons, yes Bill and Hilary, whose former publicist, Sara Latham, was now Meghan's. There was also Elton John, who wasn't into gold mining, in the conventional sense that is, he had been a close friend of Princess Diana, Harry's mother, and was currently a close friend of the royal couple, to whom he had loaned his Riviera villa and a jet. The singer was of course a friend of the music producer David Foster. Milner and Giustra had another common friend in the mining business, uranium to be be exact, and none other than Alisher Usmanov, the Uzbek-born mining oligarch, one of the biggest names in Russian business, who had long history of investing on behalf of his friends in the Kremlin, with close links to Dmitry Medvedev, Putin's former puppet president and prime minister. Usmanov also carried out business with the state-owned giant Gazprom of which he had once been head of investment. Milner's investment fund, DST Global, had business links with Giustra and Usmanov, notably in uranium. Milner and Usmanov were both into Mail.ru--Russia's biggest Internet company. Usmanov had been trained at the Moscow State Institute of International Relations, known not only for forming statesmen and diplomats, but also spies. Strangely for a powerful man he had served six of an eight year prison sentence in Russia for 'theft of social property'. Usmanov, owner and founder of USM, a private holding company, had interests in metals and mining, telecoms, technology and internet sectors. The oligarch, amongst many other things, had put 460 million dollars into Facebook and another 420 million via his friend Yuri Milner, an investment that reaped him a fivefold profit. Ekaterina told John, Usmanov owned Kommersant, and its parent Komnersant Publishing House, a prominent Russian newspaper and media group. The partnership between Yuri Milner, Usmanov via DST Global had been approved with the Kremlin's blessing, thanks to Alisher Usmanov's close relationship to Medvedev, who like Milner had served on Medvedev's Commission for Modernization, during which time he had backed government subsidies for broadband expansion that in turn favoured DST Global, his own venture capital fund, founded by Milner in 2009 'for the purpose of making minority investments in the most significant and fast growing internet companies'. DST Hong Kong was highly active in Xiaomi Inc, once dubbed China's Apple. Its founder Lei Jun, whose bonus for the year 2018 was the bagatelle of 735 million dollars, was worth eight billion dollars even after a brutal ride following Xiaomi's IPO on the Hong Kong stock exchange in 2019, during which it lost 40% of its value. Milner, Giustra and Usmanov, were wolves, playing in the global casino, and the young royal couple had unwittingly wandered into their den, running the risk of either ending up as their plaything or being marked as friends of big capital, and miners to boot, not a good thing in their chosen roll as eco-warriors. Beyond the young royals naivety, they were cashing in on their titles, selling themselves to friends of Russia. Any politician in power would have been ejected for corruption, any high level civil servant for collusion with a foreign power, the poor Casement would have turned over in his Pentonville Prison grave. Here was the grandson of the Queen of England, 8th in-line to the throne, accepting gifts from businessmen whose links to the Kremlin were there for any journalist worth his salt to see. Harry had chosen to tread the slippery path of his great-uncle the Duke of Windsor. * * *\n\nAll across the Amazon basin, from Peru and Colombia, across Brazil to Guyana, illegal gold-mining camps flourished. They were more than a few miner's shacks, they were towns and villages with shops, bars, restaurants, pharmacies, brothels and evangelical churches. Some of the illegals were the former workers of American and Canadian owned gold mines, many were Brazilian garimpeiros, who spread malaria and sexually transmitted diseases, bringing prostitution, alcohol and violence to the indigenous peoples. Their pits in the red earth were surrounded by tarpaulins and scaffolding built from trees cut in the forest and held together by rattan cords. In the background black smoke belched from deafening diesel engines, a hellish picture that contrasted with the bright green of the jungle that bordered the tortured red earth. The miners toiled waist-deep in sludge with pressure hoses jetting water into the earth, eroding the landscape, transforming it into a river of mud that poured down rough wooden channels to sluice boxes, where the earth and gravel was separated from the gold, which being heavy sank to the bottom of the sluice, and trapped in miner's matting. They came from small impoverished towns and villages, many of them landless farmers. Their wildcat mines not only destroyed the forest, but also its wildlife, as streams became choked with mud and chemicals. Far downstream of the mining areas high levels of mercury were found in river dolphins and even in jaguars. In the broader streams, miners built crudely hewn wooden barges that were used to dredge for gold, destroying river banks and changing their courses. The mercury they used as an amalgam to separate out gold particles from the mud they dredged spread into the aquatic ecosystem and passed into the food chain--plants that were eaten by birds, animals and fish, which in turn were eaten by indigenous hunters and fishers. The miners often employed the younger indigenous men to work clearing the forest in exchange for machetes, tools, batteries and hammocks, leaving their elders in their villages to hunting with bows and arrows. * * *\n\nHG told her friends about Papua New Guinea, where vast tracks of forest were devoured for mines and oil palm plantations. 'How many people can point to Papua on a map?' she asked. 'How many people in Europe or the US have ever heard of New Britain? What about Bougainville? Oh yes, the Bougainvilleas in the garden, or the explorer if you're French. Well for your information it's an island next to New Britain, off the coast of Papua New Guinea. They're about to vote for independence from New Guinea. 'Funnily enough,' HG said looking at Dee triumphantly, 'your Bertie Ahern, former Taoiseach of Ireland, was appointed to chair the Bougainville Referendum Commission in 2018.' 'For information it was part of the German colonial empire before WWI,' she added with a laugh. 'After it was occupied and administered by Australia until 1975, that's when Papua New Guinea took over mandatory power. Now they're voting for independence. You know why? I'll tell you, gold and copper!' The mines had until recently been run by Rio Tinto, an Anglo-Australian multinational, one of the world's largest metals and mining corporations, which walked away from Bougainville in 2016, leaving its rusting equipment and machinery abandoned at mining sites in the island's remote mountain valleys--gutted buildings, polluted rivers and streams, unstable tailing dumps and chemical storage sites. Environmental agencies estimated the clean would cost billions if ever Rio Tinto accepted its responsibility. All the rivers downstream of the mines are polluted by mercury, cyanide and acid,' said HG, who pointed at Camille's wedding band, 'Do you know how much toxic waste is generated to produced the amount of gold contained your gold wedding ring.' A look of guilt appeared on Camille's face. 'No,' she mumbled. 'About 20 tons.' Unconsciously she covered her fingers. 'There aren't any dams to retain the waste in the wilderness of the Andean foothills, far from civilisation, out of view, and waste water from the mines loaded with cadmium, arsenic, lead, and iron, seep into the earth, the groundwater and streams, poisoning fish and plants,' HG said to poor Camille's shame. They all laughed at her embarrassment, but they were all just as guilty. All those mines now belonged to Bougainville together with the massive environmental legacy of the vast open pit site, where, in spite of the destruction, vast quantities of copper and gold worth worth an estimated 58 billion dollars were still in the ground, ready to be torn out to feed the voracious appetite of China and the rest of the world for raw materials, once Bougainville could get back to business. A good reason for independence, and to avoid sharing the financial bonanza with New Guinea. In New Britain, an island of Papua New Guinea, next to New Ireland, bordering the Bismarck Sea, A Malaysian company, RHG, had deforested more than 20,000 hectares for oil palm plantations. Those distant places with strange names, echoes of a colonial past, were now exploited by the Malaysian firm which had the intention of planting up to 31,000 hectares of oil palms to the detriment of the indigenous peoples, owners of the land since since time immemorial. The group's financiers included the State Financial Secretary of Sarawak, which operated as a financial authority with amongst other things an investment division. Sarawak, a Federal State in the Federation of Malaysia, was part of the island of Borneo--HG's birthplace, part of the vast archipelago that lay between Australia and the Asian mainland, the home to a large part of what remained of the world's tropical forests and biomes--distinct biological communities, which according to the Convention of Biological Diversity, contained 10% of all documented mammals, birds, reptiles and fish species on the planet. For decades that archipelago had been losing its forest at a dramatic rate to oil palm plantations and logging. All financed by international banks and institutions that pumped over 20 billion dollars into industries producing: timber, palm oil, and pulp and paper, all of which pretended to be supporters of sustainable forestry operations. INI Hong Kong, Pat Kennedy's bank, as well as HSBC and other major financial institutions had bankrolled palm oil companies responsible for the destruction of vast tracts of primary forest, violating the rights of their indigenous inhabitants, and all with the help and complaisance of the governments in the countries concerned. John Ennis, who had decades of experience in South East Asia, had looked on helplessly as relentless deforestation continued unabated, which alone was responsible for 8% of the world's annual greenhouse gas emissions, more than the emissions of the entire European Union and its 500 million population. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# NOVEMBER\n\n# 1\n\n# FRIDAY 13 NOVEMBER AD2026\n\nANNA HAD INTERESTED Pat Kennedy in a new science--cliodynamics, one which attempted to build a mathematical model of history, to explain the rise and fall of empires, social discontent, civil wars, and revolution. It went a long way to explaining Pat's Doomsday project, which was now deep into the planning with the help of Tom, John and Anna. Both John and Anna were historians with their respective specialisations, John in economics, Anna in the history of Spain's New World Empire--and more especially naval and underwater archaeology. To many, history followed a haphazard path, to certain, especially some self-assured jingoistic figures in London with a nostalgia for empire, it was the result of wise leadership in enlightened civilisations. That was evidently far from John or Anna's personal ideas. They sought something more scientific, a pattern, an overriding logic. They were not the first, some, like Spengler and Toynbee, dreamt of rationalizing history, others, from Adam Smith to Joseph Schumpeter, attempted the same thing through economics, and Peter Turchin through the rise of empires, all of which laid the foundations for the new scientific field of cliodynamics, after the Greek muse of history, Clio, and the word dynamics--force and motion. In other words the forces that drive history, and in this precise case the development of a hypothetical mathematical model to explain it. Three Russian scientists, Andrey Korotayev, Alexander Markov and Daria Khaltourina, presented a mathematical model in 2006, which demonstrated how, according to their words 'more than 99% of all the variation in demographic, economic and cultural macrodynamics of the World System over the last two millennia could be accounted for'. They described how in 1960 Heinz von Foerster, Patricia Mora, and Lawrence Amiot published, in the journal Science, a remarkable discovery. They showed that between AD1 and AD1958, the world's population (N) dynamics could be described in an extremely accurate way with an astonishingly simple equation:\n\nwhere Nt is the world population at time t, and C and t0 are constants, with t0 corresponding to an absolute limit at which N would become infinite. By applying the formula to dates 40000BC to AD1970 the curve shown in the above diagram is obtained:\n\nAs can be seen the population in 1970, according to the curve is in the order of 3.7 billion, now comparing this to the 1970 estimate by the World Bank of 3,700,437,046--a truly extraordinary demonstration, and which was valid for whatever year chosen during the period according estimates by historians and extrapolations from historical censuses. It was an exponential curve, in simpler terms, a curve that goes ballistic, which is worrying to say the least, considering humanity's point on the curve today, or in Pat's more colloquial terms, 'a point where any sane person should go apeshit just looking at it.' But no, it didn't stop leaders from sleeping at night, or encourage the luvvies and fellow travellers to protest against population growth, or encourage legislation to reduce birthrates. In fact any suggestion of population control raised cries of eugenics. * * *\n\nWork at the site in Barichara progressed as protesters thronged through the streets of Bogota in a demonstration against the government of Ivan Duque. It was becoming a familiar scene--Paris, La Paz, Barcelona, Hong Kong, Baghdad, Cairo, and even Teheran, where the acrid stink of teargas infested city centres almost daily. Was the world becoming ungovernable, or were people revolting against inequality, corruption and bad government? As far as Pat was concerned, it was another sign of the coming chaos, comforting his decision to build a second site in Ireland and his search for yet another one, in the long term it was an insurance policy, in the shorter term a business decision attracting numerous high-wealth investors. The hundreds of thousands of mostly peaceful demonstrators on the streets were a reminder of how dangerous large cities could become as police helicopters hovered overhead and teargas was fired at protesters who blocked Bogota's Plaza de Simon Bolivar with makeshift barricades. An organised demonstration degenerating into skirmishes with the police, a few burning garbage bins, an overturned car or two, looked worrying enough, but it doesn't take too much to imagine what would happen if the food chain broke down, the demonstrations that perturbed the peace in big cities today would be nothing compared to the tens of thousands willing to kill in order to eat, tomorrow, when survival was a matter of a meal or two. It was not difficult to imagine the first days of collapse--riots, looting, fires, the breakdown of law and order, followed by the disintegration of government and services, mayhem, violence and deaths by the hundreds of thousands, followed by malnutrition, disease and starvation. Those who thought an isolated cabin in Montana or New Mexico was safe were in for a shock, they would be easily overcome by armed marauders in search of food, arriving on the backs of pick-ups fitted with automatic weapons. The world of Mad Max was never more than just a few heart beats away. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 2\n\n# DIVERSIFICATION\n\nThese great towns and temples and buildings rising from the water, all made of stone, seemed like an enchanted vision ... I stood looking at it, and thought no land like it would ever be discovered in the whole world ... But today all that I then saw is overthrown and destroyed; nothing is left standing. Bernal Diaz del Castillo on the Aztec capital, Tenochtitlan\n\nPAT OBSERVED THE DEMONSTRATIONS from the sidelines, against the advice of Lili, who could do nothing to stop him. Accompanying him were a couple of men from his close protection team ready to extract him if necessary. It was his like of first-hand information that motivated his taking risks, but it would have looked stupid if he, a capitalist banker, was arrested. As night fell thousands of protesters occupied the streets of Kowloon, many with hard hats, goggles and gas masks, certain dressed in black, recalling the Black Bloc movement in Paris, setting up makeshift barricades with crowd barriers and anything else that came to hand. It became dangerous when the police started firing rounds of teargas and even moreso when rubber bullets were fired at the demonstrators pressing forward armed with rough and ready shields, riposting with anything that came to hand, some carried lasers pointers with which they targeted the eyes of the riot-police. Defying police orders, the crowd deviated from the approved route in Mong Kok and headed south to Tsim Sha Tsui, a tourist shopping district, where they hoped the police would not be expecting them. Soon the demonstrators occupied the main roads and blocked the cross harbour tunnel where they threw a Chinese flag into the sea. Pat realised that it would not be long before Beijing lost patience, already they had issued veiled threats and the possibility of military intervention seemed imminent as the head of the Chinese garrison in Hong Kong declared the military was determined to protect the national sovereignty of Hong Kong and would not hesitate to act if requested by LegCo. Initially the demonstrators had been young people, but as the movement gathered force they were joined by those from a broader spectrum of local society, those who feared for their future liberty as the authoritarian shadow of Beijing was cast over the former colony. They included civil servants, hospital workers, white-collar workers from the city's finance sector, bus and tram drivers, all backed by major businesses and unions. The public was behind the movement as it was possibly the last mass demonstration the city would see and many people felt it was the last opportunity to manifest their opposition to Beijing. In spite of the apparent success with so many people responding to the organisers call, hope was low, inevitably the Legislative Council was answerable to Beijing, which was unlikely to change its position, too much was as stake for the central government. Hong Kong was too small and the men in Zhongnanhai would not let the tail wag the dog, as they, to the ire of China's powerless neighbours, spread their military power into the South China Sea in a brazen sabre rattling confrontation with the American Pacific Fleet. Pat was grappling with the headwinds caused by the escalation of the trade war between China and the US, coupled with an easing monetary policy cycle, Brexit and the unrest in Hong Kong. The shares of INI were down, though somewhat less than other major banks as he had progressively spread the risk by broadening his market. In addition to interests in Asia, the EU, South and Central America, and Russia, Pat Kennedy was expanding into India and North America, but that took time. As for London Brexit weighed heavily on his decisions as he watched Boris Johnson who it seemed was facing an uphill struggle. It could have appeared incongruous that the CEO of a world class bank was braving tear gas and rubber bullets on the streets of Hong Kong, especially in view of his solid figure, which stood out from those of the slighter more lithe Hongkongers. Even though he kept clear of the mele he stood out, a curious sensation seeker caught up in the fray, with his baseball cap, shorts and sneakers. In his pocket he carried a press armband in Chinese and English if needed. INI's investment division was amongst those of many other banks that managed billions of dollars in assets in diverse sectors, from real estate to industry and distribution, from mining to oil and gas, from utilities to transport, and from agriculture to forestry industries. You name it they were there somewhere in the woodpile. INI was not as big as banking houses like JPMorgan, HSBC or City & Colonial, neither did they control the vast asset portfolios as did BlackRock, Vanguard or State Street, three investors that together controlled assets worth more than China's entire GDP. They controlled, but did not run those many businesses and industries, though they were pointed at as being responsible, at least in part, for climate change and environmental degradation. That was indirectly true, but they were not governments, in fact they worked for governments, lending them money, financing their projects, and even their wars, as bankers had always done. They also managed pension funds, health insurance schemes, education endowments and financed home loans. Pat Kennedy did not get involved in politics, did not finance political parties, did not judge the moral worthiness of his customers businesses. He invested his customers money in search of gain, that was his business. Did he have a conscience when it came to the morality and legality concerning the origins of the money confided to him by investors, or how the businesses where it was placed were run? Certainly. But he was not God, not elected, not responsible for political decisions, not guilty of crimes perpetrated by corrupt men and women, or by criminal organisations. His bank functioned within the limits of the laws in vigour in the different jurisdictions where his bank carried out its daily business. To mitigate those accusations he sponsored projects in many humanitarian fields, especially those that excited his own febrile mind, culture, archaeology, primary arts, museums, and the research linked to those fields. His more recent interests extended to future sciences, AI and genetics. He was amused by the reaction of ecologists when he asked them who supplied the electricity for needs in the favelas of Rio, who put the oil in Delhi's tuk-tuks, supplied the fertilisers for Bangladeshi farmers, supplied wheat to Egypt, supplied chicken and pork to China, supplied jobs for the teeming billions of the third world, however lowly those jobs were, that enabled workers to fill theirs and their families bellies. That large funds invested in coal, oil and gas was normal, the energy sector represented a large slice of the global economy, which in spite of its deserved negative image, served humanity. If tomorrow electricity and transport were to stop, the result would be the collapse of civilization and hundreds of millions of deaths. How humanity got there was a long story, from hunter gatherers to the builders of pyramids, empires, the first steps of space exploration ... and there was no turning back. His many visits to the jungles of South East Asia and Central and South America had stimulated his interest in the indigenous peoples of those regions, their history and culture. Could something be learned from the original peoples of the New World, or the lost civilisations they built and why they disappeared? Could they provide the world with answers, how to invert the curve of population growth and avert apocalypse. There were plenty of whistle blowers, cries of alarm, 'the end is nigh', but there were few realistic answers. Abandoning coal was fine for lesson giving Europeans, but what would that do for the billions of poor Indians, Africans, Chinese and developing nations? The investment funds were accused of inaction, abstention, and even opposition to actions to mitigate climate change, from their positions in the thousands of funds they managed in oil, coal and gas companies. Those same funds also invested in environmental friendly businesses oriented towards renewable energy sources. But they were neither the law nor the police, their role was to make profits, the source of all capital since the invention of agriculture. BlackRock Inc. employed 15,000 people, who followed markets and investment activities, it was impossible for their organisation to participate in the countless decisions made in the thousand of companies they had invested in via subsidiary funds, they had neither the technical expertise nor the manpower. The Vanguard Group had investments in 10,000 companies with millions of employees around the world. If economies and investments were left to countries like modern Egypt there would be no profit. It would be like building the pyramids of Giza, when the Pharaoh Khufu commandeered Egypt's labour, a transfer of wealth, not its creation, to build an Ozymandian monument, a promise of immortality, a path to nemesis. It seemed like nothing had changed when a few millennia later Egyptian debt was bought by Egyptians, diverting private investment from development, a system unchanged over countless generations, where Egyptian productivity was transformed into government debt, reducing national savings, and depriving productive Egyptian businesses and industries of investment funds. Fortunately foreign investment funds were able step in and avoid the collapse of a country that imported most of its energy and grain, where national banks squirrelled their money into safe government projects, avoiding private investment, a situation that repeated itself over and over across the developing world. Fortunately for nearly 100 million Egyptians, companies with vision, in pursuit of profits, like INI, Siemens, BP, Eni, Abu Dhabi's Masdar Clean Energy and General Electric were there, backed by international investment funds with their billions to invest in the country's private energy sector, rather than non-productive monumental tombs. The call for divestment in energy and mining was a two edged sword, one that would amputate the livelihoods from millions of poor families in the developing world who worked in those industries. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 3\n\n# THE CARIOCA SOCIETY\n\nPAT WAS DELIGHTED to learn Henrique had adapted so quickly to his new environment, conversing easily in Brazilian Portuguese, Spanish and English. As a young banker Henrique had been quick to note Brazil was a real Eldorado and told Pat Kennedy so, which pleased the banker enormously, a country where there was an ever increasing number of billionaires, who lived in their vast villas and high security condos in the most exclusive neighbourhoods of the country's large cities, but mostly in Rio de Janeiro and Sao Paulo, the homes of many of the country's 60 billionaires, whose combined wealth exceeded 175 billion dollars. In October Pat sent Henrique on a fact finding mission, his personal emissary, to Rio and Sao Paulo armed with all the means necessary for a banker, that is no expenses spared, to meet people like Teixeira de Souza, a home construction billionaire, who told Henrique, 'We have everything, the workforce, the land, the consumers, and we are the most well-organized of all BRIC countries.' Henrique learnt how Brazil's ultrahigh net worth individuals got richer, maintaining their wealth from generation to generation, flying around in 50 million dollar intercontinental jets, from Sao Paulo to Miami, New York and Paris, nonstop, there was even a waiting list for those who wanted to buy a transcontinental jet. He dined in places like D.O.M., a Michelen two star restaurant, the best in Sao Paulo, if not all of South America, situated on rua Barao de Capanema, known for its Brazilian specialities, where a meal cost one thousand dollars for two. He met the rich in their vast penthouses, who travelled to their offices or beachfront villas and super-yachts in Ipanema by helicopter--directly from the rooftops of their towers. Their homes were equipped with panic button, metal shutters on the doors and bulletproof windows and protected day and night by gun totting security guards. They bought art in Miami, at the Art Basel fair, which was attracting more and more buyers from Brazil. He met the country's top art buyer, Bernardo Paz, who made his money in mining, and founded Inhotim one of the largest foundations of contemporary art in Brazil with the largest outdoor art museum in Latin America--ranked in the top 25 best in the world by TripAdvisor. Money flowed into and out of Brazil easily with its free-floating currency and sophisticated stock, bond and derivative markets, facilitating exchange with China, its top customer, exporting its vast resources of raw materials. Brazil had become the world's biggest seller of iron ore, beef, chicken, sugar and coffee as well as being an important producer of oil and gas. A new class of Brazilian jet setters were splashing their money everywhere spending more than ten billion on overseas shopping sprees and in Miami, where shops, restaurants and hotels were hiring Portuguese speakers to serve them. Henrique also discovered many billionaires kept such low profiles as to be almost invisible, their wealth lay in real estate, mines, cattle raising and many other sectors, family businesses which did not publish reports. And many fortunes were built on a dark history. It was time to set up a branch in Brazil and Henrique would be the man to do it, if all went well. In any case the young man wouldn't be going back to Hong Kong soon given the political crisis and riots that had continued unabated since his arrest. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 4\n\n# BE CAREFUL OF WHAT YOU WISH FOR\n\nPAT HAD BEEN ESPECIALLY STRUCK by the story of the Wayyu Indians in Colombia's Alta Guajira region, one he had witnessed first hand during the salvage of the Espiritu Santo treasure in Colombia the previous year. Situated on the north coast of the Guajira Peninsula was a vast mineral shipping facility, connected to the interior by road and railway, complete with cranes, sidings and berths for huge ocean going bulk carriers. The port had been specifically built for the coal that arrived by rail from the Cerrejon open-pit mine, near Barranca, which lay 150 kilometres to the south-east, the largest of its kind in South America. Cerrejon was jointly owned by BHP Billiton, Anglo American and Glencore, producing over 32 million tonnes of coal a year with reserves of over 5 billion. By a strange coincidence there was a link to distant Ireland, the ESB coal-powered station on the Shannon Estuary, in County Clare. As the producer of 20% of Ireland's electricity each year, ESB imported 2 million tons of coal a year from Cerrejon. This had become the subject of a moral conundrum, since the power station was scheduled to shut down for environmental reasons, a decision which didn't go down well with the 10,000 Colombian workers who depended on the mine for their wages in one of the planet's poorest and most socially deprived regions of the country. As rich nations fretted about the planet, countless miners worked, often in harsh conditions, to supply us with our comforts, seeing their lands ripped up and polluted for generations to come by foreign mining giants on whom the survival of their families depended. What did Irish men and women know or care about the Wayuu Indians and their communities, whose hunting, fishing and farming lands had been swallowed by the mine. 'What did pampered bourgeois liberals, ecologists and luvvie's know about those affected by their bleeding hearts,' Anna asked, 'and who would pay for the devastated landscapes left behind after the mines were closed and hydroelectric dams silted up?' Anna had seen the ruins left by mines and steel mills in the Basque Country, and the effort to rebuild Bilbao, now reborn as a tourist destination. But who would build a Guggenheimin Barranca? That was another story. The fact remained that in the generation to come, the population of the planet would explode, and the energy demands were such that China, India and Africa would continue to rely on coal, oil and natural gas with all the consequences that brought. That was written in black and white in BP's Outlook 2040, published in 2019. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 5\n\n# FOUNDATION\n\nLOLA BARTON LAID THE FOUNDATION stone at the future Campus Salvator Mundi in a small ceremony on a green field site at the entrance to a valley west of the picturesque town of Curiti, between Barichara and the Chicamocha Canyon, on the Cordillera Oriental of the Colombian Andes. It was ostensible the site of a new scientific campus and research centre that would a some point become the economic driver of Cuidad Salvator Mundi, Tom Barton's town of the future. The stone marked the centre of a large plaza, which in the near future would be surrounded on the north-south sides by shops, bars and restaurants. To the west side of the plaza a cultural centre with a theatre and concert hall was planned, and to the east facing the mountain the administrative buildings of Campus Salvator Mundi, all of which were conceived in a lasting style of architecture somewhat more futuristic than the old colonial towns that lay in the region between Bogota and Bucaramanga. The campus once completed would include a multi-sports centre with a riding club, stables, and a golf course. The entire site was protected by its paramilitary security team, for the moment patrolling its perimeter to ward off snoopers and other unwelcome visitors, which would at some future point form the core of a defence force, an essential element to ensure the protection of the city in times of danger. One of the features that made Cuidad Salvator Mundi different was that it would function entirely from energy generated by solar and wind power. The climate of the Cordillera was generous, 300 days of sunshine graced the summits of its peaks and the valleys through which flowed clear mountain streams, an earthly paradise caressed by gentle winds. Beyond the Campus site was the disused road that led up the valley to the abandoned mine where Minerales Andinos had commenced serious construction work, with heavy trucks rumbling up and down the resurfaced road daily. Cuidad Salvator Mundi promised Pat Kennedy and his friends a better, safer, future far from sea coasts eaten by erosion and encroaching deserts scorched by the sun, far from the teeming hungry masses and their diseases. Climatic conditions projected for 2100 were now expected in 2050, and soon large regions of the planet, occupied by men for hundreds and thousands of years, would become inhabitable. Pat had seen how the desertic region of the Alta Guajira had spread, glimpsed the dystopian future of the Gulf of Venezuela, the flood of men and women fleeing from the dysfunctional state of Nicolas Maduro. Time was short, they could no longer wait, the time for words had passed, only actions mattered. Colombia was still harassed by the remnants of the Farc, the revolutionary army that had fought the government in a long-drawn-out war, a vestige of the Cold War confrontation, when Cuba and its barbudos led by Che Guevara had exported Castro's revolution to the South American continent. In five decades of bitter guerilla warfare, at least 260,000 people died and seven million were forced to flee their homes. The signing of a peace agreement had promised a new future, but that was compromised by Venezuela's struggle to escape the clutches of Nicolas Maduro, the successor of Hugo Chavez, who had transformed his country into a new Cuba, with its misery and privations, an achievement considering Venezuela sat on the world's greatest reserve of oil. In the vast and lawless Catatumbo National Park region to the south of Bucaramanga, near to the border with Venezuela, violence reigned. Many of the former Farc combatants had taken up arms again, for multiple reasons, but often for the rich takings of crime--drug trafficking, extortion and illegal gold mining. A new rebel group had appeared, the National Liberation Army, taking over from where the Farc had left off, taking advantage of the turmoil in Venezuela, and expanding its law as far as Guyana. Maduro, saw the chaos to his advantage, as yet another faction, the Popular Liberation Army, battled for the control of the territory, in the same way as criminal gangs, where coca growers prospered and the jungle hid the clandestine laboratories used by traffickers to transform coca into cocaine. The region's proximity to Venezuela, made it a perfect home for rebels, drug cartels and smugglers, controlled by paramilitary groups--Los Rastrojos and Los Urabe\u00f1os, subsidised by 50 million litres of contraband Venezuelan gasoline every month, sold on the streets of the border town of Cucuta by poor pimpineros. Colombia's president, Ivan Duque, responded by ordering 2,500 troops to the region, rekindling the embers of war, the kind that had been fought against the guerrillas of Farc. After the end of the long confrontation with the Farc, the production of cocaine continued in Colombia. The agreement  that ended the 52 year long civil war, included provisions to help peasant farmers switch coca crops and produce coffee and cacao. However, further south, small farmers in Putumayo and Caqueta cultivated tens of thousands of hectares of land to grow coca, the leaves of which contained cocaine, which was extracted by a crude process of mulching with diesel oil and chemicals and turned into a paste by the addition of cement. It took about a ton of coca leaves to make a kilo of the paste that a family could sell to traffickers for about a thousand dollars. Such cottage industries prospered deep in the Amazon jungle. As before, refined cocaine was illegally shipped to markets in the US and Europe to meet an ever growing demand, transported by every imaginable means, from containers to sailing boats, motor yachts and even submarines, not forgetting an army of drug mules on commercial flights. Donald Trump berated Ivan Duque, accusing Colombia of shipping more drugs than before he became president. It was easy for Trump, he was not a poor farmer, and at the same time his country was the biggest consumer of cocaine, where addicts and dealers could be seen in full view on street corners of great cities across the US, as Pat O'Connelly had witnessed in downtown San Francisco. As populations grew elsewhere in the world, their vital needs grew with them, the unabated demand for fossil fuels to meet the needs of the teeming masses of men and women in India, China, the Middle East and Africa. The efforts of a few well intentioned countries would have little effect and as temperatures rose so would extreme weather conditions with droughts, fires and floods, devastating agriculture and disrupting the production of food. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# DECEMBER\n\n# 1\n\n# TROUBLE IN HONG KONG\n\nALMOST THREE MILLION PEOPLE had voted, more than 71% of the electorate, nearly half of Hong Kong's population. Many had never voted before and the result was an extraordinary victory for the people. 'The truth is,' Lili warned Pat, 'Beijing will never accept a loss of face.' Totalitarian regimes never bowed to the people and whatever its projected image, Beijing was an authoritarian regime, one that vaguely reminded Pat of the Catholic Church, which had ruled the minds of Irish men and women when he was a boy, like it had for generations, a theocratic ideology imposed, on occasions, by evil old men. Hong Kong was hit by the worst recession in a decade and the threat of its trading status being downgraded by Washington would only go to worsening the situation with Congress poised to pass the Hong Kong Human Rights and Democracy Act, giving authorities power to levy sanctions for human rights violations in the city. Already two pillars of the territory's economy, the retail and tourist industries, were suffering as the holiday season was approaching and tourist arrivals were dropping leaving hotels and attractions struggling. Pat feared the former colony would be finished as an international business hub if the Chinese army intervened. The Peoples Liberation Army, a strange name for oppressors, he thought, would not hesitate to crush the demonstrators--with tanks, like Tiananmen, the 'Door of Heavenly Peace'. Who would trust Hong Kong's currency, who would be willing to buckle under the rule of law set by the men in Beijing. In the best case there would be a deep recession, but if things went really very wrong there would be a headlong flight of business and money from Hong Kong, spelling disaster for INI. Pat as head of a vast financial business empire--as his duty demanded, followed every event of any importance across the globe. Every day decisions were left to his executives and analysts, whilst the Fitzwilliams Foundation, headed by his trusted friend John Francis, analysed geopolitical trends and key events. He himself had, in a manner of speaking, like many of the two billion owners of smartphones, become addicted to information, prey in a mediatic battle for attention, if not minds, and it was evident to Pat, that the increasing flood of information and news had reached overload, exemplified by Trumpian fake news. Lili's family argued, banks like HSBC and Standard Chartered had been present in Hong Kong for more than 150 years, they had survived the Japanese occupation, the People's War and the Communist Revolution. Hong Kong was China's financial window on the world, and in the long run INI would overcome any changes, it was not the moment to waver. However, that did not prevent the bank from taking measures to reinforce its position in its other markets, especially in relatively nearby Singapore, one of the links in the City of London's post-colonial financial empire. Even if Hong Kong was beginning to look like a war zone, threatened by the shadow of the People's Liberation Army, the Hang Seng, the world's fifth most important stock market by value, remained steady, as did the Hong Kong property market--a good indicator of sentiment. Nevertheless, anticipation was a golden rule for investors, and now was the time to take action. Pat started by moving his family to London, ostensibly for the Christmas season and year end holidays. His timing couldn't have been better, a week later an unforeseen shadow appeared on the horizon. In the meantime, the Hong Kong elections, which had at first glance seemed positive, had in fact increased the pressure on the two sides. The Legislative Council refused to budge, and the students, now a full-blown pro-democracy movement, encouraged by the massive electoral victory, retrenched, and another week of violence shook the city, many people could not work, shops were shuttered, schools and universities closed, the MTR and bus routes were paralysed, children and the elderly were too frightened to venture out in many districts. What at first had seemed like a student movement was beginning to take on serious political and financial overtones, and Pat like many Hongkongers, could no longer ignore the possibility of a dramatic end to the crisis. It was a situation he could never have imagined, a reality, and with all the consequences it brought. The crisis that had broke several months earlier, when protests were organised to fight an extradition bill that would have seen Hongkongers being sent for trial in China, now metamorphosed into an increasingly anti-authoritarian government movement with no possible good ending. The Legislative Council, the Hong Kong governing body, was stacked against the pro-democracy camp since its head, Carrie Lam, appointed by the Central People's Government in Beijing, was looking more and more like one of those stone faced hard-line authoritarian party hacks, answerable to the faceless men in Zhongnanhai. As the shadow cast by Beijing over the frontier darkened, fear grew, and those who could started to make plans to quit Hong Kong in the knowledge they were without means to fight. A glance at what was happening to the Uighurs in Xinjiang was a terrifying vision of what could happen to the young protesters--camps and re-education. There was no end in sight. The cost of intervention would be high, Beijing could not afford to pussyfoot around with Hong Kong, there was too much at stake with the Uighurs, or Taiwan, to give in to the rebels in the former British colony, the turbulent south, where Sun Yat-sen had joined the movement that overthrew last dynasty of the Middle Kingdom. Even though Hong Kong accounted for 3% of the mainland's economy, much less than in 1997, there was no way it could prevent a forceful intervention, if Beijing moved. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 2\n\n# ECONOMY\n\nCAMILLE'S VISION OF SOCIETY was coloured by her education and the relatively straitened finances of her otherwise very privileged family. She was what could be described as an open-minded progressive socialist, and none of those ideas had changed since her family fortunes had been revived by the fabulous Sommieres Collection and her marriage to Liam Clancy. In fact, the story of Liam's modest family background and the difficulties he had experienced during the crisis that hit Ireland in 2008, had gone to reinforce certain of her ideas and her vision of the world. Both she and Liam, in spite of their considerable wealth, were liberals, supporting social justice and an equitable economy, militating against discrimination of all kinds, against climate change and the destruction of the natural environment, though they were not blind to the harsh realities of life. Ekaterina shrugged when Camille asked her about Art Basel Miami, where bananas were making headlines. An artwork, said to be worth 120,000 dollars, consisted of a banana taped to a wall, which in an act of defiance was eaten by the artist himself, who promptly replaced it with another banana. 'Perhaps it's a sign of the times,' said Dee, 'throw away art, or an act of desperation on the part of its creator in search of new expression?' Ekaterina looked blank. She didn't get that kind of reasoning. 'I don't know,' said Dee bifurcating, 'all I know is things are not going well in the US, like in so many other places, when a banana taped to a wall is said to be worth so much, and when 40% of Americans would have difficulty to pay a 500 dollar repair bill if their car broke down.' Pat 'Dee' O'Connelly had witnessed severe poverty in the streets of San Francisco, as for Art Basel Miami it was synonymous with wealth in a country where such a large proportion of the nation's income enriched those already rich, a situation not seen since the pre-Great Depression days of Scott Fitzgerald's Great Gatsby. The US evolving was into a science fiction writer's futuristic dystopian society, an economy and democracy of the 1%, for the 1% and by the 1%, when its richest citizens, Jeff Bezos of Amazon, Bill Gates of Microsoft and Warren Buffet of Berkshire Hathaway, controlled more wealth than the entire bottom half of the US population. It was staggering when Bill Gates--who presented himself as a philanthropist, could order a yacht priced at 640 million dollars, when tens of thousands of down-and-outs shuffled through the streets of downtown San Francisco like a zombie invasion, just a few miles away from Microsoft's vast new Mountain View Campus in Silicon Valley, or its new AI site across the Bay in Berkeley. One could confuse the wealth of a country with the wealth of certain successful individuals in that country. Amongst these individuals were those who invented new products and developed new ideas that fulfilled consumers needs, building new wealth through creativity and productivity. Others, however, succeeded by exploiting consumers, or their own workers, which did not increase their country's overall wealth. It was necessary to distinguish wealth creation from wealth extraction. The latter, exploiting consumers or workers, was a process whereby one individual took wealth from others. John Francis, as an economist, liked to explain the growth of wealth, that is achieving higher standards of living, was the result of greater productivity, which was greatest when it came from the pursuit of knowledge. Wealth creation, he insisted, came from growing the economic pie, rather than trying to get a larger share of the existing pie. The belief of conservatives, in the power of markets--the idea that unfettered markets could run the economy, had been proven to be wrong,\n\nJohn believed politicians had failed to manage the transition from a manufacturing economy to a service economy, to regulate the financial sector, to control globalisation and modulate its punishing effect on weaker industries. The other factor stemmed from Ronald Reagan and Margaret Thatcher, both of whom believed deregulation and tax cuts would open up the economy by providing incentives which would stimulate the supply of goods and services and consequently wages. As a result, Keynesian economics, based on maintaining full employment through managing demand through monetary and fiscal policy, was replaced with supply-side economics, which argued economic growth could best be created by lowering taxes and less regulation, as opposed to demand-side economics. Now, Trump opted for a supply-side policy with tax cuts designed to boost the economy, which seen in the light of Reagan's experience produced a long period of huge fiscal deficits, slower growth, and to boot greater inequality. George Bush Senior called Reagan's supply-side economics 'voodoo economics'. Which prompted Joseph Stiglitz to call Trump's policy 'voodoo economics on steroids'. Trumponomics combined low taxes for the rich, financial and environmental deregulation, against a backdrop of nativism and protectionism. Boris Johnson promised more of the same policies, it was like a contagion as populists including Le Pen in France, Morawiecki in Poland, Orban in Hungary, Erdogan in Turkey, Duterte in the Philippines, and Bolsonaro in Brazil, jumped on the bandwagon. These leaders and would-be leaders had one thing in common in that they all sought to blame outsiders for their country's problems, as nativist nationalists promoted the innate virtues of their people, flattering a vulnerable electorate with lies, those who wanted their prejudices confirmed by demagogues like Farage.. The consequence of Trump's U-turn on the Paris Agreement would be huge social costs linked to carbon emissions. Costs so high that no single business, however large, or country however rich, could bear. Only government regulations enforced by international institutions on a planetary scale could have an impact on the reduction of carbon emissions and their existential threat to humanity. Politics and economics were inseparable, evidenced by laws, which over the previous two decades, allowed many business heads to abuse their power, enabling CEOs and their cohorts to corner large shares of their firm's income through remuneration packages that included salaries, bonuses, pension plans and perks as well as the use of private jets. It was a trend which inevitably lead to greater inequality and lower growth, making the theory of trickle-down economics risible, an erroneous supposition that suggested when the economy grows, all would benefit, even the most lowly. The promise of a middle-class life for all following World War II was beginning to seem more and more utopian in spite of the fact Western societies were considerable better off than then. The fact was the main beneficiaries of the growth of the last quarter century were those at the very top. Whatever sector of society was examined: politics, business, industry, showbiz, even health and education, those at the top were raking it in, whilst the toiling masses worked for less. Populist movements raised questions about the wisdom of democratic electorates when politicians set-up their nativism nationalistic platforms to attract naive voters, who were blind to the fact that the same politicians and their banker friends had brought the global economy to the brink of ruin and were responsible for the global financial crisis of 2008. Not one banker was jailed for lack of due diligence or misdeeds, instead, their banks were rescued, directors rewarded with mega-bonuses, whilst the man in the street paid the bill and suffered in silence. John Francis had yet to see an elite government leader serve any but his own kind, starting with his or her own ambitions. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 3\n\n# THE IMPACT OF AI\n\nALL CIVILISATIONS, AFTER REACHING their apogee of power and glory, faded and died, victims of strife in the form of war, conquest, tyranny and slavery. That's what our history books teach us. What has been less described were the effects of economic and social collapse caused by environmental and technological change. Of course we were taught about the impact of the Bronze Age and how it gave way to the Iron Age. Then there were the wars and famines, recurring dramas, from biblical times until the present. The first of those two spectres was still present--war, which had consistently brought technological progress, even if it was initially in the form of better weapons, as can be seen today, when Artificial Intelligence is employed to guide missiles and fly jet fighters. Many global leaders, political, industrial and scientific, amongst them the late Stephen Hawking, followed by Elon Musk and Bill Gates, had warned of the dangers of AI. Some feared humanity was heading towards singularity, a point, a singular moment in time, when the ability of thinking machines outgrows that of those who created them, and progress accelerates with unforeseeable consequences for humanity. The former president of Google China, Kai-Fu Lee, predicted 40% of jobs would eventually disappear as AI took over, the effect of which would be massive in terms of unemployment, and the subsequent transformation of society. However, if John Francis was right, it would not necessarily be a bad thing, his vision was of a Cornucopian society, where an abundance of all material things was produced by machines and where work became obsolete, replaced by the vocation of dedicated men and women, a privilege, perhaps a reward, and where each and everyone enjoyed a universal basic income, with recompenses for contributions to society and civic well-being. Evolution had created men, Homo sapiens sapiens--after three and a half billion years of trial and error, and contrary to what our religions and philosophers told us, we were not the ultimate creation as written in the Bible--when God created mankind in his own image. Now, humanity is about to give birth to AI, which will not only surpass human intelligence, but succeed it, dominate mankind the way men now dominate apes, or exterminate humanity, after all what use would AI have for men? What did billionaire venture capitalist Peter Thiel and Tesla founder Elon Musk foundation have in common? Both were extremely rich. Both had invested in the future of AI, the former funded the Machine Intelligence Research Institute, the latter in the Future of Life Institute. Both believed AI would be the next step in evolution, either for the benefit of humanity, or by destroying it. One of the Pat's compatriots, a certain Sean \u00d3 h\u00c9igeartaigh, an AI researcher, studied the philosophical questions linked to the future of AI. At the centre of his reflections was the conundrum, would AI dominate us, or vice versa? Which raised questions of AI and consciousness, shared values and the future of humanity. It was a common fallacy to assume that AI would always be at the service of humanity, like a dependent and respectful servant, on the contrary, could it turn against its masters? The shadow of super-intelligent machines now hung over the humanity, accompanied by multiple dangers, the most frightening of which was the idea it could harm humanity, and that was not science fiction. The question society had to ask itself was whether its leaders were sufficiently enlightened to understand the changes AI would bring, one which would require a plan on the scale of the Manhattan Project to avoid its dangers\n\n|  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 4\n\n# DIRTY MONEY\n\nBORIS JOHNSON PREACHED A POST-BREXIT vision of the UK attracting investment by lowering taxes and fewer regulations. The question was what kind of investment? Already the City of London was a magnet for dirty money, channelled through the numerous tax havens controlled by the UK, in the Caribbean, or more indirectly via feeders such as its former colonies, including Hong Kong and Singapore. A system that deprived governments of taxes and the poor and needy of aid, one that often profited the same rich celebrities who clamoured for aid to the poor and downtrodden whilst squirreling away their own money in tax havens. Most people saw dirty money as bundles or container loads of cash from drug syndicates, Colombian and Mexican cartels, gangs and small time dealers, collected and laundered in an opaque offshore banking system, or through the gold markets of Dubai. But that was was a mere cottage industry compared to the offshore network operated and controlled by the City of London, the world's largest hub for channelling dirty money, estimated at 400 billion dollars, derived from every kind of crookery invented by man, from rigged procurement to bribery, from embezzlement to the unlawful acquisition of state assets, not forgetting plain theft, by individuals and their vehicles scattered across the planet, often in poor countries, or those that were ruled by crooked oligarchies. The idea that the City and its clients could clean up their game, open their books, was a pipe-dream, an impossible task. The honey pot was too tempting, the habit too difficult to kick for the innumerable accomplices who provided the services and means--private banks, big accounting firms, real estate agents, international banks, builders of private jets and yachts, businesses, think-tanks, newspapers, even schools, universities, and political parties. A vast network of vested interests worked in symbiosis with the crooked beneficiaries, a network now seeking independence, freeing itself of the constraints of the EU, to make more money. A system that drained talent away from science and industry by offering highly paid jobs in the City as wealth managers for corrupt oligarchs and their families who extorted the wealth of their fellow citizens. They distorted asset prices to the detriment of productive industry and home owners, and by doing so impoverished whole regions in the UK. But could the UK carry out reforms alone when other candidates to replace the City looked on, lining up to fill the vacuum when it came. As the Brits stumbled along the path to Brexit, the economy of one of the much vaunted models, Hong Kong, slumped more than three 3% in the quarter, not a good omen for Pat Kennedy. Nothing lasts for ever, changes come and go. Hong Kong, a city that had been a growth reference for decades was looking at negative growth for the whole year as China was hit by the Trump effect. Tourist numbers, year on year, plunged nearly 35%. Those absent were non-mainland Chinese from Taiwan, South Koreans, Japanese, Malaysians and Singaporeans, frightened off by the disorder caused by the mass protests that were wracking the city. As the year end approached, previsions for INI's two main poles, London and Hong Kong, were not looking good for 2020, the Year of the Rat, an animal considered a protector and a bringer of prosperity in Chinese culture. Suddenly Latin America was in ebullition, a couple of countries down from Camille Clancy's expedition demonstrators were building barricades on the streets of La Paz, the Bolivian capital, where strikers protested against election fraud, one that gave Evo Morales, Latin America's longest-serving head of state, a fourth term with just over 47% of votes, conveniently avoiding the peril of a run-off. * * *\n\n'The UK was the best place in the world to launder your money, if you're thinking about that,' John told Kyril with a knowing smile. 'But perhaps you should wait until after Brexit, it will be a thousand times easier.' The City of London was the favourite hunting ground for kleptocrats, fraudsters and crooks, where they stole or hid hundreds of billions of pounds, dollars and euros every year, and the latest in that long list of criminals was Isabel dos Santos, Africa's richest woman, daughter of Angola's former president, Jose Eduardo dos Santos, who ruled that country for 38 years. After having stolen money from their victims, often poor underdeveloped countries with autocratic rulers, the main task of the criminals and their intermediaries was to launder it, use it on the open market, for their own enjoyment. It was where the City's many banks came in. London, Europe's most important money laundering hub, with readily available corporate structures registered in the UK, served as an opaque screen to dissimulate the identities of criminals and their accomplices, a national scandal deliberately brushed under the carpet by the UK's complaisant authorities. It was child's play, any enterprising crook could go to the Companies House web site and set up a company using fraudulent information with a few key strokes from his laptop. Until 2011, only registered firms could access the Companies House web site, firms that bore the legal responsibility for verification of the data supplied by their clients for the incorporation of new companies. Then, the UK government, in its wisdom, decided to open Companies House to any would-be entrepreneur, allowing all and sundry to access its services via internet, from anywhere in the world, giving them freedom to create a new UK company for a modest sum with a couple of clicks and a valid credit card. Gone were the controls, suddenly it was as easy to create a company as it was to open a Facebook account. The idea was wannabe entrepreneurs would rush out to set up businesses and by doing so would boost the UK economy. That didn't happen, but what did happen was a lot of fast thinking crooks jumped in to take advantage of the new loophole to set up furtive businesses, enabling all kinds of fraudsters and bent politicians to hide their identities behind a labyrinth of screen companies. John le Carre summed up the British position in his book, Agent Running in the Field, where in the words of his protagonist, former agent, Arkady, derisively speaking of the British said, 'We're special. We're British. We don't need Europe. We won all our wars alone. No Americans, no Russians, no anyone. We're supermen.' And of Trump: 'He's Putin's shithouse cleaner. He does everything for little Vladi that little Vladi can't do for himself: pisses on European unity, pisses on human rights, pisses on NATO. Assures us that Crimea and Ukraine belong to the Holy Russian Empire, the Middle East belongs to the Jews and the Saudis, and to hell with the world order. And you Brits, what do you do? You suck his dick and invite him to tea with your Queen. You take our black money and wash it for us. You welcome us if we're big enough crooks. You sell us half London. You wring your hands when we poison our traitors and you say please, please, dear Russian friends, trade with us.' * * *\n\nIt was early afternoon when the news came in over their satellite link that Boris Johnson had won a grand slam victory, trouncing the opposition led by that out of touch old school radical, Jeremy Corbyn. Pat Kennedy shrugged his shoulders, the markets shot up, the promise of a less regulated City would certainly do no harm to his bank, in any case the bank's unit in Amsterdam--now its EU continental base, and its historic structure in Dublin, ensured its ability to pursue its business in both economic spheres. The idea that Johnson's victory would open the door to a Nirvana-like, anything goes, free-market, offshore base that could compete with the EU, was anything but certain. Camille, Liam and John were glum, the thought of the UK leaving the EU in a little over a month was a sad event, reversing the course of the 75 years of European integration that followed WWII, in exchange for a free marketeer vision of the United Kingdom with its possible disintegration. Brexit came when, for the first time in centuries, a European could travel unhindered from Crete to Lapland, from Lisbon to Warsaw, crossing the culturally richest and densest collection of civilisations on earth, a kaleidoscope of languages, architecture, colourful traditions, rich tables, and peoples living together in peace and harmony, unopressed by Brussels. Compared to the uniformity of the US, its cultural monotony, marked by the same outlets and brands wherever one looked. Rising from the ashes of two terrible wars, Europeans had rebuilt their cities, created a union of common aspirations, open borders, prosperity, shaking of the Soviet yoke of Communism, building a new society based on cooperation, friendship, exchange and tolerance. The United Kingdom was seduced by a loud-mouthed demagogue in the form of the beer swilling Farage, 'rhymes with garage', he told the media between guffaws and dragging deeply and morbidly on his ever-present cigarette. * * *\n\nAs Hong Kong plunged into a deeper state of turmoil many of its residents looked for a safe haven, a place they, their family, and their money would be safe when the crunch came as it surely would. The world was on a new path as leaders and governments became more and more authoritarian in their effort to control their more and more uncontrollable populations, empowered by the knowledge and freedom internet had given them. It was not easy to move to a freer land as doors closed under the growing pressure caused by immigration, an age old human option when pressures became too great. Perhaps the world had been the oyster of ancient man as he set out in search of new territories, 'empty' or to seize, a long history that changed when Europeans discovery of lands unknown to them at the end of the 15th century, starting with the coasts of Africa and the Cape, followed by the Americas, then Australia and New Zealand, and finally at the beginning of the 19th century when they began their march into the heart of Africa. In the centuries that followed the discoveries millions of Europeans and others set out for those lands in search of a better life, mostly to the detriment of those who already lived in those 'empty' lands. But there can be no denying there was space. Today, there are no new lands to be discovered, not only that, both, the new and old, were nearing saturation point. Now the hope of reaching a land of opportunities, already rich, where a new future could be built for the lucky arrivals, faded, as pressures in those lands rose and barriers came down. As the future dimmed in less favoured nations, their rich bypassed the barriers by opting for citizenship of small countries that saw a source of revenue in selling passports in exchange for cash and investment. It was why a strange event was organised in London, at a five-star hotel, where ministers of a number of countries gathered to promote their programmes. They were strange bedfellows, coming from the Caribbean island of St Lucia, Albania, Montenegro, Malta, Antigua and Barbuda, and Cyprus. Their so-called golden passports not only offered citizenship of the host country, but also visa-free travel to the UK, the European Union's Schengen Area, Hong Kong, Singapore and many other countries. It was something that displeased the EU, not happy at the idea of the EU becoming a safe haven for criminals and a dirty money destination. The event was organised by Henley & Partners, a London-based firm that promoted citizenship-by-investment programmes, offering those with deep pockets the possibility of owning a second passport, a good business that had made tens of millions of dollars for Henley in commissions gained from selling citizenship. The publicity attracted by certain of the bank's clients did not please John Francis, amongst them were firms in the British Virgin Islands, where the Malaysian crook Jho Low had set up a company to buy the mega-yacht paid in part from the billions he stole from MDB1 and the money borrowed from Pat Kennedy's bank. Low, now a fugitive from justice, held a Cyprus passport, obtained in exchange for a two million dollar investment. Cyprus, as a member of the EU, bestowed on its new citizens the freedom of movement throughout the rest of the Union. It was a lucrative business, and Cyprus had made six billion dollars in issuing several thousand passports as since it launched the scheme in 2013. A newcomer was Albania, a country with a troubled past, which was not yet a member of the EU, but hopefully soon would be and was already cashing in on the fact that Albanian citizens would have the right to live and work across the bloc once it entered the Union. The same went for Montenegro. It was a doubtful practice that opened the door to all sorts of shady candidates, especially those to whom money was no object. * * *\n\nFar away from the forests of the Amazon, other human beings seemed bent on Armageddon as the sky darkened over the Middle East, the cradle of human civilisation, where the risk of a new war rose to a most dangerous level. An attack on Saudi oilfields left dense black clouds rising above the burning oil pumping facilities of Abqaiq, the world's largest oil processing centre, after multiple strikes by unidentified missiles. Who was behind the attack that saw oil prices leap 15%? The world held its breath as fingers pointed to Iran. If the suspicions were confirmed the attack was insane, a provocation that would precipitate the region into a new and dangerous large scale war and just as Washington pondered a meeting with the Iranian leader to defuse tensions. The attack on Saudi Arabia's oil facilities threatened global oil supplies with more than 5% of global oil supplies knocked out. A massive series of explosions at the huge oil processing plant sent flames high into the sky from nineteen points of impact at Saudi Arabia's most important oil producing facilities. Evidence pointed to a concerted cruise missile attack from a direction north-west of the targets, that is the direction of Iraq and Iran, an information that contradicted claims by Yemeni rebels to the south who pointed to an attack by drones. Whatever the geopolitical consequences it should have underlined not only the world's addiction to oil, but its concentration in one of the planet's most dangerously volatile regions, with a history of 5,000 years of conflict, where the tectonic plates of antagonistic civilisations met. It was the underside of fossil fuels and the vast profits they brought, profits that had built palaces in the sands, profligate spending on luxuries, crumbs thrown to immigrant workers, dollars that enriched arms dealers and builders of fighter jets, smart bombs, helicopters and missiles. Where the US, Russia, China, the UK and Israel queued up at the trough, when they weren't shooting at each other, to get their share. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 5\n\n# RUSSIAN PALS\n\nEKATERINA AND JOHN WERE surprised to see Boris Johnson, following his landslide election victory, accompanied by his girlfriend Carrie Symonds, turn up at a lavish birthday party thrown by the Russian billionaire Alexander Lebedev at his mansion overlooking Regent's Park. Amongst the guests at Lebedev's vodka and caviar birthday party were former prime minister David Cameron and his wife Samantha, George Osborne, Peter Mandelson--the strange lord, Mick Jagger, Princess Eugenie, actors Matt Smith and Rosamund Pike, the model Lily Cole, comedians Eddie Izzard and David Baddiel, the artist Grayson Perry, sculptor Antony Gormley and many others. Galling for Britain's poor and gullible, to whom Bojo promised a better post-Brexit life, of course those who read the press were not surprised by his presence at the party, their newly elected prime minister was not a newcomer to Lebedev's bashes. As foreign secretary in Theresa May's government, he was famously photographed looking a little worse for wear on his way back from Lebedev's palazzo near Perugia, after the kind of party where gossip, intelligence and information, flowed as freely as the vodka. Whatever else the latest party was, it was an extraordinary demonstration of the influence of the Lebedev family on the cream of British society following Johnson's election win. 'Zdravstvuyte,' the leader of a 'people's government'. The latest fling must have been a heart warming scene for Vladimir Putin with whom the Russian exile maintained cordial relations, in spite of past differences, when his bank was raided at a time when Lebedev backed the independent Novaya Gazeta. The fact that he maintained good relations with the Kremlin should have been a warning, especially after going as far as publicly supporting Putin's annexation of Crimea, where Lebedev owned a hotel complex in the seaside resort of Alushta at which he staged a media symposium, telling Russian state TV that biased Western media had put out a false impression of the situation in the Crimea. Ekaterina reminded John she had spotted Maria Zakharova, Russia's foreign ministry spokesperson at Lebedev's book launch in Moscow. Zakharova's demure looks hid her reputation as a Kremlin hardliner, who had denied any Russian involvement in the poisoning of Sergei Skripal in Salisbury, even going as far as suggesting spies had kidnapped Skripal. Johnson had refused to publish the Russia Report, prepared by the previous parliament's intelligence and security committee, which examined Moscow's influence on British politics and how the Russian elite has established a powerful lobby in the UK, jetting politicians and celebrities around on private planes to lavish parties where Champagne and vodka flowed and caviar was ladled out. When Mayor of London, Johnson had made many trips to the Lebedevs' luxurious palazzo in Ronti, Italy, as well as to their parties in London. Amongst Lebedev's regular guests were luvvies like Keira Knightley, her husband James Righton, and Ralph Fiennes. George Osborne, recent UK finance minister under David Cameron, now editor of the London Evening Standard--owned by the Russian, Sarah Sands, who also edited the Standard and was now editor of BBC Radio 4's Today programme, as well as Amol Rajan, the former editor of the Independent--also owned by Lebedev, now the BBC's media editor. Lebedev, the KGB-man turned banking oligarch, aka 'the spy who came in for the gold', had during the Cold War worked at the Soviet embassy in London, not far from the offices of the Independent, situated on Kensington High Street, which he acquired in 2010, after taking a controlling interest in the London Evening Standard in 2009. 'Apropos Brexit,' John Francis cynically remarked, 'I suppose Bojo will join up with the US and Russia to invade Europe, free it from Brussels, then divide it in two occupied zones, we with the west and the Russians with the east.' Ekaterina flashed him daggers. Johnson, who had been expected to approve the publication of the Russia Report, compiled by a cross-party intelligence and security committee, on Russian activities in the UK, before parliament was dissolved, was suddenly in no hurry with sources saying it was vetoed with the excuse it could embarrass Donald Trump. Curiously, as if to confirm his bias, the newly elected PM insisted there was no evidence of Russian interference in the UK democratic process. Perhaps Johnson's presence was a way of paying back the Lebedevs, since the Evening Standard had endorsed Johnson as successor to Theresa May. But John Francis saw it differently--for a newly elected British prime minister to be seen celebrating with a former Russian intelligence officer, a graduate of the KGB's Red Banner Institute, who'd held the rank of lieutenant colonel, seemed, to say the least, incongruous. Boris Johnson was many things, an epicurean fun lover and Lothario, and why not. He did not hide the fact he enjoyed gregarity, including weekend trips to Italy, even if it meant flying as an anonymous economy class passenger, rubbing shoulders with the plebs. He was a familiar figure at the Palazzo Terranove in Perugia, guest of Evgeny Lebedev, the Russian media billionaire and socialite. It was a strange sortie for a British foreign secretary, the third most important minister in the government, a weekend with a Russian oligarch, a celebrity bash, where well-known personalities were present, including Katie Price and actress Joan Collins, and without a security detail for Bojo. Partying at Lebedev's restored palazzo at a time when the Kremlin was still under scrutiny wasn't exactly recommendable, soon after the Novichoc affair in Salisbury, when a former spy and his daughter were targeted by Russian FSB hitmen with the deadly nerve-agent. Returning to London, Johnson, the foreign secretary of Her Britannic Majesty's government, had caught the attention of the tabloid press when he was seen boarding a flight at Perugia San Francesco d'Assisi Airport, in Umbria, looking very much worse for wear, dishevelled, as though he had slept in his clothes, shuffling his way to the waiting aircraft. One passenger even described Bojo as weaving his way to the steps of the waiting plane 'as though he was about to throw up on the tarmac.' It was rumoured Lebedev, the owner of the London Evening Standard and the Independent newspapers, liked to invite people who would create a spectacle at his bacchanalian parties with very important people reduced to doing very foolish stunts. Lebedev had been a friend of Johnson's since Bojo's days as Mayor of London, at which time Boris had visit his Italian Palazzo, all expenses paid, it was no surprise Lebedev's dog was called Boris. Johnson could count on a certain number of Russian friends, including Alexander Temerko, an important donor to the Conservative Party, who had held senior posts at the Russian Defence Ministry and had been a top executive and director at the Russian oil and gas company Yukos. Temerko backed Johnson's Brexit position, an event that could only favour the Kremlin, one that weakened the EU, which inevitably led to questions of Russian influence in Downing Street, considering Temerko had donated more than a million pounds to Conservative Party funds. Temerko had risen to prominence in the Russia arms industry in the Wild West days that followed the collapse of the Soviet Union. At that time he was close to the Russian security services, as head of a state committee for military affairs, heading a strategic Russian state arms company, the now defunct Russkoye Oruzhie. His links with Yukos went back to the time when the now dissident billionaire Mikhail Khodorkovsky owned the oil company. Things went bad for Khodorkovsky after he attempted to build a political power base for himself and was arrested and jailed on trumped up fraud charges, leaving Temerko as the only remaining Yukos shareholder, and as such he negotiated its take over by the Kremlin. Khodorkovsky spent 10 years in jail whilst Temerko headed for London in 2005, where a Russian request for his extradition was debooted by the High Court. Temerko had first come into public eye during David Cameron's premiership, hitting the headlines of the tabloid press after paying 90,000 pounds for a bronze bust of his prime minister friend after a successful bid at a Conservative Party fundraising event. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 6\n\n# CHRISTMAS EVE\n\nWANGSHU CALLED HENRIQUE almost every day, soon she would be joining him in Brazil. Leaving Hong Kong and China would be hard and that Christmas she returned to her family for what would perhaps be one of the last they would spend together for a long time to come. Wangshu's family were Christians, part of a growing minority that counted according to some estimates more than 100 million faithful followers. Their local Anglican church was founded in the latter half of the 19th century which Wangshu and her parents attended for the Christmas service. Her three day break with her parents in Hangkou commenced with a late-night celebratory dinner at their favourite restaurant not far from the local seafood market, a guarantee of quality her father often repeated. Christmas was celebrated by many Chinese, not especially for religious reasons, but as a time for giving and enjoying themselves. It did not compete with their traditional Lunar New Year, but was a kind of foretaste of family reunions to come when hundreds of millions of Chinese would return home, for many their sole visit to their loved ones in the year . As Wangshu and her family enjoyed their festive Christmas Eve dinner, unknown to them, in another part of the city, a young woman was feeling unwell and running a low fever. She was one of the first persons to be infected by an unknown virus that had appeared in the conglomeration of Wuhan, of which Hankou was one of its three constituent parts. Five days later the city authorities put out a warning, an unknown form of pneumonia had been detected in the city's hospitals, shortly after the first report concerning an outbreak of disease was transmitted to the World Health Organisation. When Wangshu's condition showed no improvement she reported to her local hospital. After a summary examination she was told to rest and was sent home with an over-the-counter medication. But that was to no avail, her condition worsened, not only did she start to experience respiratory difficulties, but eating drinking became painful. By January 9, the media was broadcasting news about the appearance of a Sars-like virus, the Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome that killed 774 people a few years earlier, which was believed to have originated in an animal and scientists were racing to discover the source of the new virus. The first death was reported the next day along with the news the source was possibly a seafood market where game--meat from different wild animals, was also sold, in the centre of Wuhan. Wangshu was finally admitted to hospital where, despite her symptoms and the fact she had been present in a restaurant adjacent to the seafood market, she was not tested for the virus. It was understandable, the hospital was understaffed and overflowing with panicking patients, many of whom complained of symptoms similar to those infected by what was identified as a Coronavirus. After 12 days, her condition somewhat improved and she was discharged--without being tested and without any special precautions. The same day it was announced to the media the disease could be spread between humans and the numbers of those infected exploded. Wuhan, a city of 11 million souls, was placed under quarantine, under lockdown, all transport in and out of the city--trains, planes and buses was suspended and private cars banished from the streets. The lockdown impacted businesses, large and small, shops, restaurants, entertainment establishments, and individuals from all walks of life, preventing them from going about their daily lives and meeting with their friends and relatives. To Wangshu the streets of Wuhan resembled a scene from a Hollywood pandemic movie as furtive shadows ducked into doorways whenever a rare vehicle passed. At the same time frenetic work commenced on the building of a new 1,000 bed hospital to handle those infected by the disease, it would be operational in a week the authorities announced, and a second two weeks later. The seriousness of the situation was underlined when the New Year festivities were cancelled across the vast country and government declared a full scale health emergency, the highest, one which allowed quarantines and other strict measures. Wuhan was an important transport hub where the country's four cardinal points crossed, a few hours by high-speed train to most major cities, and the gateway to nine provinces. Pat feared the window for controlling the spread of the virus had already closed when Hong Kong's leading figure in infectious diseases declared after a visit to Wuhan: 'I've never felt scared. This time I'm scared.' What he found was shocking, instead of finding the city on a war footing he discovered chaos and incompetence. Streets, malls and restaurants were empty, worse still supermarket shelves were not restocked. Five million people had quit the city before the quarantine came into effect. Fear provoked the spread of wild rumours and emergency services were overwhelmed. Pat Kennedy feared the worse was yet to come, he knew a small fraction of a very large number is still a very large number, and decided to head for London with Lili and their children whilst there was time. There was no cure, no vaccine, only intensive care and antibiotics could help the seriously ill, attenuating side effects such as pneumonia\n\nIn the meantime Wangshu reassured Henrique she was slowly recovering though she was still coughing heavily and spitting blood. Her faith in her country's authorities, already shaken by the events in Hong Kong, was in tatters. Her only thought was to join Henrique in Brazil. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 2020\n\n# JANUARY\n\n# 1\n\n# SHANGHAI\n\nINI WAS A PRIVATE MULTINATIONAL investment and financial services banking group, though some of its holdings were historically over the counter banks--serving the public in Ireland, the Caribbean, and to a lesser extent the UK. Its headquarters were based in three cities--Hong Kong, London and Moscow, again for historical reasons, giving it a flexible structure compared to other similar banking institutions of the same size. Its diversified structure offered its customers a broad portfolio of services that ensured bank-client confidentiality in conformity with its century old tradition of banking secrecy via its offshore holdings. Pat Kennedy was more than concerned by the accumulation of events, first Brexit, then Hong Kong, and now the threat of a pandemic and the effects it would have on INI and its 50,000 employees who worked in its branches and subsidiaries based in more than two dozen different jurisdictions. It explained why Liam Clancy was sitting at a table in a relatively quiet corner of the M1NT Bar, on Fuzhou Road in Shanghai, staring at its shark tank as he waited for Pat Kennedy. The bar was one of the top end night spots in Shanghai, situated on the roof of the M1NT Tower, 24 floors up, overlooking the Bund and Nanjing Road with a spectacular 360 degree view of the lights of the city and the kitsch skyscrapers of Pudong across the river. The clubbers were mixed, Chinese and foreign, the younger crowd on the dance floor with the older watching from their tables. Liam spotted Pat and waved to him. 'So this is how the younger generation spends their evenings,' Pat said, forcing his voice above the music. Liam smiled sheepishly, it wasn't his first time in the bar, but since he was now a married man, he kept his visits strictly to business, when he joined the younger members of investment and banking world for drinks\n\nIn any case, this time around, it was Pat who had suggested the spot, which was strange as it wasn't exactly his thing. They ordered drinks, Liam a cocktail and Pat a fruit juice mix, it was rare he drank alcohol. They talked, admiring the panoramic view and the dance floor where a few attractive girls danced together. It was still early in the evening. 'So how is Paris Liam, and Camille, she's back from Colombia?' 'Yes Camille sends you her love, I spoke to her a short while ago, she's in Sommieres, a long weekend with her parents.' 'They're well?' 'The work on the museum is almost completed Ollie tells me.' 'That's right, everything seems to be going well and Ekaterina has been keeping behind the architects and the restorers.' Pat paused as he to stared at the shark tank. 'I suppose you wonder why I asked we meet here?' Liam smiled politely, that was true, it was not Pat's kind of hangout. 'Well, I suppose it's discrete, here. At least people can't hear what we're talking about,' he said smiling. Liam concurred with a smile. Sometimes the ways of Pat Kennedy were mysterious, not to say incomprehensible. 'I've been thinking Liam, you're what now, nearing forty. You're married, well-married if I may say so, a fine wife, and your business is successful.' Liam nodded wondering what he was coming to. 'You see the bank has now become something much bigger than could have been imagined in 2007, when you were in the trading room in Dublin.' 'A lot has changed,' Liam said wincing a little as he thought back to those days when he was a young anything goes trader. 'Time has come to look ahead, we've become a world class corporate bank, and I cannot be everywhere at once. In addition to that London, the UK, is leaving the EU and there will be a lot of changes,' he paused looking at Liam intensely, 'there's Hong Kong, then this virus thing ...\n\n'The plan was Angus would takeover in the City, he's got a lot of experience internationally, spent a good many years in Hong Kong. But now London out of the EU, Brussels will be restructuring it's financial sector and we shall be expanding our base in Amsterdam making it our new European headquarters which I have decided will be better headed by Angus.' Liam nodded. 'As you know I'm CEO in London, but the reality is I can't be everywhere at once, not only that, perhaps it's time I dedicated my life to something other than making money ...,' he said, then vaguely added, 'philanthropy.' Pat had already pulled back from the forefront of decision making over the past twelve months, turning his attention to more existential questions. He paused in a moment of reflection. 'That's why I want one of us to take over London--not one of those dyed in the wool Brit bankers.' Liam instinctively sat upright. 'By us I mean one of our Clan,' he said wryly, 'someone in whom I have absolute trust.' This was something entirely new. 'That person is you Liam.' It was cut and dry. Pat explained Liam would have to delegate his own business for the moment, from INI he would have a vast pool of talent to take care of his business in Paris. His main task would be to lead INI's emblematic City of London bank as the UK forged a new and uncharted future alone. It would be a daunting task making him one of the youngest CEOs of a major London bank. Pat would announce his position as CEO designate forthwith. Liam would take full control mid-year once Angus left for Amsterdam as head of INI's new European headquarters. * * *\n\nFrom his suite at the Peace Hotel on the Bund, Pat Kennedy wearily watched a morning summary of the nights events on the TV news, another night filled with scenes of violence followed by images of the city's workers clearing debris and removing graffiti. His troubles piled up as Hong Kong entered a new and violent phase. Hundreds of demonstrators had gathered outside Hong Kong's international airport intent on provoking havoc in an effort to draw international attention to their fight following violent down-town protests. The protests, sparked by Hong Kong's Beijing-backed government's refusal to back down on its extradition bill, had spread, to the great ire of Beijing, into a wider political movement. At the same moment hundreds demonstrators gathered in the city centre outside the British Consulate, bizarrely waving Union Jack flags and chanting God save the Queen. In the city's commercial district fire fighters struggled with a huge fire that burned for more than an hour as the city, previously reputed for its easygoing lifestyle and prosperity, descended into chaos with mob rule replacing the tourists and shoppers on its streets. Hardcore demonstrators had hurled molotov cocktails at government buildings. Police riposted with tear gas, aimed high powered jets of water mixed with dye from water cannons at the rioters, pursuing them into the city's MTR, where they pepper sprayed travellers and demonstrators alike. The violence was racked up a degree when police fired two warning shots into the sky. More than 30 people were admitted into hospital with injuries following the night's clashes. Beijing held its breath and in an attempt to strike fear into the demonstrators, its state news agency, Xinhua, posted a video on Twitter, it showed long lines of armoured troop carriers and trucks at the border in Shenzhen, ready to roll into Hong Kong. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 2\n\n# THE ROAD TO RICHES\n\nFOR SOME PEOPLE MAKING THEIR first billion took a whole lifetime, but Liam Clancy made his in just a few years. He had been a slow starter, his curve long and flat before it went ballistic. He, like a few others, had made it to the bottom rung of a very exclusive club, that of the very rich, which counted amongst its members household names such as Jeff Bezos with Amazon, Bill Gates with Microsoft, Larry Ellison with Oracle, and Mark Zuckerberg of Facebook. Lesser high profile figures included Liam's friend and mentor Pat Kennedy along with the members of their Clan. The Clan members were part of a new class of billionaires who had made it inside a decade, in contrast to Gates and Ellison, who during the personal computing boom of 1990s, had taken much longer in relative terms to make their first billion. As for old school investors like Warren Buffet, Zara founder Amancio Ortega, Mexican telecoms tycoon Carlos Slim Helu and casino baron Sheldon Adelson, it had taken them decades to accumulate their respective fortunes. The total number of billionaires worldwide exceeded two thousand with a combined wealth that would soon hit the one trillion dollar figure. What had changed a club long dominated by Westerners was the arrival of newcomers from Asia, amongst them were Jack Ma of Alibaba--worth near on 40 billion, Ma Huateng from Tencent--also worth 40 billion, and the Indian business magnate Mukesh Ambani who had recently toppled Jack Ma as Asia's richest man. France's Bernard Arnault, joined Bezos and Gates at the top of the list, each with a fortune of 100 billion dollars, which could be measured, in more human terms, as the life time's earnings of 3,000,000 average Americans. In Arnault's case, his fortune was worth more than 3% of France's economy. Just or unjust, whatever, there had always been pharaohs. Pat Kennedy's fortune was now approaching 30 billion dollars, which was more due to the recent explosion of asset values and financial markets than his own efforts. He was no Donald Trump, Pat studiously avoided upsetting the apple cart, as he liked to say, in fact the less he interfered, or the more he was absent, the faster the worth of his bank and its investments grew. Money attracted money as every member of the Clan could testify, and the same rule was valid for most of the two thousand plus billionaires spread across the planet. There were not only men in that exclusive club, there was also China's richest woman, Yang Huiyan, not yet forty years old, vice-chairman of China's largest property developer, Country Garden Holdings, who over the course of the first 96 hours of 2018 had seen her fortune rise two billion dollars, thanks to a surge in the value of her company's shares recently introduced on Hong Kong's Hang Seng Index, which had incidentally earned Pat Kennedy's bank, INI, a tidy commission. Yang's younger sister was a friend of Lili's. Yang, the daughter of self-made Cantonese property developer, who like many of the rich was media-shy, became China's richest person in 2007, when she was just 25, when her father had transferred 70% of his holdings to her before taking Country Garden public in Hong. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 3\n\n# A NEW EMPEROR\n\nTHERE WAS LITTLE DOUBT ABOUT the accuracy of Pat Kennedy's analysts. The report that had lain on his desks for some weeks was a constant reminder that whatever else happened, or momentarily turned his attention, at the end of the new decade China was set to become the world's number one economic power, which explained many things, starting with Donald Trump's trade war designed to put a brake on the Middle Kingdom's ambitions. Over the previous four decades, China's economy jumped from 2% to 15% of the global wealth, dwarfing countries like the UK and France, making Boris Johnson's post-Brexit ambitions puny. Xi Jinping's target was no less than world leadership by the middle of the century, its arbiter. And not only in economic affairs, but also militarily, leading the conquest of space, and in science and technology. Xi's New Silk Roads project was conceived to meet all of China's huge needs, in one direction a continuous supply of natural resources, in the other access to the world's markets, a network of maritime, rail and energy routes, a trillion dollar investment. It seemed that only an unforeseen event could stop China, a proverbial black swan, and as things stood there was nothing on the horizon. But by definition a black swan did not exist, until it appeared. There were few obstacles to Xi's ambition, at least at home, the recently amended constitution ensured his power indefinitely. In addition technology gave the age old dream of total control a new meaning--thanks to artificial intelligence and surveillance techniques, including facial recognition, which would have each individual citizen under quasi permanent observation, the realisation of George Orwell's 1984, each person watched by Big Brother, from birth to death, every detail recorded, from payment of taxes, to credit and reimbursement of debt, respect of law and public order, and family and leisure activities. Strangely it recalled to John's vision Cornucopia, a workless society, a system of privileges, rewards and punishments, and one that would ensure social adhesion. In short a totalitarian system. The question, as always, was what came first, the individual or collective interest, where should the line be drawn. Pat's deep interest in history told him there were many roads to the future, many models of society. In the past the human ant heap had adapted to change and had done so since the dawn of civilisation. He looked across the ocean to the world that had existed before Columbus, nothing was more striking than the difference between the civilisations that clashed in that confrontation between two worlds that changed history. Even though Xi's China was intolerant of deviation, it was not that different to that of the West, after all it had brought prosperity to hundreds of millions of its citizens, forceably dragging them from the misery of a dying sclerotic imperial system, which was more than the USSR had done for its citizens in the dystopian world invented by Lenin, Stalin and their henchmen. China's leaders were now turning their attention to the problem of their country's environment, which had been deeply degraded in the race to industrialisation and modernisation. Already the country had become the world's largest market for electric battery powered vehicles, and was now planning its transformation towards hydrogen with a plan to put one million low emission hydrogen powered cars on its road by 2030. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 4\n\n# TROUBLE AFOOT\n\nPAT KENNEDY WAS BEGINNING TO have serious doubts about remaining in Hong Kong, as he watched the real time images flash across his TV screen, street scenes worthy of a Bruce Lee gangster film, hundreds of white-shirted triad members armed with bamboo poles and metal pipes rampaging through the city's MTR transport stations, brutally attacking all those who had the misfortune to cross their path. It reminded him of recent scenes he had witnessed in Paris, when Yellow Jacket protesters had sackaged the Champs Elysee, which in appearance seemed dangerous, in reality more impressive than anything else, the usual French reaction to unpleasant political decisions. Hong Kong was however different, and Zhongnanhai, the official residence of Xi Jinping, General Secretary of the Communist Party of China, situated in the Forbidden City at the heart of the state apparatus, was furious with the development of the situation, and its reaction could be violent as seen by its obvious instrumentation of triad gangsters, attacking innocent passers-by in downtown Hong Kong. China's great power stance was embarrassed by the events in the former British colony, coming just as Beijing was flexing its muscles in the South China Sea and the Straits of Taiwan. Strangely enough Hong Kong's police were mysteriously absent and emergency services nonresponsive to the thousand of calls from the public as frightened and injured Hongkongers sought help and the usual calm of the city shattered. The cause of the riots was the unswerving complaisance of the Special Region's governing body, the Legislative Council, LegCo, dominated by the pro-Beijing camp, under the leadership of Carrie Lam, LegCo's chief executive. To outsiders the reaction to the new laws could have seemed exaggerated, after all Hong Kong was now a Chinese territory, even if it was a Special Administrative Region according to the agreement signed in 1997 between Beijing and London, which foresaw a 50 year transition period, of which nearly half had passed. To Pat it was the perfect illustration of not only how small events could have great political impact, but was also indicative of the incapacity of the system and its law enforcement agencies to control events without resorting to violence. Little did Pat realise all that was about to change for the worse. As the Chinese New Year approached the viral epidemic in Wuhan was transformed into a major crisis and Carrie Lam's reaction was to announce the government would raise its response to its highest level, 'emergency', closing schools for two weeks, in the hope of preventing an epidemic of the deadly coronavirus in Hong Kong. The reaction to the threat was a contrast to Hong Kong's other drama when determined demonstrators broke into the Legislative Council building and tore down portraits of leaders, sprayed slogans on walls and draped a British flag across the desk of Andrew Leung, President of the Legislative Council. The images from Wuhan showed another kind of reaction as the contagion spread, fear and helplessness, as the government in Beijing raised the state of emergency, isolating Wuhan, cutting road, rail and air links with the rest of the country, at a moment that should have been a period of happiness and rejoicing to celebrate the Year of the Rat. News that China had suspended all tours, domestic and overseas, increased anxiety and people quit the streets of Hong Kong as fear of the virus started to spread. Pat looked up the meaning of the new virus, one that infected animals and people, an RNA Coronavirus that broke into cells of its host and used them to reproduce itself. It sounded like something from a zombies movie. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 5\n\n# GOODBYE EUROPE\n\nAS UK PARTIES FOUGHT OVER BREXIT or not to Brexit the reasons for the crisis were overlooked as was the meaning of the European Union and the extraordinary benefits it had brought to post-Cold War Europe which was enjoying one of the greatest periods of peace and prosperity in its long history. That said many Europeans and Britons had missed the boat for a number of complex reasons, and amongst them were those who voted to in favour of the UK quitting the EU, including factory workers, pensioners and those nostalgic for a past, which if examined was much grubbier, as Pat Wolfe knew, he'd lived in those days, in soot begrimed smoggy London, in a class ridden society where few, very few, working class kids ever got to university, where continental holidays were reserved for the privileged, where news was broadcast by a small number of radio and TV channels, where hundreds of thousands of men worked in coal mines, where few working class families owned cars. Yes, that was the UK under Harold Wilson and his predecessors of all political leanings. On January 1, 1973, Pat Wolfe had already taken advantage of Britain's new membership of the EU by moving to France, to take up a new job as an ambitious young engineer who had already visited the four corners of the planet in the course of his work. Today that seemed banal, but then it was an extraordinary exploit for a 32 year old from a very ordinary not especially privileged London family. It was thanks to a series of chances linked to being in the right place and at the right time, including meeting the president of the high-tech American firm, who hired him to set up an office for them in Europe. In the 40 years that followed he watched the transformation of Europe, from Helsinki to Lisbon and from Dublin to Moscow. It was impossible to deny that almost everyone had benefited from those years. He witnessed the fall of the Soviet Union and the rise of China in the course of his many travels in the pursuit of business. So what made those who voted for Brexit do that? Why were the divisions so deep? Was it the fault of globalisation, deindustrialisation, immigration, austerity, or post-imperial depression? The UK emerged from WWII victorious with its industrial capacity relatively intact. The postwar economic miracle and full employment had heightened expectations for a long period of prosperity. It contrasted with the rest of Europe which was harder hit by war, suffered defeat, occupation and large scale destruction. The British Empire was transformed into the Commonwealth, over which Queen Elizabeth II stood as a symbolic figurehead, giving the UK aura of greatness. The West won the Cold War, and Francis Fukuyama published his book The End of History. At the same time globalisation commenced, slowly, as low cost labour attracted manufacturing to Asia. In 1997, Tony Blair, as leader of New Labour was elected and Cool Britannia was born. That came crashing to an end in 2008 with the Financial Crisis and the quasi collapse of the British banking system. From the ashes rose platform capitalism and its variants in the shape of Amazon, Uber and Deliveroo, and if that was not enough there was China, which attained maturity, casting its long shadow over manufacturing, from iPhones to just about everything else. If it hadn't been for its voice in the European Union, Britain would have become a second rate power. The only trouble was the Brits did not know it\n\nThe leaders of the six founding nations--West Germany, France, Italy, the Netherlands, Belgium and Luxembourg, signed the Europe Declaration in 1951, leading to the foundation of the European Community. It stated that the signatories 'give proof of their determination to create the first supranational institution and that thus they are laying the true foundation of an organised Europe', in which the institutions of the embryonic EU would operate over and above national politics. Of course the UK didn't need Europe in 1951, it was still bathed in the glow of victory and the sense of empire, even if 'The Jewel in the Crown' had just gained its independence. Europe had failed to convince, not only Britain, but also the rest of its members, that together they formed the most powerful economic force on the face of the planet. Disillusioned voters--for the most part older, ill-informed and less educated, blamed the EU for all their ills, decided by referendum to quit the Union in 2016. Four years later, after a hard fought rearguard action by the Remain camp, Boris Johnson led the UK out of the EU on January 30, 2020. Johnson planned a trade deal with the US to compensate for the loss of the EU market, blindly ignoring the fact that 45% of British exports went to the EU and 53% of its imports, compared to 18% and 11% with the US. Changing that would at best be a very uphill if not impossible task, one that would cost the UK dearly. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 6\n\n# A QUESTION OF MORALITY\n\nFASTER THAN COULD BE IMAGINED society was being transformed into 'us and them'. Camille explained, 'us' were people like her family, who had been used to their role, in Sommieres, where for generations they had been the ruling class, at the top of the heap in their chateau, their family home surrounded by hundreds of hectares of rich land worked by 'them' who lived the houses owned by the chatelain that dotted his land and those in the nearby village. No one questioned the distribution of roles, 'us', the cure, local notables like the doctor, lawyer, merchants, shopkeepers, school teachers, tradesmen, craftsmen and farmworkers. It was a system that had functioned, in the case of Camille's family, for near on one thousand years. Liam remarked the Revolution had probably changed that, but not as much as history would like us to believe. After the Revolution, Napoleon introduced a great many reforms, then life continued more or less as before. Camille's family was almost untouched in their daily life by the industrial revolution in the North, though the railways and then steamships brought them new prosperity, as did France's colonies, especially Indochina. In more recent times her family fortunes faded, slowly. 'Don't get me wrong,' she told Liam, 'with our chateau and estate we were not about to become homeless, but the world was changing fast and we had not moved with it.' When Liam came into her life everything changed. How that happened was a long story, but the important thing was the contrast between Liam's background and her own. It was said that 30,000 middle to old aged 'white' men ruled the UK, 0.1% of the population. It was no doubt the same in France and most other countries of the world, though they were certainly not all 'white', they owned more than the tens or hundreds of millions of their fellow citizens put together, enjoyed more privileges, and probably had more fun than the other 99.9%. Nothing had changed since George Orwell wrote, 'We have got to fight against privilege, against the notion that a half-witted public schoolboy is better for command than an intelligent mechanic.' He argued that England was governed by an 'unteachable' ruling class that too frequently escaped into 'stupidity'. He was wrong, however, when he said only a socialist revolution could unleash the 'native genius' of the English people. Where, 'the bankers and the larger businessmen, the landowners and dividend-drawers, the officials with their prehensile bottoms, will obstruct for all they are worth'. After all he was a Communist at a time when Stalin was Britain's ally in the terrible struggle against Hitler. He misguidedly imagined the emergence of a new middle-class, one that blended in with the old working class, bringing forth 'new blood, new men, new ideas', it was a pity that the Labour Party, led by Jeremy Corbyn, an old time fellow traveller, not learnt the lesson. Orwell saw England as a 'rich man's paradise', it was and still is the best part of a century later, still entrenched in privilege and class, a land where inequality and poverty continues to reign, obsessed by enforcing codes of behaviour calculated to create a sense of overpowering deference. At the summit of the structure were the royals, flaunting their extraordinary privilege and wealth, lauded by the media, fawned upon by the people, a family that had done absolutely nothing to be where they were, one with more than its fair share of dead beats, from, in recent times, the Duke of Windsor to Margaret, Anne, Andrew and a confused Harry. The UK lurched towards a pre-Christmas election and the climax of its badly thought out Brexit, led by one of the strangest prime ministers it ever had, in the form of Boris Johnson, a public schoolboy camping the role of Winston Churchill, playing with the future of millions people, those whose future had been put in jeopardy by another of his Johnson's class, David Cameron. The memories of empire, the vestige of which was a very loosely knit group of former colonies and possessions, grandly named the Commonwealth, which threatened to submerge the former seat of the empire with its teeming millions, often portrayed by writers born in its lands as a replication of the British class system, writers who lamented over their personal miseries as students in bedsitters, ignoring the fact that countless other students lived like them, forgetting the days when millions of miners and steelworkers slaved in pits or before furnaces to provide their electricity and comforts, minimal though they were. They were not just 'poor wog(s), literally starving, and very cold', they were like many millions of Britons slaving in their class ridden society. The utopian society offered by Johnson was a pipe dream invented by his fertile mind, who with his slogan 'Get Brexit Done', imagined he would transform the UK into a Singapore-on-Thames, in the forlorn belief he could make Britain great again. Highly improbable given so many other populist leaders had failed, given the mountain of difficulties and competition facing modern societies. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 7\n\n# ANOTHER OLIGARCH\n\nTHE ROYAL COUPLE STAYED AT the Mille Fleurs estate in North Saanich in British Columbia, Canada, an idyllic retreat with breathtaking views and private beaches, owned by Frank Giustra, or his friend, Yuri Borisovich Milner, a Russian oligarch, or perhaps both. The story interested at least three of the Clan members, firstly Pat Kennedy, who had been dubbed Knight of the Realm by the Queen of England herself; Liam, now the son-in-law of a French nobleman; and Ekaterina, John's Russian wife, who, if they had anything in common with the royals and the oligarch, it was their considerable wealth and the link to Yuri Milner. The arrangement at Mille Fleurs was set up by the Canadian music producer David Foster, a friend of the oligarch. But what was the link between the couple and Foster? Well it's not complicated, Camille told them, Foster, aged 69, five times married, the fourth was top model Yolanda Hadid, mother of Gigi Hadid and Bella Hadid. His fifth wife, Hollywood actress Katharine McPhee, aged 35, went to high school with Meghan in Los Angeles. The couple were married at Saint Yeghiche an Armenian church in London's Kensington district. The 18 million dollar house lay on a point of Vancouver Island, about 100 kilometres south of the city of Vancouver itself, just a few kilometres from the dividing line between Canada and the US in Swartz Bay. Foster's links to the world of showbiz were considerable. Himself, he started out as a pop musician, before graduating to businessman in a joint venture with Warner Brothers and his own record company. In 2010, he was nominated to the Songwriters Hall of Fame, and then Hollywood's Walk of Fame. The stars Foster produced for included: Alice Cooper, Christina Aguilera, Celine Dion, Whitney Houston, Jennifer Lopez, Kenny Rogers, Rod Stewart, Madonna, Olivia Newton-John, Michael Jackson and Barbara Streisand. Yuri Borisovich Milner's history was not unlike that of Ekaterina's, the son of privileged intellectuals, though he was older and his parents were Jewish, he studied at Moscow State University, then went on to work at the Lebedev Physical Institute, one of the institutes of the Russian Academy of Sciences. Milner then quit Russia for the Wharton School after which he embarked on a business career when he was made CEO of Alliance-Menatep, an investment brokerage company belonging to then oligarch Mikhail Khodorkovsky, during the days of Boris Yeltsin, when Russia resembled the Wild West. By 1997, Milner was the deputy chairman and the head of the investment division of Menatep Bank, around which time John remembered it being perceived as crime linked by the international banking community. In 1999, he set up an Internet company, a trajectory on which, ten years later with his Mail.ru Group, he succeeded in launching an initial public offering on the London Stock Exchange with market valuation of 5.6 billion dollars. As co-founder of the Breakthrough Prize, which rewarded top scientists for their work in a glitzy ceremony, each laureate receiving three million dollars. Miller's own worth hovered around four billion dollars. His DST Global private investment fund held an 8% stake in Facebook and 5% of Twitter, which he sold at a substantial profit. Other investments included: Alibaba, WhatsApp and Spotify. Milner as Russia's most powerful tech investor enjoyed close ties to Vladimir Putin and the backing of VTB, a state-controlled bank, and that of Gazprom's Investholding, for his projects. Thus indirectly, Russia had a toehold on Britain's royalty, in addition to its presence in the City of London, and its links to the Conservative Party, now led by Boris Johnson. Milner's reach could be measured by the star-studded guest list on his mega-yacht, the Andromeda, which was registered in the British Cayman Islands, to a company called Proxima Y Ltd, which shared a PO Box with his investment fund DST Global. Ekaterina first noticed Milner's wife, Yulia, when she held exhibitions around the world and, in 2007, participated in the prestigious Venice Biennale, at which she was the youngest artist present with her digital and multimedia art works. 'They live in California, in a one hundred million dollar mansion in Los Altos,' remarked Ekaterina. 'Jealous?' said John. 'No, are you?' she replied haughtily. 'Badminton players,' noted John ignoring her with a smile. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 8\n\n# A BLACK SWAN\n\nIT WAS WORSE THAN A HOLLYWOOD disaster film. The virus spread like wildfire. On January 7, the World Health Organisation announced a new virus had been identified. The first death occurred in China January 11. The WHO said the Coronavirus could be the 'Disease X', a pandemic that wreak havoc across the world, one that could kill tens of millions. The same day the number of cases in Italy rocketed and financial markets panicked, the country's MIB Index dropped a whopping 6%, the VIX shot up 8% the following day, gold rose to a seven-year high, and oil prices plunged. By the time Wall Street closed that same evening the Dow Jones marked its third worse point drop in history. The crash came after Wall Street's main stock indexes had risen to record highs on a wave of optimism that the global economy would continue on its upward path after an initial hit. More than one trillion dollars had been wiped off world stock markets in the space of 24 hours, after Italy's industrial heartlands Lombardy and Veneto went into lockdown with the announcement top club football matches would be played to empty stadiums causing shares in Juventus to fall 11% before trading was suspended. The rest of Europe followed suit with Frankfurt and Madrid falling by 4%, Paris 3.9% and London 3.3%. Technology companies were hard hit by the sell-off that Monday with Apple down 4.8%. Airlines and cruise ship operators also slumped with American Airlines losing 8.5%, Carnival 9.4% and Royal Caribbean Cruises 9%. Over the next four days the markets continued to fall as the disease spread and by the time markets closed in New York, Friday evening, the rout had reached epic proportions with the Dow marking up its biggest points loss in history, bringing its losses to 12%, and the end wasn't in sight. It was the worst fall since 2008 at the onset of the financial crisis. If that isn't a feekin black swan event, then I don't feekin know what is, Pat mumbled to himself as he watched the Wall Street closing bell on Bloomberg television, at his home on Cheney Walk in London where he and his family had taken precautionary refuge. It was one of those events that marked a generation, like the 2001 attack on the World Trade Center in New York, or Lehmann Brothers in 2008, but in slow motion. Suddenly Brexit wasn't looking like such a good idea thought Pat with a grim smile, as fears of the global economic impact would hit the City of London as more and more cases of the virus were reported from the Middle East as it spreads to Iran, Iraq, and Kuwait, raising fears the global economic impact would be more severe than initially envisaged. Already warnings were coming in from big businesses with Jaguar Land Rover having to fly components out of China in suitcases as factory shutdowns brought production lines to a standstill. * * *\n\nPat setup a temporary residence in London when the news from Hong Kong worsened, the virus spread and the economy had ground to a standstill transforming Hollywoodian images of Contagion into reality. The offices at the Gould Tower had been INI's headquarters before Pat moved it to Hong Kong and it seemed like nothing had changed as his chauffeur drove him into the City from Cheyne Walk each morning. Panic had broken out in Hong Kong as rumours galloped with consumers buying staple goods, border crossing points with the Mainland were closed, airlines slashed flights in and out of the territory, port authorities closed terminals and cruise ships were quarantined. Cathay, Virgin, American, United, British and Air France joined the list of companies that suspended links to Hong Kong and China. Supermarket shelves were empty as as not only masks disappeared, but foodstuffs like rice and packet noodles were running out. Hotels emptied as tourist arrivals came to a stop, shopping malls were deserted, and trade dived making it the worse crisis since 2003 when the city was hit by the SARS epidemic. It couldn't have been worse coming hot on the heels of the demonstrations, a full scale recession was descending on the city as economists slashed their growth forecasts with consumer spending and tourism going into free fall. Fears that it could get much worse grew if the spread of the virus was not brought under control and a Wuhan type situation developed, capital of Hubei Province, the home to 60 million people, with a full scale lockdown. Soon the whole region was impacted as the flow of Chinese tourists to Thailand dried up, a country whose tourist arrivals had grown to 2.7% of GDP from China alone. According to Fu Yu of the University of Macau, there were striking similarities between the SARS virus of 2003 and the Wuhan Coronavirus: 'The first case in both incidents appeared around December; both local governments involved (Guangzhou and Wuhan) concealed information on the epidemic for a long while; both governments falsely claimed the viruses were not infectious or claimed there was no human-to-human transmission; both government held large gatherings with tens of thousands people involved during the critical early transmission period; both incidents concerned the illegal sale of live wildlife, and both local governments had turned a blind eye to that illegal trade.' The first case reported in Wuhan occurred on December 31. Within a week 60 suspected cases were declared and one person had died. By January 16, two were dead and 41 cases confirmed. At the end of the month, more than 23,000 were infected and over 80 dead, a full scale epidemic had taken hold of the city and its surroundings. The death rate was in the order of 2%, comparable to the Spanish Flu pandemic in 1918, which swept the world killing tens of millions. Yes it's a fucking blood bath, Pat mumbled to himself as he dragged himself off to bed, and it's just the beginning, maybe it's time to head for South America. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 9 PANDEMIC\n\nTHE KENNEDYS HAD SPENT SATURDAY evening at John's place, a few houses down the road, where Ekaterina had organised a buffet dinner for Padraig and Anna who were in London for the weekend. Hopefully to forget the Coronavirus and politics, and to talk about more cheerful subjects, namely their own projects. Anna bubbled over as she informed them Spain and Mexico had at long last signed a memorandum of understanding concerning the search for the Nuestra Se\u00f1ora del Juncal, a treasure ship that had sunk in a storm in October 1631 on its return voyage to Spain loaded with more than one hundred tons of gold and jewellery. She told them how just 39 of the 300 persons aboard survived the storm to tell the story of the tragedy. Now, as an underwater archaeologist, she had been invited to join the team of Spanish experts who would participate in search for the Juncal, a project that had been the object of two decades of research and discussion, finalised after Spain and Mexico had concluded an agreement on their common underwater cultural heritage. As a consultant for Spain's National Underwater Archaeology Museum, Anna had worked closely with its equivalent, Mexico's National Institute of Anthropology and History. Her experience with the excavation and recovery of the Espiritu Santo would be invaluable plus the fact and Pat Kennedy had offered the use of Las Indias in the salvage operations. It was then the turn of Scott Fitznorman who had just returned from Cairo. He enthused about the new billion dollar Grand Egyptian Museum, scheduled to open later in the year with nearly 100,000 objects on display, including some 5,000 from Tutankhamen's tomb. He told them that more than 90% of the construction work was completed and a great many artefact had been transferred to the new site at Giza. It was late when Pat and Lili returned to their place on Cheney Walk, just a few doors from John's home. As Pat opened the door his phone buzzed. It was Angus calling from Hong Kong. 'Have you see the news Pat?' 'No,' he replied. 'The shits hit the fan Pat.' 'What,' exclaimed Pat wondering what he was talking about. 'Switch on Bloomberg. The markets have gone wild, selling everything.' 'How come?' 'The Saudis have started a price war with Russia, the Crown Prince is flooding the markets with their oil.' 'They want to strangle shale.' 'Right.' 'I'll speak to Sergei.' Pat went to his office, zapped his Bloomberg. Red was flashing everywhere. Oil had plunged 34.54%, TOCOM oil down 32.49%, markets were hit by a frenzy of panic selling with Footsie futures down 8,63%, Dax 8.05% and Nasdaq futures down 4.82%. Gold was up to 1700 dollars. 'Okay Angus, have you spoken to Liam?' 'Not yet.' 'I've just left him. I'll call him. He won't be home yet.' 'Fine.' 'Don't panic. I'll get into the bank early with Liam. Collect all the info you can and we'll set up a video conference to decide what's next.' It was nearly three in the morning when Pat turned in setting the alarm for six when he would head into the bank's HQ at the Gould Tower in the City. He had difficulty sleeping as he feared the tipping point was at hand, with a market crash added to a pandemic what happened next was anyone's guess. He had difficulty sleeping, the market was in uncharted territory, was this the event he feared, he had planned for, but hoped would never happen. As he fell into a restless sleep Vincent van Gogh's Wheatfield with Crows drifted into his dreams, the crows resembled black swans, it was the artist's last painting before he shot himself, 'feckin black swans,' Pat mumbled looking up at the dark sky, above a wind swept cornfield, cut by a road leading to nowhere. The swans--a market crash, a pandemic, he tried to figure out what the others were--the bankruptcy of American shale oil producers, transport disrupted, factories closed, stalled consumption, economic collapse, what happened then was anyone's guess. Saudi Arabia and Russia could weather the storm as demand went off a cliff and prices collapsed. Some ecologists said it would change the way we consume fossil fuels, but what about the small oil producing nations, their revenues would collapse, tens, hundreds of thousands would lose their jobs when oil exports halted. Those countries like Nigeria and Angola would be strangled and social order would collapse. Markets were seized with fear, there was a rush to liquidity, to cover margin calls and dump travel linked stocks. It was strange there was no rush to gold and government debt, instead the rush was into cash. They were facing what John warned was extreme market dislocation. As for John he feared a total lockdown, then consoled himself by remembering William Shakespeare had to quarantine himself during plague outbreaks whilst he wrote King Lear. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# FEBRUARY\n\n# 1\n\n# BUNKER MENTALITY\n\nWHEN THAT PERENNIAL ECONOMIST Nouriel Roubini, who came to fame after predicting the 2008 crisis, suddenly popped up, John was comforted in his belief that something extremely serious was in the making. It was evident this time around few needed or even heeded Roubini's dramatic new warnings. It was clear to even the most obtuse that the shock to the global economy by the Coronavirus would have deeper and longer lasting effects than the 2008 global financial crisis or the Great Depression, both of which had taken time to impact the world economy, whereas the effect of new crisis resonated almost instantaneously, auguring the collapsed of world GDP and the frightening prospect of unemployment reaching 20%, as the US Treasury secretary, Steve Mnuchin, had warned. It came at a bad moment in the run up to the US presidential elections, which could encourage America's enemies to attempt new adventures, not to speak of the troubles it could engender for Boris Johnson's Brexit. It was a fatalistic moment spurring certain to pull out their plans for the collapse they had feared and predicted, they included Cold War bunkers in South Dakota or in Eastern Europe, command centres that had been a long-standing attraction for tourists, and which had more recently found a new life, refuges for collapsonauts of all ilks, preparing themselves for the coming apocalypse, the breakdown of law and order, that until so very recently was the theme of Hollywood disaster movies featuring imaginary pandemics and zombie invasions. Perhaps the spectre of all out nuclear war had receded, though there was still the risk of local wars or accidents with people like Kim Jong-un and Ayatollahs of every shape and form. The real risk lay in civil disorder provoked by climate change, economic collapse, pandemics or natural causes, and there were plenty of high-net-worth individuals willing to invest in high-security shelters to protect themselves and their families from the multiple risks taking form on the horizon. All of a sudden it was happening, and it wasn't difficult to imagine looters if not zombies roaming the streets. A new real estate market was born for enterprising individuals catering for the seemingly unwarranted fears of survivalists. But were they unwarranted? Scattered across isolated regions of the US were the vestiges of past wars, army bases, strategic control centres, rocket silos, weapons storage facilities, vast underground structures in reinforced concrete with huge steel doors designed to resist the explosion of tactical nuclear weapons. Amongst the many companies in INI's Panama portfolio was Salvos Holdings and as the name suggested it was a holding company specialised in the construction of community retreats where the rich could weather the storm in the style and comfort they were used to. Their sites in Colombia and Ireland offered the protection of the mines cut deep into the mountains protected with automatic airlocks and blast doors. The ultimate protection. But what was the use of protection if after the apocalypse there was nothing to permit the survivors to resume their lives. The mine itself was a bunker, a bomb shelter, where the community could survive the initial impact and the fallout of the collapse. It was why the campuses, Salvator Mundi Ganay and Salvator Mundi Titian, seats of knowledge and learning, stood at the centre of Pat Kennedy's plans, the foundations around which future cities would be built. Arks that would save all that was valuable of human civilisation. Pat didn't have time for conspiracies, Nostradamus, biblical predictions or little green men, but he did believe in the reality of economic crises, disease, natural disasters and above all human folly, it was why he saw planning and anticipation as the fundamental tenets of survival. History was riddled with the collapse of empires and dynasties, and not only in the distant past, the most recent was the USSR, after the British Empire, the Third Reich, the Austro-Hungarian Empire, the Russian Imperial Empire. The first death occurred in China January 11, three months later nearly 4,500,000 people had been infected and over 250,000 dead. And when the lights went out, when the economy crashed for good, gold, paper money would be worthless. What was the use of a bank account when civilisation hit the wall. Arms would be of more use, to fight off Mad Max and his horde of desperadoes, have-nots, losers, pillagers, rapists and murderers. When the collapse came, the breakdown of the state, the end of civilisation as we know it, the only law would be that of the strong, as in the Bronze Age collapse thought Pat Kennedy as he boarded his jet with his wife and children--destination Bogota. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# 2\n\n# OIL & MAN\n\nMICHAEL MOORE'S NEW DOCUMENTARY film Planet of the Humans posed an existential question--what if green energy could not save the planet? It was becoming evident that the world could not exist without fossil fuels in the foreseeable future, the pandemic showed what would happen if those fuels were not readily available, when governments put their country's into confinement, which was in a sense an exercise that illustrated what happens when the transport stops--the environment is cleaner but at what cost, economies stop, tens of millions of jobs are lost, commodity values collapse. How could wind farms, solar panels and other green energy sources replace oil, gas and coal? Life would quickly collapse, fast backwards, could humanity maintain life as we know it? In Moore's own words, 'It seems like we have been losing the battle. We are in deep, deep trouble.' Planet of the Humans argued that the environmental movement's hypothesis built around solar, wind power nad other renewable energy sources was all wrong, as they depended on electricity generated from coal and natural gas to produce them, back them up, to drive electric and all the other systems that depend on electricity, from computers to lighting and the things on which everyday life depended. It completed the circle with ZPG or better still reduced population growth. 'Infinite growth on a finite planet is suicide,' he said. Moore explained that he, like many other people, thought electric cars were a good idea, 'but I didn't really think about where is the electricity coming from?' He assumed solar panels would last for ever, but he didn't know what went into the making of them, the raw materials, including quartz, and the fossil fuels needed to manufacture the panels. In the case of the oil bust, it was like Jurassic Park when the power was switched off, the electrified fencing shut down and the dinosaurs escaped and all hell was let loose. More technically it was the functioning of catastrophes, once the system broke the return to the prior situation was almost impossible. It was the same with oil, once the dinosaurs were let out all hell broke loose. Prices plunged into the negative zone for the first time in history. Oil was the most important commodity on international markets, since crude oil was vital to the functioning of developed economies and the driver of emerging economies. There were several different types of crude oil, in Europe there was Brent Crude, in the US West Texas, in Russia Urals and in the Middle East Saudi Arabian light and heavy, in addition there were three or four dozen grades produced by a whole range of countries from Libya to Angola, Venezuela to Mexico, Iran to Algeria, and many others. The prices of each varied from one to two and the cost of extracting the oil from the ground from three dollars a barrel in Saudi Arabia to ten to twenty times as much for American shale oil and Siberian oil, which led to the saying 'Siberia is rich in oil, but not oil rich'. Many producer countries depended almost entirely on fossil fuel revenues to balance their state budgets, like Russia, Saudi Arabia, and even moreso small countries like Gabon and Angola. Not only was crude oil civilisation's most important energy source, crude oil was also an essential raw material for a vast range of products and its demand constantly growing. Goldman Sachs estimated the proportion of crude oil used for primary materials production was 45%. The collapse of oil, stock markets and economic activity in general was certainly momentary, but the damage was great in terms of human suffering, which would be felt for many years to come, in terms of unemployment, underdevelopment and hunger. In immediate terms the financial losses were huge as demand fizzled out in a cloud of acrid black smoke, but in the long term there was not enough green energy to make the world turn. How soon it would before oil industry was pumping out 100 millions of barrels a day of crude again was difficult to say, but as soon as the pandemic was past it would be business as usual. How to replace oil was an impossible conundrum, man's affair with fossil fuels would certainly end badly. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# MARCH\n\n# 1\n\n# SNAKES\n\nPAT SWATTED A MOSQUITO AS HE surveyed the jungle around him. He couldn't help thinking of all the wild creatures that lived in the rainforest, especially snakes and scorpions. Alfonso had warned him there were hundreds species in Amazonia, though few were poisonous. It was the same with the bats, they were everywhere once the sun went down\n\nIt was not that Pat was afraid of them as such, he was used to seeing wild animals in Chinese markets, not pets, but food to be eaten, bearers of disease, like the Coronavirus epidemic back home in Hong Kong, which was believed to have been transmitted to humans through snakes and bats. The story told of a horseshoe bat eaten by a krait--a highly poisonous snake, which was then trapped, sold in the Wuhan fresh fish market, cooked and eaten, transmitting the virus to at least one of the diners who had consumed it. There were a great many amateurs of game in China, and a great variety of wild animals ended up in food markets and in Chinese kitchens, both in restaurants and homes. The Wuhan fresh fish market not only sold sea food but also, illegally and openly, a broad variety of wild and domesticated animals, dead and alive, including reptiles, rats, hedgehogs, porcupines, badgers, bears, donkeys and even camels, to name just a few, all of which were highly prized as delicacies by Chinese gourmets. It was like the bushmeat sold in African markets--the source of Ebola and other diseases, when wild animal were poached and slaughtered for meat, from mammals to reptiles, amphibians, birds, bats, monkeys, rats, snakes, and even protected species like gorillas--smoked, dried, or cooked. Scientists believed that chimpanzees, and other primates had spread the HIV virus to the people hunting or butchering them. The fact was wild animals were reservoirs for pathogens, and those in contact with them risked infection from zoonotic disease, diseases that jumped from animals to humans. Ebola outbreaks, between 2014 and 2016, killed more than 11,000 people in western Africa. When the latest Pandemic had run its course there would be winners and losers. China would be one of the winners. Pat's banking empire was built on three independent pillars--Hong Kong, London and Moscow, soon to be four after the UK quit the EU, when Amsterdam would represent INI's interests in Europe. However, the fact that he, as CEO, was married to a Chinese wife, living in Hong Kong, bound his destiny to that of China's. As China emerged from the pandemic many said it would become the world's pre-eminent nation, which boded well for the bank's future, a Faustian pact, and Pat Kennedy by choosing Hong Kong as his home had made a pact with the devil. If China prospered so would he as business found a sense of normality. INI, like HSBC, would lick its wounds, absorb its losses, and continue its helter-skelter dash to whatever future lay ahead. In 2014, when Pat met Lili, Xi Jinping had been in power more than a year, after succeeding Hu Jintao. Following Mao's death in 1976, Deng Xiaoping became effective leader until he died in 1988. Deng introduced the reforms that transformed Mao's bankrupt peasant society into modern China. He was followed by Jiang Zemin and Hu Jintao. Deng opened China to the West, which helped lift 800 million people out of poverty, thanks to his reforms. The West embraced this path in the belief China would continue to liberalize its economy, and ultimately its political system. Unfortunately the reforms started to stall under Hu Jintao, who saw the Western world as 'threatening to divide us' and that 'the international culture of the West is strong while we are weak', this wasn't evident until Xi Jinping took over, and Pat who knew nothing of this at the time was dazzled by the advances of China, and mesmerised by Lili's beauty and strength of character. By 2018, growth in the Chinese private sector stopped and the state-driven economy grew as Xi Jinping tightened his authoritarian capitalist model as essential to maintaining its grip on power. The West had been taken in over the course of the last two or three decades. Suddenly it was waking up to China's ambitions, its vast Belt and Road project, and the realisation it had grown thanks to Western markets and technology, to the point the West depended for many of its vital needs on goods manufactured by China, as demonstrated by the Coronavirus pandemic. At the same time AI and surveillance was taking control as China's young generation was brainwashed and repressed by the state's censorship and control of information. Books disappeared from shops and libraries. Students, professors, scientists, writers, artists and businessmen were arrested or simply disappeared. The Chinese Communist Party wanted total obedience and respect, even from its neighbours in the South China Sea as the Peoples Liberation Army occupied and militarised many of the islands claimed by Vietnam, Malaysia and the Philippines. What drives this authoritarian society, John Francis asked, was it a Cornucopian end game to ensure the well-being of a vast population? Did Cornucopian society go hand in hand with authoritarianism, or would a smaller population offer the advantages of abundance with more individual freedom? Perhaps human society always derived towards domination, oppression and authoritarian regimes, autocratic or oligarchic, based upon the rule of one party or a military dictatorship. In China's case there was no turmoil, but an underlying historical nationalism, a vengeance for 19th and 20th century wrongs inflicted by the Western and Japanese imperial powers. This was linked to a long history of pacifism, paternalism, authoritarianism and oppression from the very origins of Chinese society. There was also traditional Confucianism with the respect of law and order that had given birth, thanks to technology, to a social credit system which could turn China into an Orwellian dystopia. It was seen by China's leaders as an alternative to liberal democracy through a mix of a market economy and authoritarian government along Chinese lines. In any case the perpetuation of the 100 year old Communist Party and its rule with its privileges was underpinned by its 90 million strong membership, the roots of which lay in democratic centralism, a principle based on Marxist theories as developed by Lenin. Civilisation, whether it be liberal democracy or Chinese communism, until this point in history, had demonstrated itself as being self-consuming and blind to change, as in historic change on a planet with finite resources, where nature did not obey party rules. * * *\n\nAt that moment one of the Indians returned to the maloca, he was carrying his day's bag--three monkeys and a small peccary. Pat felt his stomach turn as he wondered what he was doing in the jungle. Against the advice of Matt and the others he had decided he would be interviewed in a maloca for the closing scene for Indians, before he returned to the relative safety of Barichara. He should have listened to Matt, let Kyril take care of that, instead of setting off into Amazonas with just a guide and a couple cameramen to make his ephemeral mark, but Kyril was locked down in Paris. Pat's only consolation was that he felt far from the Coronavirus in the jungle, though there were worrying stories of infection in Iquitos. And the Indians? Well, after decades of political struggles to assert claims to what was left of their traditional homelands, a scattered archipelago of fragments belonging to different tribes, speaking different languages with different customs and traditions, certain specialists thought they should be asking themselves what comes next? There were certainly multiple answers, but it was unrealistic to think national autonomy could exist in a culturally fragmented and widely scattered human community, one that had never known nationhood. There was one other possibility--if in their forest home the Indians could survive the pressures of predatory civilisation, long enough, till the hands of the Doomsday Clock reach midnight, when human civilisation collapsed, as it surely would, the peoples of the rainforest could retake control of their realm, a world to which they were perfectly adapted, and continue a way of life they had known since time immemorial. Then one day, in perhaps one hundred or one thousand years, when nature has returned to its primeval state of climax equilibrium, men would again emerge from the rainforest onto the western slopes of the Andes, to start a new experiment in civilisation ... and maybe they wouldn't. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# POSTSCRIPT\n\nOn April 18, 2020, while Western democracies were plunged into the global Coronavirus pandemic, Hong Kong police arrested at least 14 veteran pro-democracy politicians, activists and a media tycoon on charges of joining unlawful protests in 2019. They included 81-year-old activist and former parliamentarian Martin Lee, and democracy advocates Albert Ho, Lee Cheuk-yan and Au Nok-hin, media tycoon Jimmy Lai, who founded the local newspaper Apple Daily. Lai, Lee Cheuk-yan and Yeung Sum, a former MP from the Democratic Party, were charged in February over their involvement in a mass anti-government demonstration on August 31 last year. The protests were against proposed extradition legislation exposed deep divisions between pro-democracy Hongkongers and the Communist Party-ruled central government in Beijing. The bill which would have allowed Hong Kong residents to be sent to mainland China to stand trial was withdrawn, but the protests continued for more than seven months, centered around demands for voting rights and an independent inquiry into police conduct. While the protests began peacefully, they increasingly descended into violence after demonstrators became frustrated with the government's response. The League of Social Democrats in a Facebook post announced its leaders were among those arrested, including chairman Raphael Wong. Zhenbao received the backing of Henrique who set up a cell in Rio to aid the members of the resistance who were forced to flee Beijing's puppet government in Hong Kong and the Ministry of State Security that was taking advantage of the turmoil caused by the Coronavirus with a vicious crackdown on all dissenters by MSS agents, arresting 7,000 men and women and placing others under house arrest on charges relating to the protest rallies. Pat Kennedy looked on helplessly from afar as China flexed its muscles and the slogan of Deng Xiaoping China's paramount leader at the time of Britain's negotiations with Beijing, One country, two systems, became One country, one system. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# APOLOGIES\n\nI hope you my reader will forgive me for my endless mistakes: grammar, spelling, syntax, facts and omissions. These I fear would take another lifetime to rectify, which I don't have given my advancing years, that plus the fact I have so many other stories to tell and observations to make on our world. Perhaps one day Google and AI will find a way to remove this burden from story tellers, who like me are not sufficiently applied, as my headmaster once told me. |  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# ACKNOWLEDGMENTS\n\nThis book could not have been written without the data and information published on the Internet and in the world press collected over a period of years, starting in 2000, when I wrote Offshore Islands, and Pat Kennedy was launched on his initially precarious international career. I have trawled numerous British, Irish, US, Russian, French, Spanish, Chinese, Israeli, Colombian newspapers, news blogs and specialist Internet sites, and books (authors' cited). And of course Wikipedia. During this period I have collected information during my visits to the USA, China, Hong Kong, Macau, Indonesia, India, Dubai, Thailand, Cambodia, Libya, Egypt, Kenya, Tanzania, Senegal, Mali, Morocco, Mexico, Colombia, Panama, Brazil, Guatemala, Belize, Honduras, the Philippines, the UK, Germany, Belgium, France, Spain and Italy. To this I have added my experience in other parts of the world, notably Ireland, Australia, New Zealand, South Africa, Malaysia, Singapore, Brunei, Taiwan, Japan, Burma, Switzerland, Algeria, Russia, Scandinavia, the Baltic Countries, Poland, Hungary, the countries of ex-Yugoslavia, Greece, Turkey, Russia, Turkmenistan, Jordan, Syria, Israel, Egypt, the Caribbean, Central and South America. I present my thanks and excuses to all the willing and unwilling contributors to the information included in this book, I am not the first to tread in the footsteps of Jack London, using the information supplied to us from those who convey it. I have tried to verify all the facts, but this is an impossible task. In my humble opinion most data reflects real events and the opinions of the vast majority of persons affected, directly or indirectly, by the multiple events and crises that constitute our collective existence. This is a story, a novelised account of events, real or not, where the fictitious characters are fictitious, and where the real characters, such as Vladimir Putin, Nicolas Maduro, Donald Trump, Boris Johnson and Emanuel Macron, are real. The story of 2000, and its sequels in 2010-2012, 2013, 2015, 2017, 2018 and 2019, are recounted in my other tales. With my very sincere thanks to all contributors, direct and indirect, knowing and unknowing, willing and unwilling. John Francis Kinsella\n\nEarth Day, Paris, April 22, 2020\n\n--------\n\n|  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# Other books by John Francis Kinsella\n\n# Fiction\n\nBorneo Pulp\n\nOffshore Islands\n\nThe Legacy of Solomon\n\nThe Plan\n\nThe Prism 2049\n\nThe Lost Forest\n\nDeath of a Financier\n\nThe Turning Point 2007-2008\n\nThe Collection\n\nA Redhead at the Pushkin\n\nThe Last Ancestor\n\nCornucopia\n\nA Weekend in Brussels\n\nThe Cargo Club\n\n|  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# Non-fiction\n\nAn Introduction to Early Twentieth Century Chinese Literature\n\n|  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# Translations\n\nLe Point de Non Retour\n\nThe Sorrow of Europe\n\nThe Temple of Solomon\n\nJean Sibelius - A biography\n\nUnderstanding Architecture\n\nL'ile de l'ouest\n\n|  |\n\n---|---|---\n\n# In the works\n\nA Biography of Patrick Wolfe (Fiction)",
-        "She tilted her head back so that Niko could easily": "She tilted her head back so that Niko could easily access the rest of her upper body, and then groaned as he placed his soft lips and tongue behind her ear, working his way from her neck downwards to caress the rest of her. Unable to resist any longer, Tatum placed her hand under Niko's chin and lifted his face to meet hers. She put her lips against his and then allowed them to come apart, permitting him full access to explore the inside of her mouth. He expertly worked his tongue, making Tatum even less capable of resisting what she knew was about to happen. Spent from many hours of catching up, Tatum and Niko laid comfortably in one another's arms, feeling the security of a long time love. Tatum felt relaxed and content, as if the events of earlier in the day had been erased. She slept.\n\n. The morning light peeked in between the small crack left in Niko's curtains. Tatum rubbed her eyes, careful not to raise her aching head too quickly. She rolled over and saw the handsome, hard-working, overly-driven man lying beside her. She kissed his cheek lightly. For the first time, she was certain about her relationship with Niko. This would be their last kiss; she didn't belong here anymore. ***\n\nThe rest of Tatum's trip to Chicago was a blur. Explaining her decision to Niko had been painful, but not nearly as painful as the repeat trips to the hospital and the lack of progress for Michael. Tatum had never expected that getting on the plane would feel like a relief, but despite her regret at leaving her family during this very difficult time, there was a part of her that was comforted by the thought of returning to the place that she knew was becoming home. # Chapter 15\n\nWednesday morning Tatum woke up, feeling as if she'd been gone from Wainwright for a year, instead of only the couple of days it had actually been. She got up early, desperately wanting to go for a long run to make up for the many runs she'd missed during her trip. The morning air was already warm, but Tatum didn't care. She was caught up in the amber glow of the sunrise, and the quiet, peaceful daybreak Wainwright offered. Her run was easy, fluid and strong; the dry air seemingly a welcome relief from the humidity of the previous few days. She turned the key to the main building entrance and loped up the stairs to apartment 203. Putting little thought into her dress, she pulled her hair into a pony tail and dabbed on some blush. Her priority for this morning was not her appearance; it was telling Milligan about her trip and plotting some way to make up for her blunder with Jake.\n\n.\n\n\"Welcome back!\" exclaimed Milligan as he poured Tatum's first cup. It was early; he knew she had time for more than one. \"Glad to be back,\" she responded in kind. \"So... tell me all about it,\" her friend prodded, not wasting any time with small talk. \"Let's see, where should I start?\" \"At the beginning,\" Milligan instructed. \"Well, the flight was long, but everybody was at the airport when I got there, so that was nice and my mom cooked which is always a treat.\" Milligan nodded. \"My mom and Sarah and I did some shopping, and I got to have dinner at Sophie's. I'd forgotten how good it is.\" Milligan nodded some more. \"Friday night I met up with Dr. Zubert. We met for coffee and talked shop. Was nice to have someone to talk to where I didn't have to worry that I was breaching confidentiality every time I opened my mouth.\" \"Did she have any good advice?\" \"Not really, just a friendly ear and the promise of having someone on my side if I need it.\" \"That's always good to know,\" said Milligan. \"Yeah, and then it all went to shit.\" Tatum's voice inflection changed and Milligan's curiousity intensified. \"What? Why? What happened?\" he asked. \"Well, we all went to Josh's soccer game on Saturday and it started out fine. Then Michael got agitated by all the noise and had an outburst.\" \"Oh, shoot,\" said her friend, \"that must have been stressful.\" \"There's more,\" she continued. \"Then he seized and went limp. They took him to the hospital on a stretcher. He's still comatose.\" Tatum was surprised at how matter-of-fact she was able to tell the story. _When I first found out, I was such mess_ , she thought, _what's wrong with me now?_\n\n\"Do you know what is going to happen now?\" \"No, but I know mom and dad will keep me up to date. And, if they downplay it, Sarah will always tell me the truth.\" \"You actually seem okay,\" said Milligan with surprise. \"Yeah, I do feel okay now. It's funny. Think I just really needed to see him, go back to Chicago.\" \"Yeah, home is important isn't it?\" \"I used to think so. But now I'm wondering if the old saying is true?\" \"What's that?\" \"Home is where the heart is.\" \"Hmm,\" was his only response.\n\n.\n\nJust like Milligan, Marja greeted Tatum with a warm \"Welcome back\" as she buzzed her through to the secure side. Tatum started her day at the computer, checking emails and ensuring she was familiar with her schedule for the week. She knew that her evenings would be full; she had several reports that needed completing. Work had been far from her priority over the last several days. Wednesday was scheduled as a typical day, just as if she'd never left; assessment in the morning and early afternoon, followed by therapy later in the day. Her assessment was an outpatient from the community, an uncomplicated evaluation that was required by the patient's employer. Tatum found the more typical client a bit of a relief in her effort to re-acclimatize to the routine of the mental hospital. Lunch time came slowly, mostly she suspected because she was anxious to see James. She was hopeful he would speak again and she couldn't wait to meet him and find out. When she was finished for the morning, she quickly made arrangements for the afternoon session and then picked up a quick to-go bag from the cafeteria before making her way to Unit Three. James was in his usual location, with Larry hovering nearby, presumably waiting to get a glimpse of his favorite new doctor. Tatum threw him a quick greeting and then progressed speedily toward her lunchtime companion. \"Hi James. It's me. I'm back from my trip. Thanks for saying bye before I left, that meant a lot to me.\" Tatum had considered long and hard how she would address his having spoken. She wanted to acknowledge it, without making too big of a deal. \"I had a good trip and got to see my brother before he got too sick. That's why I went. He's not doing so well now though. He's in the hospital, in a coma. I guess my mom and dad will tell me if anything changes. Anything changed around here?\" Tatum looked around. She realized something had changed. Something was missing. \"Did somebody get transferred?\" Tatum asked James, knowing full well she was actually asking herself more than him. \"Jim!\" she exclaimed realizing finally what was absent. \"Where'd Jim go? I'll be right back,\" she explained to James. \"Larry,\" she asked the unit head, \"where'd Jim go?\" Larry was close by, as always, and answered Tatum's question quickly. \"Sorry Tatum. While you were gone, he was our latest victim of the beast.\" Tatum knew 'the beast' was code for suicide. It happened often enough that, for the staff of WMI, it had taken on a life of its own.\n\n.\n\nTatum returned to her afternoon assessment feeling saddened by Jim's departure, and slightly disappointed that James had chosen to refrain from saying anything further. Thankfully, the rest of the assessment was quick and routine, so her thoughts roaming elsewhere had little impact. Therapy that afternoon turned out to be coverage for Tim. Their schedules had been switched all around in order to accommodate Tatum's time away. At three thirty, Tatum re-visited U3 and met Liz Crandall in one of the non-observation therapy rooms. \"Hi Liz, I'm Dr. O'Neill. I'm not sure if you remember me. We met one other time, I was observing Dr. Glaser.\" \"I remember you. You're pretty,\" said Liz as she brushed her hair continuously in solid strokes. \"How come you're here today? Where's Dr. Glaser?\" \"To be honest, I'm not entirely sure what he's up to this afternoon, but I'm here because he did me a favour and switched me some scheduling so that I could make a trip home. My brother is not well.\" \"I'm not well either,\" Liz replied. \"Is that right Liz? Tell me more about that.\" Tatum knew that she was essentially responsible for filling time and making Liz feel good. Kind of like a substitute teacher, a substitute clinician usually would challenge little and cover little new ground. \"I like to brush my hair,\" was Liz's definitive response. \"I see that. What happens if you don't brush your hair,\" Tatum inquired. \"My scars heal. I will never let me scars heal. No one can see if my scars heal.\" \"What do you mean,\" asked Tatum. \"Look at my scars.\" Tatum didn't want to look, she expected to see significant scaring where Liz had brushed her hair so hard her scalp had been damaged. \"No,\" said Liz, \"really look.\" Tatum felt silly bending over a patient's head inspecting her scalp, but she had done weirder things to gain someone's trust. Liz pulled her hair back and clearly showed Tatum the spot that had been brushed to the point of blood. Underneath the dried blood and hair were definite scars. The scars were barely visible to the naked eye, thin, clean and obviously the work of someone who was a master with a scalpel. \"How did this happen?\" asked Tatum. \"I don't know,\" said Liz. \"I was in my unit and I wasn't doing so good. Then I woke up and there they were. Somebody did something Dr. O'Neill. I won't forget. I won't let them forget.\" As she spoke, Liz brushed more and more furiously until blood started once again to seep from the wounds on the side of her head.\n\n.\n\nOn yet another afternoon walk home from WMI, Tatum wondered about the chain of strange events that seemed to continue to occur at her workplace. _What does it all mean?_ she asked herself as she walked. Liz's scars had added a whole new series of questions to those that already existed about Julia's files and James' apparent fear of the Research Unit. Tatum arrived at her apartment building having no recollection of even completing her trek. She walked into her familiar surroundings and flopped down on the comfort of her sofa, intending to spend some more time pondering any apparent link among each of the disconcerting events. She sat in thought until her stomach finally told her that her time was up. She went to the fridge but realized it had not been stocked since earlier the week before, and therefore a trip to the Co-op was going to be necessary before she would be able to eat. Armed with a wagon she'd finally purchased to make her grocery excursions less uncomfortable, she headed out toward the grocery store. Instead of making a direct route, Tatum found herself turning toward Main Street. Not really knowing where she was going, Tatum found herself standing in front of the old firehouse, hoping that she would catch a glimpse of Jake. _I'm going to deal with this tonight_ , she decided as she walked away, much less concerned about her stomach than her heart.\n\n.\n\nTatum chose fish and asparagus for her night's dinner. Feeling slightly bloated from the indulgences of the weekend, she found herself craving slightly lighter fare. She ate alone and for the first time since moving to Wainwright, she felt truly lonely. She missed the thought of Jake, his soft voice, his strong arms. Summoning all the courage she had, Tatum made the call. \"Hello Jake. This is Tatum.\" \"Hi Tatum,\" said the quiet masculine voice with a hint of confusion. \"I am calling to ask if you'd like to go out with me. You see, I realized I'm stupid and I never should have turned down your mother's cooking.\" Tatum laughed nervously, trying to hide her anxiety with humor. Jake didn't laugh. \"I'm confused Tatum,\" he responded seriously. \"I made a mistake Jake. I know that now. I gave up before I even gave us a chance. So, if you'll let me, I like to ask you out on a date. My treat this time.\" \"Your treat?\" he teased, finally lightening up to Tatum's voice. \"Yes, my treat. Whatever you want.\" \"Okay dinner and a movie, Friday. But not any dinner, I want to eat at the Depot. A friend told me it was really good,\" he said teasingly. \"What time should I expect you here to pick me up?\" he asked\n\n\"Uhmmm,\" stammered Tatum. Jake saved her from embarrassment. \"It's okay beautiful, I'm just kidding. You'd have to piggy back me. How about if I get you around six thirty? We can go for dinner around seven and still be at the movie by nine. Sound okay?\" \"Sounds perfect.\" \"Okay, see you Friday. Oh, and Tatum,\" he paused. Tatum waited for him to tell her he was happy she'd called. \"I'm having the prime rib and crab legs, on you.\" They both laughed and hung up the phone. Tatum turned on CMT willingly for the first time in her life. She danced around the room singing along with Tim McGraw, a singer who, two months prior, she'd never even heard of.\n\n.\n\nThursday morning Tatum still felt light and happy; the thought of going out with Jake Friday keeping her mood on the positive side. She had slept sound and gotten up only when the alarm rang, leaving her only the minimal amount of time to fit in her run and still have a bit of time for coffee. \"Running late today?\" Milligan asked, looking at his watch as she walked toward the coffee table. \"Yeah. But in exchange I got a good night's sleep. I talked to Jake last night,\" she blurted out, unable to hide her excitement. \"I thought you decided that was a bad idea?\" \"A girl can change her mind you know,\" Tatum smirked. \"Did something happen with Niko while you were home to make you have a change of heart?\" \"Gotta go, Mill. Gonna be late for work. Stay tuned,\" she called coyly smiling as she headed toward the Units.\n\n. The day ahead had been scheduled as a report-writing day and Tatum knew she had a lot of work to do. The reports from the week before were still waiting for her attention, in addition to the new reports for the outpatient from the day prior. Despite knowing she'd need the entire day, Tatum ignored the waiting work-load and locked her door. She nervously opened the end filing cabinet one more time and pulled out the file folders hidden for safe keeping. This time she knew what she was looking for. She scanned the reports, line by line, detail by detail. Finally, she found it. Hidden deep amongst the complex and dry medical mumbo jumbo that accompanied most patient files, Tatum saw the words _surgical scars evident across temporal lobe, undetermined origin._\n\n. The next stop was the filing room. Tatum went directly into the Unit Three filing area and searched for the file labeled \"Elizabeth Crandall\". Having seen Liz the day before, Tatum tried to look as nonchalant as possible as she retrieved the patient record and returned to her office. She was hopeful that if anyone asked, she would be able to hold her composure and maintain her story that she needed it for preparation of her clinical notes. Just as she rounded the corner to the final corridor, Tim came toward her. \"Hey Tatum, I'm glad I finally caught up with you. How was your trip?\" \"It was okay. Thanks for asking?\" \"And how is your brother?\" \"Actually, he's not doing that well. While I was there he had a seizure and now he's in a coma. We're just waiting and praying at the moment.\" \"Oh, I'm very sorry to hear that. Let me know how it goes over the next bit, okay?\" \"I will.\" \"I guess you know I saw some of your patients yesterday, we'll have to get together to catch up. Oh yeah, that's right, you saw Liz for me, right? Is that her file you have there?\" Tatum looked down at the file in her arms. Sticking to her story she said as calmly as she could muster, \"yes, just taking it back to make sure I know where I'm at while I'm doing the clinical notes. Is that okay?\" \"Sure. Just make sure it goes back, alright? Did you sign it out?\" Tatum had intentionally not signed out the clinical record she had in her arms. \"Yeah, I did and I'll definitely be sure to get it right back.\" \"Okay, good enough. Wanna send me an email about a time to get together for review?\" \"You bet.\"\n\n. Tatum wasn't taking any chances of meeting up with someone else. She moved as quickly as possible through the remaining hallways to her office. Finally, she felt some relief as she locked the door and opened the file she'd protected as she walked. Similar to earlier that day, Tatum starting reviewing the file line by line, evaluating every detail. She saw no evidence of any medical records acknowledging her scars, nor did she see any reason why Liz would require any type of surgery to her head. Liz had been a life-long sufferer of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, but had no physical symptoms or history of head trauma that would have indicated surgery. _Could she have somehow made the incisions herself?_ Tatum questioned as she attempted to find any logical explanation for Liz's markings and the similarity with the description in Julia's hidden files. Knowing she was starting to over evaluate everything to the point where her thoughts weren't logical, Tatum decided it was time to take a break and that meant it was time to visit with James. Her time with James had become almost therapeutic for her. She talked, he listened. She justified her need to see him by convincing herself and the others on U3 that it was therapy for James. Familiarity and social interaction had already made him say one word; who knew how much more he was capable of. First things first, Tatum returned Liz's file to the filing cabinet, confident it had been returned in its original condition, with no official record of her ever having signed it out. Then, she grabbed a coffee and a croissant in place of lunch; her mind was whirling, taking away any previous thoughts of hunger.\n\n.\n\nTatum entered Unit Three, hopeful that today would be Larry's day off. She wasn't in the mood to answer any of his questions, or deal with his hovering. Looking both ways to avoid the lovestruck unit head, Tatum worked her way over toward the window, where, as always, James sat. \"Hey James, it's me. I don't have any lunch today, don't have much of appetite.\" Tatum paused. \"There's some stuff I can't figure out. I haven't talked to you about it up until now, but it actually started with you. I thought that I noticed that my mentioning the research unit made you upset. Since then, I've seen a couple of other things that don't make sense to me. I sure wish you would tell me more; I know you can't, but I feel like you know something that you'd like to share. Anyway, enough of that. I called Jake last night, we have a date set for tomorrow. I have to buy though, because I'm the one doing the groveling.\" Tatum laughed. \"We don't know any more about Michael yet. I think he might go into surgery next week, so I have my fingers crossed. Someday maybe you'll tell me about your family. Where you were raised, your likes and dislikes, stuff like that. I sure would like to know more about you.\" Tatum continued to talk, just filling empty air with anything she could think of to say. Finally, she realized she was running out of time. \"I need to get back to work now James. I actually haven't done much at all this morning and now I have all of my reports that need to be done this afternoon and tonight. I'm in the research unit tomorrow, but I should be able to come by for lunch as usual. If not, I will let you know, so you are not waiting for me, okay? See you later.\" Tatum got up from her seat and started to place her chair back under the table as she did every day. She whirled around in shock when she once again heard James begin to speak. \"Mom sexy,\" he said with his garbled, unpracticed voice. \"What? What did you say?\" Tatum almost yelled at the boy near the window. \"Mom sexy,\" James said again in an equally unclear tone. \"Mom sexy? What in the world does that mean?\" James turned back toward the window and concentrated intently on the movement in his fingertips. Tatum felt irritated and hurt. _His first words to me are to call me a sexy mama? I thought he was different, but it turns out he's a man, just like all the rest._ She wasn't certain she would make time to visit with James the next day.\n\n. Walking back to her office, Tatum looked around the hospital and thought about all of the types of people that lived and worked there. _Working here may be driving me crazy_ , she thought. _Maybe there isn't as much difference between the doctors and the patients as I used to think_. She had asked James about the research unit and her other concerns, and all he could do was act like a typical man and hit on her. _I really need to stop all this silliness. No more googling, file surfing or anything else that's contributing to me losing my mind_ , she decided firmly. She spent the rest of the afternoon and evening working on completing her outstanding reports and updating clinical notes; that was all.\n\n.\n\nTatum had worked late into the night making sure that she was caught up on all of her incomplete patient files. Friday morning came early, and a day supervising research assistants seemed less than enticing. The morning was darker; fall was starting to take a firm grasp. Instead of her warm sunny morning runs, her morning exercise was now dark and cool. The clothing her mother had bought for her on her trip home now entirely appropriate for the changing season. Milligan moved the coffee table back and forth, from inside to out. He often had his first cup in the building lobby, and then transferred his operation to the outdoors when sunrise was finally complete and the rays provided external heat. It was a sunny day, so Milligan had already moved outdoors when Tatum made her way to her usual chair. \"Research day today?\" asked Milligan. \"Yah, don't I seem thrilled?\" \"I thought you were looking forward to your research time?\" \"I was until I realized I was essentially going to be used as a glorified babysitter. Last week Garry basically explained that my primary task is to make sure that the research assistants are reliable.\" \"While that sounds pretty important,\" Tatum's supportive friend commented. \"Important yes, exciting no,\" she answered. \"That's enough about work anyway,\" Milligan stated. \"I want to hear more about your cliffhanger yesterday. What happened between you and Niko?\" \"Not much really. We went out the night Michael went into the coma. Probably a mistake now that I think about it, I was an emotional wreck. Seeing him just made me realize that I didn't belong there anymore. I needed to know if he was what I really wanted, and he isn't.\" \"What made you so sure?\" \"Honestly, I couldn't describe it if I tried. I just felt out of place. Like all the things I thought I wanted before, don't matter anymore.\" Tatum's inflection changed as she spoke more to herself than to her coffee partner. \"The success, the money, the fancy cars and shiny things, they don't mean anything. Niko doesn't know that.\" \"You're wise beyond your years, do you know that?\" Milligan informed Tatum. \"Through tragedy, comes growth,\" answered Tatum quietly, thinking about her brother's swollen head covered with wires and assorted medical devices.\n\n. The work day Friday passed slowly. As Garry had instructed, Tatum spent most of her day observing research assistants completing assessments and providing them with direction and supervision. At lunchtime, still angry with James for the day before, she stopped at Unit Three only long enough to explain to him that she was going to meet Anne for lunch as she occasionally did on Fridays. The staff courtyard had gone from overheated to spectacular. Once too hot to sit on, the stately marble benches now provided cool seating to sit and enjoy the low-lying September sun. The stately grounds, previously green on green now boasted a multitude of fall colors. The leaves were remarkable reds, oranges, and yellows, natural brilliance like Tatum had never seen. The expansiveness of the grounds made looking into the distance seem as if it was a painted picture, rather than the boundaries of a mental institution. Tatum caught her breath, not because of the heat as she had done before, but because of the beauty that surrounded her. She had certainly seen similar fall scenes in Chicago, but regardless of the beauty surrounding them, the noise, people, and commotion always detracted the awe from the experience. Anne broke her contemplation of the scene. \"So, how'd your week go?\" \"Pretty good I guess. Worked late yesterday cause I was behind from my trip.\" \"How's Michael doing anyway,\" asked Anne. \"No change. Probably won't be any change until after the surgery. Mom and Sarah keep me posted. How about you? How was your week?\" \"I've had better,\" answered Anne. \"Why what happened?\" \"Do you remember Kory? The one you did the intake assessment on when you first got here?\" \"Yah, I've been seeing him occasionally, just for check-ins, consults and such. What's up with Kory?\" \"He assaulted a nurse last week. Thursday, the day you left actually. I guess she lifted her arm toward him the wrong way and he thought she was threatening him. He clocked her good and then didn't stop until the orderlies restrained him. He got charged. I don't know what happened, maybe he hasn't been to court yet I don't know. I imagine he will just end up on U5 either way.\" \"Where is he now?\" \"I think they're holding him in U4. I don't think anything is official yet and U5 is a forensic unit, so they don't put you there until you've been sentenced.\" \"Can I go see him?\" \"Do you have access?\" \"Not yet.\" \"Could probably ask Tim. Get signed in, or just ask to have an access upgrade. You've been here long enough by now, haven't you?\" \"I have no idea. What am I waiting for?\" \"Usually just want to make sure that you're acclimatized to the life of a mental hospital; that it's not going to shock you into quitting. Are you going to quit if we give you access?\" Anne teased. \"Nope, too late for that,\" said Tatum, \"I don't know if there's anything left that could surprise me.\" Chapter 16\n\nTatum's walk home from work was brisker than usual. She knew she only had a couple of hours until Jake would arrive to pick her up, and she thought she might require all of it to get ready. She started in the bath, taking some time to mull over her expectations for the evening. Remembering her disappointment at their previous date's ending, she thought perhaps this time if he tried to kiss her cheek she'd redirect him. _Hmm, probably not_ , she laughed at her knowing she'd probably never follow through with the bravery she felt here in the bathtub. She picked out her clothes carefully, knowing that the evening would be cool. The Depot was one of the classiest places in Wainwright, so she pulled out one of the dresses she'd chosen while her mom was feeling generous on their recent shopping trip. The dress was a dark blue knit with a high collar. The knitted material fit her every curve and with the recent stress of Michael, she knew her figure was even slimmer than usual, preventing any unwanted bumps. To complete her ensemble, she chose the pumps she'd worn for her first day at WMI; given her acceptance of the unspoken casual dress policy, she knew she'd never again need them for work. Instead of leaving her hair down, as she had done each time before with Jake, she took the time and careful attention needed to put it in a stylish up-do. Her face had recovered from the obvious stress of recent events, and while she applied just enough make-up, she recognized the normal glow of her flawless skin. As was her usual custom, Tatum stood back and evaluated the finished package in the mirror. She looked stunning, older but in an elegant and sophisticated sort of way. _Just the look I was going for_ , she decided as she continued to assess her appearance in the mirror. Last time she'd seen Jake, she was happy to look young and playful, tonight she was only going to be happy with alluring and sexy. Ready nearly half an hour too early, Tatum poured herself a small glass of wine and sipped slowly while she waited. Finally, the apartment buzzer rang. \"Hi Tatum, I'm here. Can I come up? Or do you prefer I wait down here?\" \"I'll be right down; I can't piggy back you from here,\" she joked. She carefully descended the stairs as she had done on her first day in the new pumps, again taking caution not to scuff her toes. She entered the apartment lobby. \"Holy cow!\" said Jake as he gawked openly at his date. \"You look amazing. Wainwright's not going to know what to make of its new uptown resident. You've got style like we don't often see around here.\" He paused, and then asked \"Is that what they all look like in Chicago? Sign me up!\" Jake joked. \"You don't look so shabby yourself,\" responded Tatum. Jake had taken care to make sure he had also dressed for the occasion. He was still wearing jeans, but they were new, stylish and fit his well-formed rear-end perfectly. In place of cowboy boots, he had leather dress shoes that were a perfect fit with his fashionable denims. On top, he had chosen a t-shirt covered by a button-down long-sleeved top. It was obviously an outfit from a store outside of Wainwright. \"The lady in the store helped me. I guess she took one look at me and saw a project or something,\" Jake smiled. \"Well, she earned her keep,\" replied Tatum, although she had to admit that there was a part of her that missed his plaid top and dirty cowboy boots.\n\n.\n\nTatum stepped up into Jake's pick-up, thankful for his strong arm to support her as she tried to be graceful in her dress that had definitely not been designed for riding in pick-ups. As always, country music was playing quietly in the background. Instead of foreign like the music used to seem, Tatum found it homey and comforting. They rode in silence, comfortable to just be together. _Niko talked all the time, always talking, work talk, business talk, talk talk talk,_ she thought as she appreciated the relaxed quiet. \"We're here,\" announced Jake. \"I hope it's as good as everyone says it is. Everyone being you,\" he laughed. \"It is. I promise,\" answered Tatum. They mounted the red framed stairs and could hear the jazz music piped gently in around the entry. \"That's a nice touch,\" said Jake, referring to the jazz. \"Sam outdid herself,\" responded Tatum. \"Wait till you see inside.\" Jake was equally as impressed as Tatum had been on her first visit. Tatum had made a reservation and as Jake took in his surroundings, she checked in with waitress who was responsible for seating. \"Dr. O'Neill, so nice to see you again,\" said the pretty twenty-something that had served Tatum and Sam the night of their multiple bottles of wine. \"I can seat you right away. Do you mind if I let Sam know you're here? I'm sure she'll want to come over for a quick hello.\" \"Of course, I wouldn't have it any other way,\" answered Tatum. \"Follow me please.\" Tatum had to grab Jake's arm and pull him; he'd taken to inspecting the workmanship around the bar area. \"You can sure tell you're a descendent of the Home Hardware clan,\" Tatum teased.\n\n. The waitress led them to a quiet table in the upstairs lounge. Tatum had requested the lounge so that she and Jake could share a romantic dinner by music. \"Can I start you with something to drink?\" she asked. Tatum looked at Jake. \"You're in charge tonight, you pick,\" he led. \"We'll have the Mission Hills Shiraz,\" said Tatum. Then remembered she hadn't even asked Jake if he liked wine. \"Is that okay?\" she asked quickly. \"Sounds perfect,\" he answered. When the wine arrived, the waitress poured a small amount into Tatum's glass to gain her approval and then proceeded to fill their glasses. Over their first glass, the comfortable silence between them changed into comfortable conversation. \"How was your trip home?\" Jake asked Tatum. \"We haven't talked in weeks; how did you know I went home?\" she asked. \"This is Wainwright Tatum,\" he said as a matter of fact. \"Plus I might have asked about you. Just a little,\" he smirked. Tatum blushed, she'd asked about him too. \"My trip home was good. It was so nice to see everybody. Michael's not doing so good though. But, I suppose you already know that,\" she joked. \"No. Actually I didn't hear that. What's going on?\" \"While I was home, he had a seizure and went into a coma. Now he's in the hospital, just waiting for surgery.\" \"Tatum, I'm so sorry,\" Jake said with sincere empathy. \"Thanks. I'm actually doing better than I was before. It felt really good to get to see him, and I got to spend a lot of time with him before he got hooked up to all the machines and wasn't himself.\" \"Good. Are you going to go back?\" \"Yah, I will go if something changes. My mom and Sarah will let me know.\" \"I wish there was something I could do to make it better for you.\" \"Nothing anybody can do. Just have to wait and see. But, that's enough of that. How's work been?\" \"It's busy, and I have to leave again on Monday for another three weeks of travel. This time its multiple sites in Europe, otherwise, I would come home in between. It just doesn't make sense to fly all those hours to be home for a day. It's really hard on Brady for me to be gone so long though.\" \"I guess it would be. Thank goodness for your parents, hey?\" \"Yah, they're great. I'd like for you to meet them and Brady sometime.\" \"I'd like that too,\" said Tatum. This time she meant it.\n\n.\n\nJust starting their second glass, Sam surprised them and came over to say hello and take their orders herself. Tatum had recommended to Jake that he try the filet mignon she had enjoyed so much on her previous visit to the Depot. She opted to try something new and chose the chicken Oscar. Sam left to put the orders in and the conversation continued. \"We've talked about my work. How's work going for you?\" \"Really good actually; I'm starting to get a routine and things are starting to feel pretty comfortable. I wish I had more to do on the Research side though. I'm mostly a glorified babysitter at this point. But, I talked to Anne today and it sounds like I might be able to get access to the other two units pretty soon.\" \"That's good,\" said Jake, although Tatum knew that, given his previous experiences, he didn't really mean it. \"I got an office a while ago too. I don't know if I told you that before?\" \"I think you did mention it,\" he said. Tatum paused. _Do I tell him that I think I got Julia's office?_ She decided that for now, she'd keep that detail to herself. She didn't know how Jake would react to talking about Julia and WMI in the same conversation. The conversation shifted to the places Jake was planning to go on his upcoming work trip and Brady. He told Tatum about his son's school and his friends; while he spoke, Tatum could almost feel the obvious pride he felt in his boy. When their food arrived, the discussion continued freely and before they knew it, time had flown by and it was time to leave for the theatre. Wainwright theatre had one auditorium so that the movie was chosen for them; the show changed on Fridays and today was the first day of the new picture. This week's show was a suspense, a thriller about a young girl who got mixed up in some stuff she should have left alone. Having just finished dinner, the couple passed on movie treats and found their way to some empty seats. The movie started and Jake placed his arm protectively around Tatum. She leaned into him, hoping that he would take her actions as a bit of an invitation. He lightly kissed her head.\n\n. The evening drew to a close. Jake held Tatum's hand as he walked her to the door of her apartment. \"Can I see you again? Soon?\" he asked hopefully. \"Yes,\" answered Tatum. \"I'm working for Granddad this weekend so I'm not sure about my schedule, but can I call?\" \"Yes,\" she answered again. Jake leaned in, looking as if he were about to kiss her. Just like the first time, Tatum felt like a high school girl, waiting for her first embrace. She was hopeful, but not optimistic that he would choose her lips this time. Slowly, Jake lifted Tatum's face. _Here it comes, the face turn,_ she thought. But, instead of turning her face to kiss her cheek, Jake put his soft, warm lips on Tatum's mouth. She gave in completely and let him kiss her fully and wholly. As they kissed, Jake slid his arms around her and so that his large strong frame encased her entirely. Goosebumps rose on Tatum's skin as she felt his hands explore her back and neck. After several minutes, Jake finally stepped back and loosened his grasp. \"Goodnight Tatum.\" \"Goodnight Jake.\" He looked back as he headed toward his truck. Tatum slept like a baby.\n\n. It was still dark when Tatum got up Saturday morning for yoga. The early morning class had become part of her weekly routine and her time with Sam something that she looked forward to on a regular basis. She had taken to dressing more warmly, Seymour Hill had little insulation and the cold Canadian weather was starting to set in. Tatum found her regular spot, and waited anxiously for Sam to arrive. \"Morning Sam,\" she called out to her friend, inviting her to find her normal spot beside Tatum. \"So... how was the rest of the night out?\" she asked, hoping to get some juicy details. \"We just went to the movie, and then home after we left the restaurant. Nothing too exciting to tell.\" \"Anything to tell from after you got home?\" teased Sam. \"He finally got up the nerve to kiss me, but that's as far as it got. Sorry to disappoint you,\" said Tatum jokingly. \"But he did say that he would call me today. Hopefully he follows through, because he is about to go out of town for three weeks, and I might die from loneliness,\" smiled Tatum. \"Boy, you sure changed your tune,\" said Sam. _Yeah, I sure have,_ thought Tatum. \"Okay ladies, time to get started,\" called Shirley from the front of the room with her usual over-exuberant level of energy. \"You want to finish this over breakfast?\" \"You bet I do. Johnny's?\" \"Johnny's it is.\"\n\n. Over breakfast, Sam wanted all the details of the date with Jake. She'd kept her curiosity under control the night before, but now fully intended to satisfy her desire for all the details. \"I thought you were going to see Niko when you went home. How did you go from that, to Jake last night?\" \"I did see Niko.\" \"That's it. All you're going to say is that you saw him? Come on Tatum, I need some details,\" she said partly to tease her friend, and partly because she truly did want some details. \"We actually went out that night Michael went into the coma. My mom and dad insisted, said I needed to get my mind off what was happening and that I wasn't doing any good at the hospital anyway.\" \"So, what happened?\" Sam asked with interest. \"We went to dinner and then he took me to the ball game. That's it.\" \"That's it?\" Sam asked with a hint of disbelief. \"You made life-changing decisions about your relationships based solely on dinner and a ballgame?\" Sam was pretty certain Tatum wasn't telling her everything. \"It was an emotional day, and I had too much to drink. Let's just say that by the time our date was over, I knew our relationship was over as well.\" Sam grinned; she knew what Tatum had implied. \"So you thought you'd give the big cowboy hunk a real honest to God college try instead?\" Sam teased. Tatum changed her tone to serious and said, \"I don't belong there anymore Sam. This place has changed me.\"\n\n. Still on a high from the night before, Tatum had more energy than usual and decided to put it to good use. She spent the remainder of the morning and early afternoon doing chores she typically found tiring. But, in the glow of her kiss with Jake, none of her chores seemed as adverse as usual. Wanting to share her good mood, and spend some time talking about Jake, she called both her mother and Sarah. Each of the conversations lasted for the length of two cups of Earl Grey tea. Then, on a whim, Tatum decided to call Dr. Zubert. \"Hi Dr. Z.? It's Tatum. How are you doing?\" \"I'm doing well, how are things with you?\" \"I'm good. I just wanted to check in.\" \"Is there something up? I have to admit I'm a bit surprised to hear from you so soon after having just seen you last weekend.\" \"Honestly, I don't really know. Remember last week I told you about the files I had found and the patient with Autism, James?\" \"Yes, I remember. You said that you thought you had been googling too much and it was making paranoid. Did something else happen?\" \"Kind of. I'm allowed to share any information with you as my supervisor, as long as I don't mention any names, right?\" \"That's right. I signed an oath of confidentiality for your internship as well. It's normal practice so that as supervisors we can be fully available to the students. Why, what's up?\" \"I'm probably making too much of everything,\" said Tatum, \"but I keep seeing things that make me wonder.\" \"Wonder what?\" \"If there are secrets.\" \"What kinds of secrets? What do you mean?\" \"When I got back last week, I saw a therapy client, one that I saw during my first few days, but is not on my regular patient list.\" \"And?\" \"And, she has OCD; her primary compulsion currently is brushing her hair. She brushes repeatedly, until she bleeds.\" \"That's not all that uncommon.\" \"I agree, in itself, the brushing didn't seem that unusual. But then when I met with her she told me to look closer and held her hair out of the way so that I could thoroughly inspect her scalp.\" \"Did you see anything?\" \"There were scars, not the type of scars that would come from her excessive grooming, but the type that would be the result of some type of surgery. She told me that she would continue to brush so that no one forgot to scars were there.\" \"Did she tell you how she got them?\" \"Only that she remembered things were particularly bad; then she thought she fell asleep and when she woke up she had the scars.\" \"It's not that untypical for mental patients to have some type of surgery as well Tatum,\" Dr. Zubert stated, speaking from experience. \"Yeah, but I haven't told you the next part, yet.\" \"There's more?\" \"I tried to convince myself I was overreacting, but I couldn't stop from looking through the files I had found to see if there was any other indication of surgical scars that couldn't be explained. On one of the files that Julia had hidden, I found a report of undetermined scarring in the same location as those on the client with OCD.\" \"A coincidence perhaps?\" \"Perhaps. Do you think I'm being silly?\" \"I never think that you are being silly Tatum. The fact that you are conscientious and observant is why I recommended you for the internship in the first place. But, WMI is a well known, reputable, and respected institution.\" \"I know. I'm probably just being ridiculous. Too many movies, I guess. Hey, do you remember that I told you last week James said goodbye to me before I left?\" \"Yeah, I think he said that that was the first word he had said to anyone in over 20 years, didn't you?\" \"That's right. Well, on Thursday he said some more words,\" Tatum said with a slight amount of disdain in her voice. \"That's excellent! You must be pretty happy; making more progress than anyone has in a long time. What did he say?\" her mentor asked. \"He said mom sexy. I think he meant to call me a sexy mama,\" Tatum explained. \"They are all the same Dr. Z. Even after 20 years without speaking, a man is still a man.\" Dr. Zubert laughed out loud.\n\n.\n\nTatum was still near the phone, having just hung up from her conversation with Dr. Zubert, when ringing tones from her handset interrupted her thoughts. \"Hi Tatum. It's Jake.\" Tatum's heart skipped a beat at the sound of his voice. \"Hi Jake. What's up?\" \"Well, I thought I would try one more time. Is there a chance that you would like to come to my house for dinner tomorrow night? Casual. I thought I would cook, so it will probably be burgers or something. I really would like a chance to show you off to my family and we always have dinner together on Sundays. Do you think you could come?\" \"I'd love to.\" \"How about if I pick you up around five? Sunday dinners tend to be early.\" \"Sounds perfect. See you tomorrow.\"\n\n. Jake showed up at Regency Apartments right at five on Sunday. Despite the change in weather to cooler fall temperatures, Tatum waited outside enjoying the sun and warmth offered by the early afternoon. Although paling in comparison to the picture-perfect quality of the WMI estate, the small park-like yard of Regency Apartments provided ample exposure to the wealth of autumn. Although Tatum looked as if she had been casually enjoying the splendor of the outdoors for hours, her casual demeanor was hiding her inner anxiety about meeting Jake's family. She hadn't kept track, but was fairly certain she had changed her clothes no less than five times, finally settling on a pair of navy Capri pants, paired with boat shoes of a similar colour and a light pink sweater that sat low on her shoulders. She pulled her hair into a pony tail and kept her make-up to a minimum. For Sunday dinner meeting Jake's parents, she wanted to look wholesome; the kind of girl a mom and dad would pick for their baby boy. \"Hi beautiful,\" Jake called out from the truck window as he pulled up in front of the apartment block. He got out of his truck with the kind of athletic prowess only developed through years of physical labor. Instead of the trendy dress clothes he'd worn on their last meeting, he returned to his typical worn jeans and cowboy boots, a look Tatum had grown to prefer. Jake walked quickly toward her. Catching her off guard with his out-of-character behavior, he grabbed her around the waist, pulled her toward him and kissed her firmly on the lips. \"Wow!\" said Tatum. \"Now that's what I call a greeting!\" Jake continued to hold her hand. \"What's the occasion?\" she asked. \"I'd like to know what I did to deserve that, so I can do it again,\" she teased. \"I just really had a good time the other night, and I missed you. I've been thinking about doing that for two days and I simply couldn't wait any longer,\" he answered. \"I've been thinking about it for two days too,\" said Tatum. \"Got any more?\" she said with a grin. Jake leaned in and kissed her one more time, this time with less force and more tenderness than his first kiss. The kiss was long, giving Tatum lots of time to appreciate the sweetness of his mouth and the gentleness of his touch. Finally, they parted lips but they continued to hold hands. As they walked toward Jake's pickup, Tatum looked back at the apartment block. For just a second, she caught a glimpse of Milligan watching out his window. When he caught her eye, he winked, silently letting her know he approved.\n\n. The Mackinley residence was about ten minutes out of town, right in the heart of the surrounding farm land. \"We're got four sections left,\" explained Jake as they neared his family home. \"The rest has either been sold off, or is now oil land. What's left, dad still farms.\" Jake drove quickly along the dusty gravel roads that provided borders to ownership of the respective sections of farmland as only someone who had known the roads their entire life would be able. He sped down the long lane leading to his family's home until he came to an abrupt stop and parked in amongst a series of pickups, tractors, and combines. With the exception of a small patch of grass and a few shrubs, the yard was ungroomed and intended for work, dirt and dust providing most of the landscaping materials. The family farmhouse had stood for nearly a century, and its age was apparent. Although there were many obvious renovations and upgrades, the original structure and design had been maintained. Although likely considered a large and luxurious home in its day, by present standards, the farmhouse was small and modest. Jake helped Tatum step down from pickup and then led her onto the front porch where he opened what Tatum assumed was the original wooden screen door. The door let out a loud squeak and then a slam noise as Jake opened and then dropped the door behind them, announcing their arrival to anyone who was listening. \"Jakey? Is that you?\" Tatum heard a woman's voice call. \"Yes, mom. We're here,\" Jake responded. Mrs. Mackinley was in her mid-60s. She was heavy set woman, who looked exactly as Tatum had expected. She had high cheekbones and shoulder length medium brown hair that she had pulled back into a low set bun, complemented by large soft eyes that made her look like a grandmother described in a storybook. She wore an apron, and it was obvious that the apron had a practical purpose; it was not simply for looks. \"Please excuse the mess I'm in,\" were her first words to Tatum. \"With a house full of boys, I spend an awful lot of time in the kitchen.\" \"Mom, this is Tatum,\" introduced Jake. \"Tatum, this is my mom, Carol.\" \"My goodness. You're every bit as breathtaking as Jakey said you were,\" Mrs. Mackinley stated. \"Thank you,\" answered Tatum. \"Come on in hun. Can I get you something to drink? Tell me about yourself? How's work?\" Mrs. Mackinley was a talker and Tatum quickly realized there was not going to be any uncomfortable silence to deal with. Suddenly, Tatum understood why Jake was so comfortable in his unlikely friendship with Vinnie. \"Where's Dad and Brady? I'd like to introduce them too.\" \"Your dad is outside in the barn. I think Brady might be with him.\" Jake grabbed Cokes for himself and Tatum and then led her out toward the back part of the family's property. Tatum saw three silhouettes from a distance, apparently mulling over a piece of farming machinery. As they neared, she could tell that two of the three were full grown men, but the last silhouette belonged to a child. \"Tatum, I'd like you to meet my dad, George, my granddad, Pete, and last but not least, Brady.\" \"Nice to see you again Tatum,\" said Pete politely, much less willing to show his appreciation for Tatum's appearance in the company of his family. \"Yes, nice to see you again too. Thanks again for helping me get set up with all my stuff for the renos.\" \"No problem. Anything for a girl who can put a smile on my grandson's face. We've waited a long time, you know?\" \"So I've heard,\" said Tatum, looking sideways at Jake. Tatum turned to Jake's father. \"Nice to meet you sir,\" she said. George smiled shyly and simply said, \"Likewise ma'am.\" _Ahh..._ , thought Tatum, _there we go. An explanation for Jake._\n\nGeorge also looked exactly as Tatum had pictured, tilted hat and John Deere greens. She laughed to herself about the predictability of the Wainwright population. \"And Brady. Nice to meet you,\" Tatum said, being careful to lower herself so that she was at his level. She had learned from her time working with kids how important it was to never talk down to them physically, or metaphorically. \"Nice to meet you ma'am,\" said Brady, following the lead of his soft-spoken grandfather. \"I think I saw you on the Home Hardware float the day of the parade. Was that you?\" asked Tatum, trying to make conversation with Jake's son. \"Yes, ma'am. I ride on it every year.\" \"The parade day was the highlight of my summer.\" She cast a shared glance at Jake. \"How about you?\" she continued questioning Brady\n\n\"Nope, my favourite part was when Grandpa and Dad took me fishing. I'd never been fishing before.\" Brady continued, talking to Tatum like he'd known her for years. He told Tatum about his trip and the rest of his summer. When he slowed and edged back toward his more quiet nature, Tatum begged him to continue, wanting to share the world with the most important person in Jake's life. Jake smiled, please at the fact that his son obviously agreed with his choice.\n\n.\n\nDinner was as casual as promised. Jake had cooked hamburgers and with the help of his mother and Brady, a homemade burger feast was laid out on the table. Tatum sat next to Jake and followed his lead on the family's dinner time customs. To her delight, Brady had chosen the seat next to Tatum, obviously quite taken by his father's new friend. The conversation flowed easily, Mrs. MacKinley leaving little room for breaks in the dialogue. After dinner, Carol made coffee and cut into the rhubarb and strawberry pie she had been wearing on her apron earlier that day. It was the first time Tatum had been to a farmhouse dinner, but all of a sudden, she felt like she'd belonged there her entire life.\n\n. It was nearly eleven by the time Jake dropped Tatum off at her apartment. She had spent the evening playing cards with the family and listening intently to Carol tell stories about Jake. \"I had a good time tonight,\" she said as he walked her to the door. \"Me too. I'm glad you came. My family are crazy, but I love them.\" \"I can see why,\" said Tatum. \"Brady likes you,\" he said. Then Jake's face turned solemn. \"I like you too,\" he said quietly. Tatum didn't even answer; she was too busy initiating their next kiss, making sure she got her fill before her up-coming three week drought. # Chapter 17\n\nWell aware that the next three weeks would go slowly, Tatum resolved to bury herself in her work. In particular, she intended to make significant progress on her research work. She had initiated a proposal to develop an Autism treatment and diagnostic center, and she intended to meet her goal before the end of her internship. She knew that the first three days of the week were often scheduled fully with direct patient contact, but Thursday and Friday would leave some time for working on her proposition. She also knew that her biggest struggle in getting her work done would continue to be the obsession she was developing about the strange events at WMI. Monday morning and afternoon were, as she suspected would be the case, booked fully with clinical time. Despite her heavy clinical schedule she ensured that she made time for James. Having had the weekend to think it over, she had decided she was prepared to dismiss his comment from the previous week. She would not let her own feelings and pride interfere with the progress James had made as a result of her company. As was her routine, Tatum assessed until noon and then grabbed lunch to-go and made her way to Unit Three. She chatted with James, not letting him know that she had been upset with him a few days before. Finally, when she was done filling their time together, Tatum got up to leave\n\n\"Bye James,\" she said as she always did. \"Bye,\" he responded in his mumbled tone. Tatum took extreme pleasure in knowing that his responses were becoming routine. Perhaps being overzealous, she also assumed that his choice not to repeat his previous comment also demonstrated that he had understood that she had been upset by it. She knew that for people with Autism, emotional understanding did not come easily, and being able to understand her response would show real progress.\n\n.\n\nTatum finished the afternoon, working her way methodically through her expected tasks, knowing that there was one thing she would be sure to do prior to leaving for the day. When her final therapy session was over, Tatum sat down at the computer in her small, rectangular office, and drafted an e-mail to Tim. \"Hi Tim, I have a request that I was hoping you might be able to help me with. I spoke to Anne last week and she suggested that I should make this request to you, since you were able to help me with my previous request for time off. Recently, a patient I've been seeing, Kory Atchinson, was moved to Unit Four because of an incident with one of the nurses. I would like to be able to go and see Kory. So, I would like to request that I be provided with increased access. Do you think that it may be appropriate for me to have access to these units at this time? If so, could you please let me know what the process is to be able to gain access? Thanks Tatum.\" Tatum re-read her message, making sure that her request was both respectful and clear, and then she clicked send, hopeful that she would have access to see Kory prior to the end of the week.\n\n.\n\nTuesday and Wednesday Tatum concentrated fully on the tasks at hand, trying her best to keep her mind on her work. During spare minutes, either throughout the day or at home in the evening, she worked on completing her reports, so that on Thursday she would have time to visit Kory, assuming she was permitted access. Finally, late Wednesday afternoon, a response from Tim arrived. \"Hi Tatum, I agree that you have now been here long enough to be appropriately assigned to Units Four and Five. However, I would prefer to provide you with a supervised tour through the units, rather than having your first visit as an independent visit to the facility. Do you have some time to meet with me tomorrow afternoon? We could set up your access and then I could take you through the Unit? Let me know... Tim.\" Tatum knew that she should wait, as to not appear overzealous about getting into the additional units, but, despite her best judgment, she responded immediately. \"That sounds perfect Tim. I would really appreciate you helping me set up my access, and showing me the units. Should we meet in the board room at one o'clock on Thursday? Tatum.\" As quickly as she had responded, Tatum received an answer. \"One o'clock tomorrow it is. Tim.\"\n\n. Tatum stayed late that evening to make sure that all of her clinical reports were drafted and so all that would be required the following morning would be to do final edits and submit. She walked home around seven contemplating a variety of different scenarios about the goings-on in Units Four and Five. She was certain that regardless of what occurred, neither unit could be as bad as what she had imagined in her head. Knowing that the next day she would finally see the inside of her up-till-now non-accessible units, Tatum could not help herself. She broke the promise to herself that she had made several weeks prior. She made herself a quick dinner, one that went directly from the freezer to microwave, and then sat down at her computer to eat. Similar to times past, her search started with a history of Wainwright Mental Institution, and then quickly became more specifically geared toward any information she could find about Units Four, Five, and Six. As always, her search found several blogs, including those that Tatum had previously written-off as developed by nut-jobs. This time she paused, willing for the first time, to browse the blogs that she had earlier considered ridiculous. The first one had been started by a blogger who called himself 'notsocrazybloke'; he wrote about government conspiracies, national and international. His tirades included theories about the Twin Towers, the Swiss plane crash, and the Unibomber. He also discussed lesser known issues, including the one that caught Tatum's attention. He was convinced that the Units were a place of abuse, neglect, involuntary commitment and unethical experimentation. He talked about corrupt politicians that provided funding for things the public couldn't know. He talked about powerful and influential physicians that accepted brides to complete the work that ethical professionals refused to do. She switched to a discussion forum dedicated entirely to talk of WMI. There were contributors who claimed to be previous patients that had escaped, others who said their family members were trapped inside, and some who thought that WMI was a facility that housed aliens the government had found but wanted to keep quiet. _Crazy!_ thought Tatum as she continued through the postings. Occasionally, someone sane would make a contribution and say something about how it might be possible the WMI was just an institution intended for housing and treating people with mental health issues. These posts would always be followed by a barrage of accusations about how the person writing the defense of WMI was overly-gullible and didn't understand the real workings of the political underworld. Tatum realized she was starting to think that she might be one of those who were overly-gullible and trusting; an uneasy feeling came over her. She was thankful when her moment of dread was interrupted by the ringing of the phone. It was Jake, calling her as had become his nightly custom. She picked up the phone, took one look at the disturbing material on her screen and then shut off her computer, convinced it would be her last visit to such ridiculous websites.\n\n.\n\nThursday morning Tatum jumped out of bed and completed her run with enthusiasm and energy. Today would be the day she'd get to dispel all of her concerns about the types of things that happened in her off-limit units. _I was all concerned about Unit Six, and it turned out to be nothing. I'm sure this will be the same,_ she reassured herself. Milligan poured her coffee and asked, as he always did, about her plans for the day. \"So, today's the secret units, hey?\" Milligan asked. Tatum laughed. She knew Milligan was teasing her about her obsession with what went on in Units Four and Five. \"Yeah. I'm sure it's nothing compared to what's in my head. Couldn't be I don't think.\" \"Well, I want a full run-down tomorrow, right?\" \"Of course. Probably be nothing to tell though.\"\n\n. Tatum got to work early so that she could make sure all of her reports were complete and submitted before lunch. She spent lunch hour with James and then waited patiently for Tim in the board room. Several minutes after one, Anne entered the meeting space. \"Surprised to see me?\" asked Anne. \"Kind of, but it's a nice surprise,\" answered Tatum. \"What happened to Tim?\" \"I don't know. You know Tim. He mumbled something about too much work to do, and then asked me to cover for him. Pretty typical. Anyway, I was glad to. Get to spend the afternoon with my favorite intern.\" Anne flashed one of her brilliant, engaging smiles. \"Ready?\" \"Let's go,\" answered Tatum. The first task for the afternoon was to see Marja at the front desk and have Tatum's FOB updated. Tim had forwarded an email giving permission, so the increased permissions only required a couple of moments for the capable front desk clerk. \"You ready for this?\" she asked Tatum half joking, half serious. \"I think so. How bad can it be?\" Marja and Anne shared a look.\n\n.\n\nTatum and Anne moved to Unit Four with an ease that wouldn't have occurred several months previous. Tatum knew her way around well and now opted to lead the way to the unfamiliar unit. She approached the previously inaccessible door that guarded the higher security unit and placed her FOB on the reader that determined who could pass through. Tatum heard the familiar click and then pulled on the now accessible door. Unit Four was blue. The patients wore blue issue and the charts had blue covers. Similar to the other units, it had one large room and several smaller rooms on tiers surrounding the inner circle. But, in contrast to the other units, the larger inner circle had no homey feel. There was a single TV placed high up near the ceiling and two reclining chairs. No tables, puzzles, books or any other item that could potentially be used for harm was evident. Patients sat restrained, many of them appearing to be so heavily drugged that their consciousness was minimal. Others continued to scream and writhe, presumably despite substantial medication. Their writhing was in vain, with strait jackets preventing many of the patients from using their arms. Others wore gags on their mouths, Tatum assumed to avoid biting and spitting. _It looks like a scene out of 'Silence of the Lambs'_ , she thought as she took it all in. She saw patients with scars on their torsos and cuts all over their arms. She saw patients attempting to claw and pick their own faces, having the appearance as if they'd previously been successful on many occasions. Video cameras kept close surveillance on every corner of every room, and security guard watched intently as clinicians worked with the patients. Tatum immediately understood the adoption of prison lingo within the institution's walls. Where a small window provided some ability to observe Unit Three patients in their dorms, Unit Four dorm walls were nearly entirely see-through and made of some kind of protective glass to prevent it from being smashed and becoming a potential weapon. The dorms were laid out similarly, but no provisions for privacy were permitted. For those that could complete their own daily care, all personal activities occurred in plain view of everyone else in the ward. Otherwise, the nurses completed the care activities, in an openly observable care-giving room with guards in attendance. Tatum watched as one of the patients exited the main room and entered a dorm. He pulled down his pants and Tatum felt her stomach enter her throat as she thought about what was about to occur publically. _Maybe I wasn't ready for this,_ she told herself as she attempted to keep from vomiting. \"Are you alright Tatum?\" asked Anne. \"I will be,\" responded the sickly intern. Finally Tatum caught sight of Kory, sitting in his dorm on the bed. He had been placed in a strait jacket like the others, preventing further nurse injury while waiting for his day in court. \"There's Kory,\" she said to Anne. \"Can we move out of his line of sight? I just don't think I can see him at the moment. I'll come back.\" \"You bet honey. It's tough. I know it's tough.\"\n\n. Unit Five was more of the same, with yellow issue, additional guards and bars. Where the Unit Four dorms had doors that the patients could open and close if they were permitted, Unit Five's dorm doors had prison bars where the doors had been in the previous unit. There were additional video cameras and the security guards stood solemnly holding their protective weapons. There were both men and women on the ward, but the female side was much smaller and segregated from the men. \"They are not allowed out at the same time,\" explained Anne. Some of the women had faces that looked as if they'd been beaten in with baseballs bats, others were missing limbs or walked with an ogre-like hobble, and the women looked better than the men. Many of the men looked like they had lived hard lives, tattooed and pierced. Scarred and maimed bodies were the norm and many of their faces were disfigured beyond recognition of humanness. They reached their arms through the bars of their cells, making it look like the unit was alive with some kind of parasite. Tatum felt small, like a frightened child. She was embarrassed by her reaction. Her skin crawled when the men in the cells cat-called lude comments to her, appreciating the pretty doctor that was in their midst. A few of them touched themselves and let her know what they had in mind. There was a distinct smell of bodily fluids, covered by copious amounts of bleach and air freshener. Once again Tatum could taste vomit in the back of her throat. _Nope, not worse in my mind_ , she thought as she re-considered her comment to Milligan earlier that day. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Anne led Tatum out of Unit Five and outdoors where the air smelled clean and fresh. Tatum took in a deep breath, desperate to remove the stench of Unit Five from her senses. Slowly she felt her stomach start to settle back down and her heart rate return to normal. \"Pretty tough, hey?\" asked Anne. \"Harder than I expected.\" \"Don't worry hun. Pretty much everybody reacts like that the first time. You'll get used to it.\" Tatum didn't respond. _I've heard that before._\n\n. Tatum left that afternoon, still in a fog after having visited the two highest need units. She ran herself a bath and stayed immersed for longer than normal, hoping to remove the feeling of Units Four and Five on her skin.\n\n. The next day in the Research Unit promised to be easier. Supervision of the research assistants was both simple and predictable, something she could count on to not make her sick. Tatum worked on correcting the assessment techniques of the assistants in the morning and then visited James over lunch. For the afternoon she had planned to continue working on her proposal for the Autism treatment center. Her office in the research center was brighter than her clinical office and there were more co-workers with whom to share the day. Her afternoon was enjoyable and she spent some time wondering around the Unit, getting to know some of the other workers. She wondered into the Psychopharmacology Lab, intent on befriending some more friendly researchers. Instead, she ran into Dr. Gagnon. \"Hi June. Remember me? Tatum?\" \"Hi,\" responded the less than friendly psychiatrist without even turning around. \"I didn't know you did research in here. Do you mind if I ask what you're working on?\" June turned around. Tatum saw the scalpels Dr. Gagnon held imposingly in each hand and took a quick step back. \"I do animal model research,\" she explained gruffly, obviously not interested in any more discussion. \"Okay,\" Tatum said, taking the hint, \"I'll let you get back to your work then.\" Tatum left the office, curious about the precision and skill it must take to complete surgery on mice. Chapter 18\n\nHaving had a long work week, Tatum was determined to spend Saturday in leisure mode. Yoga was first on the agenda. The relaxation of the serene activity seemed particularly inviting. Sam had worked really late the night before at the restaurant and had mentioned to Tatum something about a special booking, so Tatum was on her own for the class. It worked out well for Tatum, she fully intended to have an extended coffee session with Milligan; she had some things she wanted to ask.\n\n.\n\n\"See you later Ivan,\" Milligan called out to his previous coffee partner as he headed down the street to go about his day. \"Ah, my newest victim,\" he joked when he saw Tatum nearing her usual chair. \"Morning Milligan,\" she said as he passed her a cup. \"Heard anything from home,\" Milligan asked, wanting to get Tatum talking. \"Just the usual, but keeping my fingers crossed,\" she answered. \"How about work? Anything new?\" Tatum had to bite her tongue, similar to how she'd bitten her tongue with Jake every night this week. \"Nothing in particular. Things are going well. How about you? Heard anything from the kids?\" Tatum hoped that her comment seemed nonchalant, despite her covert intention to get Milligan talking about his family. \"Yvonne called Thursday. We talked for a bit and I chatted with the grandkids for a minute. They're keeping busy doing sports and school. I can't remember being that busy when my kids were little.\" \"But, you were on your own right?\" Tatum pushed slightly. \"Well, not always, but from the time they were, oh, I don't know, maybe five and seven I sure was. Kids need a mom, it's not the same.\" \"But I bet you were a great dad.\" \"A great dad can be great, but it's not mom,\" said Milligan seriously. \"Yes, I suppose. I know you said before that Jennie had ongoing mental health issues? Did she spend any time at WMI?\" Tatum treaded very carefully, unsure of how much she would be able to push without upsetting Milligan too much. \"Yup. She was actually a patient there when she died.\" \"She went in right after your son passed away?\" \"Mmm hmm. I guess his death was just too much for her.\" \"It would be for anyone, I think.\" \"I thought she'd get some help and then come home. But, she chose to leave us instead. I don't know if I've ever completely forgiven her for that.\" \"How did she die?\" asked Tatum, hoping that she hadn't gone too far. \"She shot herself. We didn't even get to see her. They said the damage was so severe that it would be traumatic for the family, so she went straight to the crematorium. Didn't even get to say goodbye.\" Tatum knew that she'd asked enough for the day. She changed the topic. \"So, did Ivan ever get that door fixed?\" she inquired, referring to the coffee patron before her. \"Yah,\" answered Milligan, openly relieved the talk about his family had ended.\n\n. When coffee time finished, Tatum couldn't shake the troubled feeling she'd had since Milligan's last comment about Jennie. Everything she'd ever read about suicide had said that women rarely used traumatic means, and that methods that created disfiguring damage were even less common. Something wasn't right about Milligan's version of the awful events. ***\n\nThe beginning of the following week dragged on, with Jake's nightly phone call acting as the only highlight of the day. Tatum was surprised at how she'd previously been perfectly happy to work and to go home, alone. Now that she'd done a complete turn-around about Jake, every moment without him felt long and lonely. She tried to keep herself distracted, time passed faster that way. She filled her time working, visiting with Sam or Milligan, and contemplating possible explanations for the inconsistencies she continued to find. Even her conversations with Jake would sometimes turn into fact finding missions. Thursday was her report-day and she knew that, despite the butterflies in her stomach, she fully intended to return to Unit Five the following afternoon. But, before her trip to Unit Five could meet her intended need, she required some additional information. Feeling just a touch manipulative and guilty, as she had felt the previous weekend when she spoke with Milligan, Tatum encouraged Jake to talk about his previous life, and specifically Julia's death. She dove in where she hadn't been willing to go before.\n\n.\n\n\"So, did I tell you that I think the office I was assigned at work may have been Julia's previous office?\" Tatum made the comment very matter-of-factly, intent on avoid too much emotion in the conversation about Jake's dead wife. \"No, I'm pretty sure I would have remembered you telling me that,\" Jake responded. \"What makes you think that?\" \"I just found a few forms in the desk drawers, that's all; stuff with her signature on it.\" \"Hmm,\" was all he said. \"I told you I visited Units Four and Five last week, right?\" \"Yes, you did,\" answered Jake, expressing his disapproval with his voice. \"Pretty nasty places.\" \"You don't know the half of it.\" \"You said the guy that hurt Julia was from Unit Five, didn't you?\" \"Yah, Lee Trent, the bastard. He's still there. He's crazy, so he gets to use that as an excuse for the shit he did. Uses it so he doesn't have to do real time. Sick pig\". _Seems like real time to me_ , thought Tatum, remembering the horror of Unit Five. Tatum had what she wanted. She made a mental note, _Lee Trent_ , and vowed that his file would be the first one she pulled the next day. Then, she quickly changed topics, hopeful that she hadn't destroyed any chance of having her normally enjoyable conversation with Jake.\n\n.\n\nThursday morning Tatum went straight to her office and booted her computer. She was determined to get all of her reports done first thing so that she would have time for her planned visit to Unit Five. Before going to visit with James, she used her new access capabilities to go into the filing room and pull Lee Trent's file. She wasn't so much interested in what the file had to say, it would be used primarily as a ploy to convince the Unit Five staff that she had some business with Mr. Trent. She took some of her lunch-hour, while she sat with James, to quickly browse through the file. Nothing seemed particularly surprising. He was dual diagnosis; he had been diagnosed with schizophrenia as a young child and he also had a mental age much lower than his chronological years. The file suggested that his mental age may have been around that of a first grader. His first offense was a sexual offense with a similar aged handicapped girl who lived in a group home where he attended social activities. They had been dating for some time, and he wanted to make their relationship sexual. She wasn't so sure. One night, they decided to go further than they'd ever gone. She got scared and started to scream. Afraid that he would be in trouble if someone came and found them in their compromising position, he put a pillow over her face to keep her screams muted. He pushed the pillow down too hard for too long and ended up in Unit Five on charges of sexual assault and second degree murder. He had gone to the forensic psych unit in place of the provincial penitentiary because multiple psychiatrists testified that he had no capacity to realize the consequences of his actions. Tatum read on. His second offense was Julia. According to the file, Lee had a daughter that had been conceived during a separate consensual sexual encounter with a girl who also had developmental delay. Julia thought it was important that he meet his daughter and was trying to help him to get rights to visitation. Julia was pretty and friendly and Lee didn't understand that her approaches were amicable, not sexual. The file described him violently sexually assaulting her and then strangling her, keeping her quiet so no one else would hear.\n\n.\n\nTatum thought about Michael, sweet Michael. The truth was that, somewhere deep down, she knew the mistake Lee had made during his first offense was something that Michael was fully capable of, unless under constant supervision. He had the body and physical desires of a man, and the mind of a child. However, what she also knew was that the fact that Michael was capable of the first offense, in no way made him capable of completing the offenses against Julia. The second offense had components of malice and evil; pieces of the attack seemed intentional and well-planned. Tatum wondered whether what she thought about the differences in these attacks for Michael, also applied for Lee.\n\n.\n\nTatum said goodbye to James. She still felt uneasy at the idea of returning to Unit Five, wondering whether her stomach could handle it. She entered the Unit, unfamiliar with the script of what clinicians did when they wanted to see a patient. She went to the sign-in desk, the same one that visitors would use if they wanted to see a patient. The sign-in desk was adjacent to the visitor's seating area where visitors could visit with patients through secured, break and bullet proof glass. No direct contact occurred with the patients and those from the outside. \"Good morning, I'm Dr. O'Neill; I'm here to see Mr. Trent,\" Tatum said to the desk clerk in her most official, not-to-be-questioned voice. \"Sign here,\" said the desk clerk pointing to a clinician sign-in form. Tatum thought for a moment and then decided to take her chances that the guard at the desk was less than concerned about her being there. She diligently signed 'Anne Horstings' as she requested Mr. Trent's dorm number. \"He's in Dorm 6 on Tier 2, but you'll have to be accompanied. Hey Shane,\" he yelled out to the uniformed man standing by the guard's station. \"Dr. O'Neill needs an escort up to Trent's room.\" \"On it,\" said Shane as he rushed over to help the pretty doctor, \"Right this way ma'am.\" Tatum followed Shane through the common room and up the stairs to room 6 where, through the bars, she saw a large man sitting alone on the bottom bunk. He was hovered over and curled in the corner with his head lowered. Tatum approached the bars, staying closer to Shane than she should have. \"Mr. Trent? I'm Dr. O'Neill. I was hoping I could talk with you for a moment.\" No response. \"Mr. Trent?\" Lee slowly lifted his head. Like Tatum had observed with many individuals with developmental delay, Lee's head seemed oversized, even for his large body, and his jaw appeared to jut forward. His hair was cut in a crew cut, making his large head look like a giant egg. He looked at Tatum and anger filled his face. \"What do you want? Why are you guys always bugging me?\" \"I don't want anything Mr. Trent; I just wanted to meet you.\" \"Well I don't wanna meet you.\" \"Don't you like to talk to people?\" \"No!\" \"How come?\" \"They are all liars.\" \"Who are liars?\" \"Doctors. Everybody. Liars.\" \"Why do you say that?\" \"I didn't do it.\" Tatum looked at Shane. \"He always says that,\" explained Shane. \"They all do.\" \"I see,\" said Tatum. \"Shane, would you mind letting me in to talk to him for a moment in private. You could watch from right here?\" \"Umm, it's not really protocol to go into their dorms.\" \"I'll be fine; we can leave the cell door ajar and you will be right here. Plus, there's video cameras on us at all times.\" \"Yah, okay. But only for a couple of minutes.\" \"Just a couple. You bet.\" Shane unlocked the cell and let Tatum in closer to the prisoner. \"What do you want?\" Lee shouted attempting to be threatening. Tatum watched his body language closely; she'd had lots of experience with temper tantrums with her brother. As long as he was still seated with his arms crossed in front, she was fairly certain he wouldn't strike out. Yelling was a passive defense; it typically hid internal fear, not aggression. \"I just wanted to come closer so that you could see that I trust you not to hurt me,\" Tatum said, hoping she was right. \"I don't think you'll hurt me,\" she repeated. \"I won't hurt you,\" he said in return. \"I don't like to hurt people,\" he continued. \"I believe you,\" responded Tatum quietly. \"You said earlier that you didn't do it. What did you mean?\" \"I didn't hurt that pretty lady. The one they said I hurt. I didn't hurt her.\" \"Then why did everyone think you did?\" \"Cause they put me in there before anybody came to see. I didn't do it.\" \"Then who did it Lee?\" \"I dunno. There was no one there when they took me to the room, only her. She was hurt, bad, and I got scared. I didn't do it.\" \"I believe you,\" Tatum repeated quietly enough that she hoped no one else could hear. # Chapter 19\n\nThe rest of the week was basically a write-off. Tatum was unable to think; her head whirled with thoughts and hypotheses about who might have killed Julia, and what the possible motive might have been. She had spent a few hours continuing with her work on the Autism Center proposal, but that had been her only productive activity. Despite her foggy, distracted head, she had promised Sam that she would spend the weekend helping her prepare her materials for court the following week, and she intended to hold true to her word.\n\n. Needing the relaxation and focus of yoga more than ever, Tatum lay her mat on the floor and anxiously waited for Sam to arrive. \"Hey you,\" Tatum called out to her freckled friend when she finally came through the door, \"I'm so glad to see you.\" \"Wow, that's weird. What's up?\" said Sam, knowing Tatum well enough to understand that her expression of direct affection was kind of out of character; she was more prone to humor. \"Just a bad week. Looking forward to spending some time with a friend.\" \"Good, cause we've got a lot of time to spend. My stuff needs a lot of work before a judge can see it.\" \"We'll get 'er done,\" said Tatum confidently. The two friends worked diligently throughout the afternoon arranging receipts, organizing contracts and sorting out financial paperwork. Finally, everything that could be sorted or filed had been handled and it was time for dinner. \"How's wings and beer sound?\" asked Sam. \"Took the words right out of my mouth,\" answered Tatum.\n\n. The wings were hot, requiring more beer than Tatum typically consumed. By the time she'd finished eating and she and Sam had parted ways, Tatum was feeling just drunk enough that for the first time in days she wasn't obsessing about WMI. She teetered down the street to her apartment, humming to herself and thinking about Jake. When she reached Regency Apartments, she stumbled up the stairs, opened her door and flopped down on the sofa, waiting for time to reduce the effects of the beer. Then, as quickly as the positive mood created from the beer had come on, it was gone. Tatum felt as if a million emotions passed through her simultaneously; confusion, fear, and terror all swept through her at once, each overwhelmed by the primary emotion of sadness. For the first time, _Michael might die,_ became real in her mind. Tatum picked up the phone, suddenly desperate for any news about her brother. \"Hi Mom?\" she said. \"Tatum. What's wrong?\" \"I just needed to talk to you. That's all.\" \"Are you okay?\" \"I'm fine. Just feeling a bit down.\" \"Are you drunk?\" \"A little. How's Michael?\" \"It's the same sweetie. We've talked to the surgeon now and he says we should have a date for surgery soon. Maybe in a week or two.\" \"Has he responded at all?\" \"No sweetie. But, I'm sure he can hear us.\" \"I hope so. I miss you mom.\" \"I miss you too honey. I will give him a kiss for you, okay?\" \"Thanks mom. Love you.\" \"Love you too. Now go get some sleep,\" Sophia instructed in her most motherly tone. Tatum put the phone down, but she had no intention of going to sleep. Her buzz was starting to wear off, but not so much that her inhibitions weren't still slightly reduced. She picked up the phone again,\n\n\"Hi Dr. Z.?\" \"Tatum?\" \"Yah, it's me. I need to talk. I need to talk to you specifically actually. I don't have anyone else to talk to about this.\" \"Is it more suspicion of WMI?\" \"Yup, but now it's getting really crazy. I don't think that the patient who they said killed Julia actually did it.\" \"Why?\" \"Well, I have no real evidence, but I talked to him and he said he didn't. I think he's telling the truth.\" \"Why? Patients lie all the time Tatum.\" \"I know. But the two crimes described in his file are different. The first one is a crime of situation. He got scared and made an unintentional, but costly mistake - like a child. Julia's death was intentional, violent. It doesn't make sense that he would do it.\" \"If he says he didn't do it, did he tell you who did?\" \"He just said that he was put in the room after she was already dead and he got scared.\" \"Tatum, this is probably something you shouldn't get messed up in.\" \"I know. I know. But, I'm already in too deep. I think something really wrong has happened.\" \"Is there anything else?\" Dr. Z. asked, not sure if she actually wanted to know. \"You remember the unexplained scars.\" \"Yes.\" \"Dr. Gagnon does rat research, really fine, very skilled rat surgery.\" \"Oh Tatum, lots of researchers work with rats.\" \"Yah, I guess. But, I'm starting to think that all of this is not just my own paranoia Dr. Z.\" \"Tatum?\" her trusted mentor said slowly. \"Yes?\" \"Be careful.\"\n\n. The next morning Tatum's beer had worn off, but her drive for answers hadn't. She went down for coffee determined to find out as much information from Milligan as he was willing and capable of providing. \"Good Morning Milligan,\" she said as she headed over to the coffee pot. \"Well, good morning Tatum. What brings you out so early on a Sunday?\" Tatum looked at her watch; she was indeed earlier than normal. \"Just couldn't sleep anymore.\" Milligan had completely moved coffee time into the common room in the building, hunkered down in preparation for winter. The mornings now meant a late sunrise and cool temperatures, too cool for most of his patrons. \"Well, grab your seat. I'll get your coffee.\" Tatum took a deep slurp of the delicious black liquid in the cup he passed her, the warmth filling her deeply. She looked at her friend and suddenly felt guilty about what she was about to do. He would have no idea that her questions held any purpose but sincere concern for his well-being. \"So, Milligan?\" \"Yah.\" \"Yesterday you told me the grandkids were all involved in sports?\" \"Umm hmm.\" \"You never really said which ones. I played soccer and baseball growing up in Chicago; we have a strong Latino influence there. What do kids play here?\" \"Baseball is huge here too. They all play ball. Nicole and Amber also dance; I think it's that jazz or whatever they call it?\" Tatum nodded. \"And Craig plays hockey in the winter.\" \"Hockey, hey? A real Canadian boy,\" Tatum laughed. \"Yeah, it's something most Canadian boys seem to want to play. Just part of who we are, I guess.\" \"Did Billy play hockey when he was young?\" \"Oh yah, I spent many an early morning over at the coliseum. He went right to junior.\" \"What's that?\" \"I'm not sure how it would equate to ball exactly, but maybe we could think of it as a step below the minors?\" \"Got ya. So he was pretty good.\" \"Yup. Loved it too. Hockey was all that kid could think about when he was young. He ate, slept and breathed hockey.\" Tatum decided that now was as good of a time as any to ask the questions she'd been burning to get to. \"And, how about your other boy? Did he ever play?\" \"No. He was only just over two when he got sick. We never had a chance to figure out what sports he wanted to play.\" Milligan answered the question without becoming too obviously upset, so Tatum pressed on. \"What was his sickness again?\" \"You know, I can't really say. That was a long time ago and Jennie was always the one that dealt with the appointments and the doctors and such. One day he got worse than normal, so Jennie took him to the hospital and he never came home. After that everything is just a blur. Jennie got so much worse; that's when she finally had to go up to the Units. She dealt with all the arrangement for the memorial and everything and then she became someone else. It was just too much for her. I was so busy trying to keep Yvonne and Billy okay that I think I was really somewhere else. Your brain is amazing; it kind of just shuts off stuff you don't really want to remember. It's a bit of a gift really. I don't know if I'd want to remember every detail of that time.\" Tatum just about had what she'd come for, but she decided to make one final push for the last piece of information she was seeking. \"I know from the last while with Michael, that there are definitely days that I'm in a fog and, like you, I'm kind of thankful for that. Losing your boy and your Jennie at the same time is almost unimagineable,\" she continued. \"I'm sorry Milligan, I can't remember, did you tell me your son's name?\" Milligan just looked away. _One step too far_ , thought Tatum. She quickly changed the topic as if she'd never asked the question.\n\n.\n\nOnly five days remained until Jake returned. Tatum could hardly wait. Work kept her busy; her patient load was heavy, and a heavy patient load always meant lots of reports and clinical files to complete. Sam was going to court on Thursday, so several of Tatum's evenings were full with continuing to help her friend prepare. She spent her time thinking about Michael, Jake, Sam, and work, giving her a much needed break from her whirling, suspicious head. Finally, Friday arrived. Tatum was, as usual, spending the day in the Research Unit, and it was the day where her proposal for the Autism Diagnosis and Treatment Center would be completed and submitted to an agency called the Canadian Institutes for Health Research. CIHR was the Canadian equivalent of the American National Institute for Health, an agency she was far more familiar with. Applying to an international agency was daunting, especially as a new applicant. Tatum had asked Tim, Dr. Fraser and Dr. Zubert for feedback to improve her application. As she had expected, Dr. Zubert's comments had been most helpful. The comments of Tim and Dr. Fraser were minor, like would be expected from someone who had glanced at, rather than read, the materials provided. At just before noon she received an email to her work address, something Jake rarely did. \"I'll be back at just after three. Going to go home and spend time with Brady until he's ready for bed. Can I come over after? Should be around eightish. Jake.\" Tatum felt the best she'd felt in weeks. \"I can't wait. I'll cook. Dinner at eight thirty. See you tonight! Tatum.\" Feeling like she had a new bounce in her step, Tatum left to have lunch with James. She purchased a sandwich and then grabbed two cinnamon rolls and two lattes; she wanted to share her good mood with James. As always, James was sitting by the window, looking nonchalant about his expectation of his usual visitor. \"Hi James. How are you today? I'm great. Jake's coming home tonight. I brought you a roll and a latte. I'll set them on the window sill like usual, okay?\" Tatum knew that after she left, the nurses would help James consume whatever she'd left for him. They had explained to Tatum that, if they didn't give him her offerings, his stereotypies became much more agitated. Some days were kind of quiet during their visits. Sometimes they just sat. Today was not one of those days. Tatum was excited and feeling good, so she managed to ramble at James for the full hour. At the end of their visit, Tatum was pleased to hear James' goodbye, but this time she witnessed him trying out his voice even further. \"Bye Tatum,\" he said, adding her name for the very first time. She noticed how, over the last many weeks, the use of his voice was improving the clarity of his words.\n\n.\n\nTatum starting getting ready for Jake's visit almost as soon as she arrived home from visiting the grocery store after work. She vacuumed, cleaned the kitchen, disinfected the bathroom, tidied her bedroom including changing her sheets, and dusted. When she was satisfied that the comfy, warm apartment was at its best, she set her sights on her own appearance. She showered and then moved to her closet for the all-important choice of wardrobe. She did not want to appear too dressed-up, but, at the same time, knocking Jake's socks off was definitely what she had in mind. Knowing that she would be staying in, she started by choosing a pair of fitted, soft, black slippers, the type that barely covered her feet but gave the appearance of shoes. She eventually decided on her favorite, worn blue jeans. They would be comfortable and she didn't want anything interfering with her enjoyment of the evening. Also, they were shorter than most of her other pants, appropriate for wear with her nearly bare feet. She paired her jeans with the black camisole and knitted top she'd worn on her first night out with Sam. But this time, in place of the clubbing look she had created previously, she tied her hair back in a low, loose pony tail and applied her make-up lightly, but with care. Alongside her face and neck she created soft, long tendrils, a look that Jake had complemented her on during past times together. Satisfied that she looked her best, Tatum moved to the kitchen and started to prepare the roast she had planned for their dinner. She had learned well from years of living with a family whose lives revolved around food. Tatum had spent many afternoons in the kitchen with her mother, and a roast beef dinner was Sophia's specialty. Jake had said several times during their phone conversations how much he hated eating every meal in a restaurant; he was looking forward to a home-cooked meal and Tatum was determined not to disappoint him. While the roast cooked, Tatum carefully set the table, something she hadn't done since she'd moved to Wainwright. She found two matching wine glasses and added them to the place settings. Then, as a final touch, she added a candle and some quiet music in the background.\n\n.\n\nJake arrived just after eight. After buzzing him up, Tatum opened her front door to see the strong, sexy man she'd been anxiously waiting for walking quickly down the hall. Not saying one word, Jake walked up to the door, put his arms around Tatum and pulled her close. He kissed her and she kissed him back. \"Sorry I'm a few minutes late,\" he said when their lips finally parted. \"Brady missed me and so I stayed with him until he was distracted by his movie. Three weeks is a long time.\" \"You're telling me,\" Tatum said as she smiled, letting Jake know she'd been eagerly awaiting his return. \"Something smells amazing,\" Jake commented as he walked further into the apartment. \"It's a roast. I hope you like it,\" said Tatum. \"Why don't you sit down? I'll go get us a glass of wine and some appies.\" Jake sat down and admired the woman he'd come to see as she walked back into the kitchen. Tatum had chosen a dry red, but had intentionally veered away from Two Oceans. She didn't want any reminders of Niko this evening. She returned to the living room with a glass for each of them and a tray of small snacks to hold them over until dinner was ready. They sat, ate, and talked, enjoying the good food and the great company. Finally, after just enough wine to make them brave, but not near enough to reduce their senses, Jake pulled Tatum into his arms, kissing her long and deep. Prepared to give in completely, all Tatum could do was groan, hoping he wouldn't stop there. He didn't. Jake kissed her neck as he let his hands explore the full length of her body. Tatum leaned her head back to fully expose all the parts of her neck and then slipped her hands under his shirt. His body was hard and muscular, different than Niko. The lean, wiry feel of Niko's body seemed like it had been small and effeminate in comparison to the well-built torso of the strapping man who held her close. Despite the strength in his hands, his touch was soft and the feel of his fingers lightly caressing her skin covered her body in goose bumps. \"You are so beautiful,\" Jake mumbled under his breath to Tatum as he nuzzled the sensitive spot behind her ear. As he spoke, his hands found the bottom of her shirt as she had found his. Jake slipped Tatum's shirt over her head and then took just a moment to fully realize her beauty prior to slipping off his own shirt so that he could feel her skin against his own. For a moment, the two lovers just held one another and appreciated the closeness created only by skin on skin. Lying in bed next to Jake, Tatum once again felt as if she was finally where she had always belonged. ***\n\nMorning peeked through the blinds. Jake rolled over and kissed the forehead of his beautiful bedmate. \"Good morning gorgeous,\" he said softly. Tatum slowly opened her eyes and saw Jake's handsome face above her. \"Good morning,\" she responded as he once again kissed her forehead. \"I'm going to go make us some coffee. You stay right here.\" Tatum waited, wondering whether Jake would be able to figure out how to make coffee in her kitchen. She rarely used her coffee machine, she always depended on Milligan. Finally, Jake returned, holding two steaming cups. \"Black, right?\" he asked as he handed a cup to Tatum. \"Yup. Thanks.\" They sat and drank their coffee, side-by-side sitting up in bed, both understanding that this would probably be the first day of the rest of their lives. Since he had been gone for several weeks, Jake had promised Vinnie that he would help with a kitchen installation during the day. He had also promised Brady that he'd be able to help. \"I'm going to have to get up and get going soon; I still have to shower and then run home and get Brady,\" he said as he put his and Tatum's coffee cups on the night stand. \"But, first, I need to say a proper goodbye.\" Jake pulled Tatum into him once again and then, like the new lovers they were, they christened the morning.\n\n.\n\nJake left with a promise to call her later that day and a reminder about his invite to his parent's house for dinner the next. It was Canadian Thanksgiving and his family would be marking the occasion with a full house of family and friends. Tatum attended yoga as she always did on Saturday, and then she and Sam made time for breakfast. She wanted to hear about how Sam's day in court had gone. They went to Johnny's and Tatum walked in with a whole new appreciation for the tired Saskatchewan farmers and the dated ambiance. Wainwright was slowly but surely becoming home, and it somehow looked different through those eyes. Both women ordered coffee, with eggs and bacon on the way, and then Tatum didn't waste any time. \"So, how'd Thursday go?\" \"Steve's an ass,\" Sam responded firmly. \"Why? What happened? I thought it was kind of all worked out. He basically took everything and you got out.\" \"Yah, I got that. But now I'm stuck with half his debt too.\" \"How come?\" \"Judge said he acquired the debt while we were married, so it's 'ours'. Now I need to add it to what I already owe for the restaurant.\" Tatum could see the anger and frustration in her friend's eyes. \"You're going to be just fine Sam. The restaurant is amazing and you'll soon have more money that you know what to do with,\" Tatum said reassuringly.\n\n.\n\nTatum filled the rest of the day with cleaning up from the night before and waiting to hear from Jake. Finally, he called. \"Hi. It's me.\" \"Hi,\" she answered. \"I can't wait to see you again.\" \"Me neither.\" \"I was wondering what you would think about you and I taking Brady to the movie tonight? If you don't want to, please just tell me. I don't want to pressure you.\" \"I would love to. How about if we go to the SugarShack for some burgers first?\" \"He'd like that. How about if I come and get you around five?\" \"Works for me,\" she responded. \"Tatum?\" \"Yes Jake.\" \"Thanks.\"\n\n. Jake and Brady picked up Tatum right on time. They both smelled fresh from the shower, having cleaned up after a long day of labor helping Vinnie. When Tatum came out to the truck, Brady politely exited the front seat, and held the door so that she could climb up. _Just like his Dad_ , she thought. He obviously remembered how comfortable he had become with Tatum on their last visit. All it took was for her to say hello and he acted as if he'd known her all his life. \"See I told you he liked you,\" said Jake smiling, pleased at his son's obvious affection for the girl he'd chosen. The threesome took pleasure in each other's company as they scoffed down the deep fried goodness that only a place called the SugarShack could provide. Throughout the evening Brady's acceptance of Tatum deepened, and she surprised herself when she realized that she was equally taken by him. After the show, Tatum went with Jake to the farm and visited with Carol until Brady was ready for bed. Jake kissed him good night and then Brady requested a hug from Tatum. \"Goodnight Brady,\" she said as she held the young boy in her arms; his small body and sweet smell captivating her like no child had ever done before. \"Goodnight Tatum,\" he answered tiredly, lying back down on his pillow.\n\n.\n\nOnce Brady was settled, Jake and Tatum left for her apartment. \"Now, for the adult part of the evening,\" Jake smiled and teased as Tatum sat right beside him on the truck seat. They made love into the early morning hours and then fell asleep, holding each other like they'd never ever let go.\n\n.\n\nSunday morning Jake had nowhere to be, Mrs. Mackinley had agreed to keep Brady so that he and Tatum could spend the morning together. They would be going to the farm shortly after lunch for the family evening, so her plan was that Brady could stay and help her prepare. The truth was that she would have done almost anything to keep her son interested in the young woman that was making him so happy. Just like the day before, Tatum and Jake had coffee and then made love, completely content to remain in bed together until later in the morning. Feeling completely safe and at ease, Tatum decided to open up to Jake a bit about what was going on at work, something she hadn't done up till then. \"I have something I wanted to tell you,\" started Tatum. \"You're not married are you?\" Jake teased. \"No. It's about work.\" \"Okay?\" he answered hesitantly. \"Remember I told you I thought I'd inherited Julia's office?\" \"Yeah, I remember.\" \"Well, I found some files.\" \"What kind of files?\" \"Old clinical files. Julia had intentionally put them where they would be unlikely to be discovered, like she was trying to hide something. Something she didn't want others to know she knew.\" \"Oh geez,\" said Jake with exasperation. \"Not you too?\" \"What do you mean?\" \"Before Julia was killed she had all these theories about twisted stuff that happens at WMI. It almost became an obsession for her. I asked her multiple times to just give it up, but she kept wanting to always look deeper.\" Tatum was silent. \"Look Tatum. I don't know what you're thinking, but you should just give it up. Nothing good comes from looking into things you're not meant to know.\" Tatum knew that their conversation was over.\n\n.\n\nThanksgiving in the States was the year's biggest family holiday. In contrast, Tatum learned that, in Canada, everyone came home for Christmas instead. Still, the afternoon and early evening event Mrs. Mackinley hosted was nothing less than a shindig. Even though nearly the middle of October, the afternoon air was still warm enough for an indoor/outdoor event and it was clear this was not the Mackinley's first time as the hosts. They had an outdoor seating area prepared with tables and outdoor heaters. Seating was provided by chairs and bales of hay strategically placed to encourage conversation. Several of Jake's uncles, aunts and cousins were gathered in the corner, playing bluegrass music on a variety of instruments, some of which Tatum had never seen before. \"Every relative in the area comes to get some of my mom's famous pumpkin pie,\" said Jake as an explanation for Tatum about the large number of people that had migrated to the Mackinley household. \"We usually eat, drink and visit most of the day.\" Tatum, Jake and Brady stuck close together and did indeed eat, drink and visit the day away. Finally, evening fell and the family helped Mrs. Mackinley clean up the kitchen and take down everything that couldn't wait until the next morning to be cleaned up. Jake and Tatum helped Brady get ready for bed and said their goodnights. \"Would you like to go for a walk,\" Jake asked Tatum. \"It's a nice evening and there's a bit of a trail out back. It's still probably mostly lit from the patio lanterns dad hung up.\" Tatum and Jake strolled hand in hand out into the almost darkness, her with his coat around her to ward off the evening chill. They walked until only the outside lights of the farm were visible. It seemed to Tatum as if the afternoon had gone on for days. \"Today was fun,\" she said to Jake sincerely. \"I'm glad you were here,\" he responded. \"It's nice to have someone to share things with again.\" \"Yeah, it sure is,\" she agreed as she snuggled close into Jake's firm chest for warmth. They stood silently for a few moments relishing the quiet, interrupted only by sounds of crickets and frogs against the stillness of the air. Finally Jake broke the silence. \"Tatum?\" \"Yes.\" \"I love you.\" \"I love you too Jake,\" she responded as she lifted her face for the long kiss she knew she was about to receive. Chapter 20\n\nThe weekend together had seemed like an eternity, and neither Jake nor Tatum wanted it to end. Jake re-arranged his schedule over the weeks to come so that he could spend as much time as possible with Tatum. Most nights he would wait until Brady went to bed and then he would come over and spend the night. Often Tatum would go with him to the farm; she would stay for dinner and then, as had become their custom, give Brady a goodnight kiss before he went to sleep. Tatum, Jake and Brady had become a unit. Tatum had become so much a part of the family, that on weekends she would sometimes go to the farm to help prepare supper and play cards with Brady, even when Jake wasn't home. Tatum threw herself completely into her new relationship. As Jake had requested, she put all of her worries about WMI on the back burner. She wasn't about to let some stupid suspicions mess up what she had developed with the man she loved.\n\n. Her relationship with Jake had also distracted Tatum from her own family circumstance. Sophia and Sarah texted her news regularly and although Tatum continued to be devastated by her brother's situation, she had convinced herself that he would have his surgery and come out of it just fine. Her mother had told her he was scheduled for surgery the last week of October, much later than they had expected. There had been complications. First there was too much swelling, and then Michael had developed an infection that needed to be brought under control before surgery could even be considered. The surgery was going to be risky; removing a tumour from the frontal lobe always came with risks. Tatum knew the risks well. She'd studied damage to the frontal lobe at length without ever thinking that she'd know the potential outcomes on such a personal level.\n\n. When the end of October finally came, Tatum texted every day waiting to hear news. \"Surgery is tomorrow,\" came Sarah's latest text. \"Just saw the doctor and they'll start at nine am. Should be done by noon.\" \"Prognosis?\" Tatum texted back. \"Don't know. Apparently they can't tell how deep it goes from the picture. May have 'tentacles'?\" \"How's mom?\" Tatum wanted to ask more, but texting had its limits. \"Not good. Tired. She's aged so much.\" \"Call me tomorrow, right after. I'll be in the Research Unit, so I can answer.\" \"Okay.\"\n\n. The day of Michael's surgery Tatum went to work, hoping she could distract herself by talking with the research assistants. As soon as she walked in the door, Garry met her, envelope in hand. \"Good Morning Tatum. I thought you might like this.\" Tatum looked down at the envelope Garry was holding. In the return address spot, she read the words 'Canadian Institutes for Health Research'. Tatum looked up at Garry. He smiled while he handed her the letter and then stood looking at her expectantly. \"Should I open it now?\" asked Tatum nervously. \"Uh, yah,\" Garry replied as if to say 'Duuhh'. Tatum slowly slid her finger along the seal and pulled the multiple sheets of paper from their packet. \"Dear Dr. O'Neill,\" it read. \"We would like to congratulate you...\"\n\nThat was all Tatum needed to read. She grabbed and hugged Garry as she bounced up and down. Once she'd calmed down, she read on: \"You will receive one hundred thousand per year for the next three years to complete your project as proposed. You will be responsible to submit yearly progress and financial sheets.\" That was all Tatum needed to know, she could read all the specifics later. \"Come on Garry, let's go look at my space. I want to get started on the Center right now.\" Garry laughed as she tugged as his sleeve, excited like a school girl.\n\n.\n\nOnce the shock of the good news had worn off, Tatum calmed down and thought about her next steps. _First things first_ , she thought as she decided her very first task was to tell James. She wanted him to know and to be involved. In reality, this grant belonged to Michael and James, her inspirations. She paused, thinking about her brother lying on the operating table as she celebrated her good fortune. _I will tell him as soon as he wakes up,_ she promised herself as she quickly moved through the halls to her familiar Unit Three. Tatum was in a hurry today. She ran right by Larry, oblivious to his attention and flirting. \"James, guess what?\" she almost hollered as she pulled up the chair. \"I got the money. I can start the Center. This is basically your doing. Well, you and Michael. The two of you gave me the inspiration to go ahead with the proposal, and now there's money to develop an actual treatment center so that no one has to sit alone like you've done all these years. I want you to come with me, over to the Research Unit. See the space.\" As soon as it was out of her mouth, Tatum knew she'd said the wrong thing. James started to rock violently, his hand movements becoming more intense and forceful. He started making loud grunting noises as if he were a bull about to charge; and then it became words. Over and over he chanted, \"Mom sexy; mom sexy; mom sexy.\" And then, as suddenly as if it were the first time she'd ever heard him say the words, Tatum heard something completely different. \"Mom Six E,\" were the words that she now heard in his shrieks. Hearing the commotion, the orderlies ran over to see if Tatum needed help or if she wanted James restrained. Before they were close enough to tell, James had changed his shrieks back into incomprehensible grunts. \"Nope we're good,\" Tatum told the orderlies, \"I'm fine with him. He'd never hurt me.\" The orderlies were satisfied and went back about their business. Tatum leaned over to the full grown man who was rocking and grunting like a child. She whispered in his ear so their conversation would be heard by no-one but themselves. \"I heard you this time James. Mom Six E. I don't know what it means yet, but I promise you, I'll figure it out.\" As if she'd flipped a switch, James' rocking and shrieking halted. All that remained of his physical and emotional explosion were his perpetually moving fingers.\n\n.\n\nTatum sat with James a while longer, not wanting to leave him too quickly after he'd been so upset. As she sat, she glanced at her cell phone. She normally didn't bring her phone to work, but today was different. It was nearly one and she'd gotten nothing from Sarah except a couple of texts that said, \"Nothing yet.\" Finally, just as she was about to leave James and head back to start initial plans on the Center, she heard the distinct sound of her personal cell phone ring. \"Tatey?\" \"Mom? Is everything okay?\" \"No honey. No. Everything isn't okay. We just talked to the doctor and Michael's surgery didn't go well. It's bigger than they thought, goes deep into the brain tissue. They think that's what caused the coma. It's inoperable honey. He's not going to make it.\" Tatum heard her mother start sobbing into the other end of the line, and then she heard her father's voice pick up where Sophia had left off. \"Tate. It's dad. They've only given him a few days. I think you should come.\" Tatum was barely comprehending what she was being told. Overcome with grief, the words her father was saying seemed like a bad dream. Michael couldn't be dying. He was going to have surgery and then she was going to go home and they would play fish and watch movies. Through her tears, Tatum managed a simple, \"Okay dad. I'll be there as soon as I can.\" When she hung up the phone, Tatum sat beside James and cried like she'd never cried before. _Michael is going to die_ , was all she kept thinking over and over again, like an annoying song in her head; a really bad annoying song. James leaned awkwardly over to Tatum. He put his clumsy arms, misshapen from years of staying in the same position, around her shoulders, and then, in the only inelegant expression of empathy he could muster, he laid his head against her own.\n\n. Still feeling as if she hadn't woken up from some horrifying nightmare, Tatum finally got up from her seat beside James. She had no idea what she should do next. _Anne,_ she thought blankly, heading to her most familiar work support in her moment of need. She went into auto-pilot and quickly advanced toward Anne's office; thankfully, she no longer needed to think to find her way around the institution, because rational thought was not something she was currently capable of. Anne took one look at her and said, \"Tatum. What's wrong?\" \"It's Michael. The surgery didn't work. He's going to die.\" Even as she said the words, they didn't seem real. \"I need to go.\" \"Yes you do,\" responded the supportive nurse, not questioning for a second Tatum's need to be with her family. \"You just go. I will deal with things here,\" she reassured Tatum as she wrapped her in a maternal hug. \"Call me when you can,\" she finished, letting Tatum know that eventually they would have to account for her whereabouts. Anne walked Tatum to front entrance and while they walked, she encouraged Tatum to call Jake for a ride. \"I don't want you to be alone right now,\" she explained. Tatum dialed the number, no answer. _Sam_ , she thought. Typical of the kind of friend she was, Sam was at WMI to pick up Tatum about five minutes later. She drove them back to Tatum's apartment and sat with her friend until Jake finally arrived. Time had taken away a bit of the shock and Tatum was starting to become more lucid. \"Thanks for staying Sam,\" said Jake when he arrived. \"You're a good friend,\" he told her while he walked her out to her car. \"So is she,\" responded Sam.\n\n.\n\nOnce Sam had gone, Tatum and Jake sat together in silence. He held her tight, but she didn't have any desire for conversation. Finally, when he was satisfied that she would be okay, he went to the kitchen and made a cup of Earl Grey tea and then handed her the warm and comforting liquid. \"You know me well,\" she commented as she took the hot drink from his hands. Jake walked over toward her computer. \"I'm going to book some flights,\" he said as he walked. \"Flights?\" she asked, curious about the plural. \"Oh geez, I didn't even ask. Is it okay if I come with you?\" \"Okay?\" said Tatum. \"That would be perfect. I never thought you'd want to come.\" \"I want to be wherever you are,\" he responded walking back to her to kiss her cheek.\n\n.\n\nOn Saturday morning, both Tatum and Jake went out to the farm to make sure that Brady understood that they would both be gone for a few days. They had discussed taking him but decided that a time of family grief was not the right occasion for Brady to meet the O'Neills. They hugged him and kissed him goodbye. He held onto Tatum a little longer than necessary; Brady knew she was sad. Once they were satisfied that Brady understood why he was being left behind, Tatum and Jake drove to Redman and caught the plane. With the sound of the engine and the comfort of Jake by her side, Tatum slept, exhausted from the emotional and sleepness night before.\n\n.\n\nFor the first time that Tatum could remember, the entire O'Neill family was not loitering at the bottom of the ramp, anxiously awaiting her arrival. Only Peter was there, having taken on the responsibility of the airport pick-up so that all of the other family members could remain with Michael. \"How is he?\" were the first words out of Tatum's mouth when she saw her brother-in-law. \"Not good. I don't think it will be long Tate. We should go straight to the hospital.\" \"Yah, let's go,\" she answered. Jake looked at Peter and then the men introduced themselves to one another. Tatum had other things on her mind.\n\n. When they reached the hospital, Peter led the way. It felt like they travelled for miles through the maze of rooms and curtains, before Tatum finally caught sight of anyone familiar. \"Mom,\" she said quietly as she pulled back the curtain. Sophia O'Neill looked up and into the face of her youngest daughter. \"Oh, Tate. I'm so glad you're here.\" She wrapped her arms around Tatum in the most desperate hug Tatum had ever received. Tatum greeted Sarah and her father the same way; the family holding onto each other like they knew they couldn't hold onto Michael. Then, slowly, Tatum made her way over to the bedside. If all her family weren't sitting beside the person lying in the bed, Tatum would never have recognized the body as her brother. His head was swollen beyond recognition and bandaged so that only his distended face remained visible. The tubes and machines that had been there previously seemed to have multiplied so that he now looked like a mechanical man, only surviving with the help of technology. Tatum took one look at her brother and collapsed over him in tears. \"We'll give you a minute,\" she heard her father say, and then she was alone. \"Michael, it's Tate. I hope you can hear me. This is the hardest thing I've ever done, but I've come to say goodbye. I need you to know I love you, and I will always love you. You've been a brother, a friend and an inspiration. I couldn't have asked for better.\" With those words, Tatum felt completely spent. She'd said her goodbyes; all that was left was the waiting. \"Mom? Dad? I'm okay. Come on back in,\" Tatum called to her family waiting outside of the curtained area. The family re-entered the draped-off area and suddenly Tatum became very aware of Jake standing there, knowing no-one. \"Oh my goodness. Jake. I didn't introduce you,\" she stammered as she jumped up to stand by his side. \"I'm just fine Tate,\" he said quietly as he put his arm protectively around her shoulders. \"We took care of that already while you were busy,\" he reassured her. She turned into him and buried her face in his chest, as if hiding her face would make the sadness disappear.\n\n. The funeral was Tuesday. It was a small service with mostly family and very close friends. When the service ended, the O'Neill's hosted a private reception in their home. Tatum was just anxious for the whole thing to be over. \"I don't feel very well,\" she told Jake as they sampled the hors d'oeuvres that the staff of Sophie's had carefully prepared for the occasion. \"I didn't feel well either,\" answered Jake, referring to his response to Julia's funeral. \"I want to go home,\" she said. For the first time, Tatum realized that Wainwright had become, and from then on would always be, home.\n\n.\n\nAs was their custom, all of the O'Neill's, minus one, went to the airport to see Tatum and Jake on their way. Tatum still felt ill and hoped that her nausea was only temporary until her grief lessened. _Time heals all_ , she'd been told.\n\n. They arrived Wednesday evening and went directly to the farm where Brady was waiting. Tatum wrapped her arms around the boy and held him close, understanding for the first time that she loved him desperately and that he would be a part of her life forever. ***\n\nTatum welcomed the routine of daily life as a distraction from the flurry of activity that had made up the previous many days. For the first time since leaving for Chicago, Tatum got up early and went for her run, leaving Jake to sleep. She ran fast, as she often did when she felt like she needed to outrun her emotions. But, in between her sprints, she stopped and waited while her stomach settled. _You can actually feel grief physically_ she rationalized as she waited for the sickness in her stomach to pass. She ran onto the WMI grounds, so different than they had been during her first time through the estate. The stately green parkland was now barren and brown. The leaves had all fallen and the lawn had retreated into dormancy. Residents no longer worked on the upkeep; it was as if the entire site had gone into hibernation for the winter. Tatum ran around the outside of the now familiar buildings, admiring the detailed and beautiful architecture as she always did. As she ran by Unit Six, she had to stop. Her nausea getting the better of her, she hunkered down in the bushes to relieve her aching abdomen. Tatum stood up, feeling a bit better after releasing some of the sickness inside her. For the first time, she paused and really looked at Unit Six. She saw a small door on the side the building, lowered into the ground; a door she had never seen before. It was fully covered by shrubs and vines, as if it had been concealed on purpose. Checking to make sure she was alone, Tatum quickly worked her way over to the entrance, taking care to ensure she left the shrubs and vines undisturbed. Similar to the other entranceways around WMI, the doorway had a FOB reader to determine who would be allowed access. Tatum would be back.\n\n.\n\nHaving returned to work on a Thursday, Tatum really had little to do. She had completed her reports and clinical notes the week before and hadn't seen any clients since. She felt relieved that the day would be light. Work with clients would be difficult while her stomach wasn't cooperating. She used the morning getting caught up on email and reviewing what had happened with her regular patients while she'd been away. She was anxiously looking forward to meeting with James. It had been nearly a week since she'd seen him. Tatum took an early lunch and grabbed a cup of tea to take with her for her visit. _Tea will settle my stomach_ , she tried to convince herself. Tatum pulled up her usual chair. \"Hi James. I'm back. Did you have a good week? I hope it was better than mine. We had Michael's funeral on Tuesday. I get now how other people felt when they have lost someone they loved.\" She thought about Jake and Milligan. \"I don't know if you can understand unless you've experienced it. Have you ever lost anyone James? Someone that you loved so much that the loss felt unbearable?\" \"Mom Six E,\" James responded.\n\n. In the afternoon, Tatum had two things she now knew she needed to do. First, she called Sam. \"Hey, do you have any plans for this evening?\" \"No. Not really. Why? What have you got in mind?\" \"I need you to do something with me.\" \"Okay. What?\" \"I'll tell you later. But, can you come and get me from work?\" \"Yup. I'll be there around five, okay?\" \"Okay. Thanks Sam.\" The second was something that Tatum really did not want to do while her stomach was already feeling less than okay. She needed to re-visit Unit Five. There were some more questions she wanted to ask Lee.\n\n.\n\nTatum found Lee sitting hunched over in his cell just as he had been the previous time she'd visited. But, in contrast to the prior time, he seemed genuinely happy to see her. Now armed with the knowledge that she was safe, she didn't waste any time and immediately requested that the guard allow her to enter the cell. \"Hi Lee. Do you remember me?\" He nodded. \"Remember we talked some last time I was here about that lady. The one that everyone says you hurt.\" He nodded again. \"You told me you didn't hurt her and I said I believed you. I still believe you.\" Tatum kept her voice as low as she could. \"Do you remember anything from that day? Anything that might help me figure out who really did it?\" Lee shook his head sideways. \"Do you remember anything? How did they keep you from knowing what was going on?\" \"They covered my eyes,\" he said as he motioned to put his arm over his face, demonstrating for her what it was like. \"Like with a blindfold?\" He nodded. \"Do you remember how many people blindfolded you?\" \"I think two,\" said Lee, looking as unconfident as an eight year old answering the same questions. \"Do you remember what they looked like? Or their voices?\" Lee shook his head again. \"Did they talk about anything while they did it?\" Lee nodded. \"What were they talking about Lee?\" \"Money. They were gonna get a lot of money.\" This time is was Tatum's turn to nod.\n\n.\n\nSam met Tatum outside of the front entrance, right after work as promised. She had told Jake that she would miss dinner that evening because she had made supper plans with Sam. She had told the truth; as soon as they completed the errand Tatum had in mind, they would indeed eat together. \"What's going on?\" asked Sam. \"Are we on some sort of covert mission?\" \"Sort of,\" Tatum responded coyly. \"Let's go to the drug store.\" \"What? Are you sure?\" \"I don't know; I thought I was sick from grief about Michael, but it seems to be getting worse instead of better. Plus, I'm a couple of days late.\" Sam just smiled; she had no words to respond to what her friend was implying. After a quick jaunt over to Main Street, the girls went back to Tatum's apartment. Sam waited anxiously until Tatum returned from the bathroom. \"Two lines,\" was all she said as she held out the test for Sam's inspection. \"Yup. Two lines. Now what?\" Tatum didn't even answer. She had to sit down; her stomach was upset and she was suddenly really, really dizzy.\n\n.\n\nTatum and Sam went to Johnny's for dinner. Tatum needed some time to absorb her news before she could face Jake. \"Do I tell him?\" she asked her trusted friend. \"Of course you tell him. He loves you Tate. This just makes it permanent,\" she grinned as she said permanent. She knew full well that they were 'permanent' regardless. \"Should I tell him tonight?\" \"That's up to you. Do you need some time to get used to the idea yourself?\" \"I have no idea,\" Tatum said honestly.\n\n.\n\nTatum decided that she would tell Jake Friday night. She'd make them a nice dinner at her house, so that they could have some privacy not afforded by eating at the farm. Friday at work promised to be busy. She had planned a training workshop with the research assistants in the morning, and the afternoon she would spend starting to get things organized for the Center. In between, she would visit James and find a file that she couldn't believe she'd neglected to read up to this point. Her visit with James was short. She wanted to get to the file room and she wanted to make sure she visited the files during lunch, while no one else was thinking about getting necessary records and she could be alone. During their visit, she had hoped James could tell her something, anything that would help her in her search. Feeling less than satisfied after having received no additional information from him, she decided to see if Larry could help. \"Hey Larry,\" Tatum said, getting the attention of the man who was never very far away. \"I can't believe that I'm asking you this after all these months, but do you have any idea what James' last name is?\" \"Hmm, actually that's a good question. No one ever comes to see him except you. Never any real need to know. I'll check for you.\" Larry walked away and Tatum stood in place, anxiously waiting, hoping that she'd get the information she needed. Finally, after what seemed like an hour, Larry returned. He only said one word, \"Muller.\" \"Thanks!\" called Tatum over her shoulder as she hurried off the clinical unit and toward the administrative files. Tatum looked at her watch. _Damn it_ , she thought as she realized there was no time to find anything before she needed to be back at the Assessment Lab. She'd waited longer for Larry than she'd realized. _Monday,_ she decided as she turned an about-face back outside toward Unit Six.\n\n. Arrangements had been made for Jake to pick her up right after work. She wanted to spend some time with Brady at the farm, before she stole his dad away for the evening. Satisfied that his attention tank was full, Tatum and Jake headed back to Regency Apartments. Tatum and Sam had carefully planned the evening during their visit the night before, making sure the apartment was stocked with all of the necessary supplies. When they arrived, Tatum handed Jake a drink and started preparing dinner, as he stood nearby admiring her every move. Their meal would be stirfry, intentionally chosen because of its minimal preparation time. As the chicken and vegetables sizzled, Tatum carefully set the table with her best table-cloth, candles, and wine glasses for the non-alcoholic spritzer she had purchased. \"Dinner's ready,\" she informed Jake when the stirfry had cooked to perfection. \"It looks delicious Tate,\" said Jake. \"Is there some kind of occasion or did you just go through all this fuss 'cause I'm cute,\" he teased. \"Well, you are cute,\" she responded matter-of-factly. \"But, yah, I guess it's a bit of an occasion.\" She poured some spritzer into his glass, well aware that he took no notice of the 'non-alcoholic' label on the bottle. \"I have something to tell you.\" Tatum paused and Jake looked at her, preparing himself for the bad news he thought could be coming. The last time she'd said that she had news she'd been in tears while she told him about Michael. \"I'm expecting.\" \"Expecting what?\" he asked sincerely. \"No Jake. Expecting.\" Jake was silent. His face moulded into a catatonic state of shock. Finally, he came to, and Tatum waited anxiously to hear his reaction. \"Are you sure?\" he said, his face finally breaking into an ear to ear grin. \"Yes. I'm sure.\" \"Oh Tate. This is awesome,\" he hollered out, standing up and grabbing her out of her chair. He swung her around the room yelling out, \"We're gonna have a baby! We're gonna have a baby!\" Tatum had hoped for a positive reaction, but this, she hadn't expected.\n\n. The announcement about the pregnancy and the resulting flood of emotions meant that the stirfry sat lonely on the table, while the new parents-to-be celebrated their news. Tatum was shocked that their love making was deeper and more intense than it had ever been, as if their connection had transcended to a level she didn't know was possible. Finally they tired and then laid together as they'd done many times before, but feeling a security in their relationship that was all together new. \"Tatum?\" \"Yes.\" \"I love you. You know that, right?\" \"Yes. I love you too.\" Slowly, Jake pulled himself up until he leaned on his arm and looked down at her face, happy and at peace with the major change that was taking place in their lives. \"Will you marry me?\" he said softly. Tatum was stunned. \"Will I marry you? Of course I will marry you,\" she shouted as she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him so tightly, he thought he might choke.\n\n. The next morning Tatum and Jake got up early. They couldn't wait to share their news. They showered and headed straight out to the farm. Mrs. Mackinley had just started breakfast, and Tatum and Jake fully intended to take advantage of their excellent timing. \"Morning Mom,\" yelled Jake as he opened the wooden screen door and, as always, let it slam noisily behind him. \"Morning Jakey. Hi Tatum. Are you guys here for breakfast?\" \"Yah, if we're invited,\" he teased his mother, knowing full well they were always invited. Carol turned around, wiped her hands on her apron and hugged both her son and Tatum. \"Have a seat. Dad will be right in and I just woke Brady a few minutes ago.\" Feeling particularly energetic and happy, Jake raced into Brady's room and Tatum could hear the young boy's laughter as his dad tickled him awake. Eventually, the two appeared in the kitchen, Brady slung over his large father's shoulder. Jake was just putting Brady in his seat when George came in and plopped himself down, waiting anxiously for the breakfast that smelled so delicious. Once everyone was seated, Jake started to talk. \"Brady, Mom, Dad. Tatum and I have some things we want to tell you.\" Mrs. Mackinley's face broke into a big, wide grin. _Woman's intuition_ , thought Tatum looking at her mother-in-law to-be's knowing face. \"We've decided to get married.\" \"Oh Jakey. That's wonderful!\" said Mrs. Mackinely as she jumped up to physically congratulate her son. \"Just hold on Ma, there's more.\" Carol backed off and looked suspiciously at her son. \"Brady, you're gonna be a brother,\" Jake said directly to his son. \"Tatum's pregnant.\" There was a moment of silence as everyone around the table absorbed the shock, but the mood turned quickly to congratulatory. Brady finally broke the silence with his primary concern. \"Is it going to be a boy?\" he asked. \"Cause I don't like girls.\"\n\n. Since she'd started dating Jake, the Mackinely's had always made Tatum feel like a part of the family. But, now, things were different, she really _was_ part of the family and Carol was determined to make it official. \"Jake? I assume Tatum will move in here?\" Jake looked at Tatum, surprised both by his mother's question and by the forthright way she'd made the statement. She continued. \"It only makes sense. Assuming you want it, the farm will be yours soon enough anyway, and that way I can help with both Brady and the baby. You both work you know.\" Tatum had to admit she had a point. She smiled at Jake. \"Okay with me, if it's okay with you.\" \" _You_ are the best!\" he announced as he hugged his fianc\u00e9.\n\n. It had been less than a week since Michael's funeral and Tatum was uneasy about sharing her news with her family, unsure of how they would take it so close to her brother's death. Despite her reservations, she couldn't keep her happy news from the people that meant the most to her. She phoned her mother first, and then Sarah. They congratulated Tatum and Jake, and they meant it. But, for the O'Neill's, the couple's news was bittersweet. It meant that, in some ways, they had lost their son and now they were losing their daughter. Tatum had made her choice, and they knew she would never again call Chicago her home.\n\n.\n\nTatum had reserved Sunday morning for Milligan. She had asked Jake to spend the morning with Brady so that she could have some time with her special coffee friend. Milligan wasn't expecting her. She'd been less than reliable in her coffee attendance lately. \"Tatum!\" he called in joy as she came into the common room that had been transformed into the coffee room for the winter months. \"Long time no see.\" \"Yah. Sorry about that. It's been a busy, complicated month.\" \"I know. How was your trip home? Your family?\" \"Hanging in there. It's a rough thing losing a family member.\" Tatum felt her face turn red in embarrassment. \"Oh geez Milligan. I'm so sorry. As if I need to tell you that.\" \"It's okay Tatum. Sadly, we're now both just part of a select club, a club nobody wants to belong to. A club nobody understands until they join. You're just our newest member.\" Tatum could hear the sadness in Milligan's voice as he spoke. \"No matter what anybody tells you, you will never be the same. It will get better, but you will never be the same.\" Today was the first day Tatum had really heard Milligan talk honestly about his loss. _Now he knows I get it_ , she thought. \"I'm still waiting for it to get better.\" \"It takes time Tate. It just takes time,\" her kind friend reassured her. \"Anyway, I didn't come here to get us both depressed for the day. I came to tell you some happy news.\" \"What's that?\" \"Jake and I have decided to get married. And...\" Tatum paused to build some suspense, then smiled as she said, \"I'm pregnant.\" Milligan's face went from somber to full of life. He grabbed her and gave her a big hug. \"He's a good man Tatum, and now he's a lucky man too,\" he said into her ear, as proud as if he were her own father.\n\n.\n\nMilligan was happy for Tatum, but really sad to see her go. \"It'll take me a bit to get all of my stuff out, and I'll still come by for coffee. It's the best coffee in town you know,\" she said to show her appreciation. \"What are you gonna do with all that fancy furniture,\" Milligan asked. \"You want it? Be easier to rent the apartment with it as-is. Beats how it was,\" she teased the kindly apartment manager.\" \"Sounds good. I'll rebate you two months' rent. How's that sound?\" \"Sounds good to me.\" The truth was Tatum would have left the furniture with Milligan for free. She had no use for it anymore. She and Jake worked diligently the rest of Sunday packing and loading her belongings into the back of his pick-up. They didn't want to wait one more minute to start their life together. # Chapter 21\n\nMonday morning Tatum got up early and kissed Jake on the cheek, hardly able to believe that she was waking up beside him in the house that would, from that day forward, be her home. She rubbed her eyes and pulled her hair into a pony tail, intent on getting out for her run without waking anyone up. She pulled her runners on silently and then carefully closed the wooden screen door so that it wouldn't make its typical bang. In the cool and dark of the early winter, Tatum started her run down the long lane that led away from the farmhouse. She had dressed in her insulated running jacket, accompanied by her toque, scarf and gloves. In place of her run around the perimeter of town, she ran down the lane and then worked her way along the dirt roads lining the rural properties. Eventually the rural roads met the highway and Tatum started the run towards town. She had estimated that the run to WMI and back to the farm would take about an hour, consistent with her normal workout routine. Her run felt good, the cooler air allowing her body temperature to remain low despite her high energy output. She slowed as she neared the Units, knowing she would run to the far end and re-visit the inconspicuous door she'd discovered the week before. It was early and few would be up and around at this hour. It was a perfect time to get a closer look without anyone noticing, and this time she'd brought her keys. Tatum stayed behind the bushes as she ran around the outer edges of the grounds; she didn't want to take a chance she'd run into someone. Suddenly she heard a cracking noise, as if someone had stepped on a stick. She looked toward the building. Near the unexplained entrance Tatum saw Dr. Gagnon. She appeared to be sneaking around as if she were attempting to leave the building without being seen. _June, what are you up to?_ wondered Tatum as she sat perfectly still, crouched in the bushes so as to be able to watch without being seen. She stayed in her camouflaged position until she was confident that June had left and wasn't going to return. Once she was certain she wouldn't be discovered, Tatum followed the same path June had taken a few minutes earlier. She moved the shrubs and vines that concealed the undisclosed doorway with extreme care and exposed the FOB reader she had discovered previously. Tatum rubbed her FOB against the reader, expecting to hear the familiar click. She had now been granted full access to the facility; so, she could think of no conceivable reason why all she heard when she swiped her FOB was a swooshing sound as it ran uselessly over the plastic machine. Discouraged at her inability to get any more information about the unknown doorway, Tatum started on her run back to the farm. The sun had started to come up and the dark had turned to daybreak. As she ran she planned her return to get a closer watch on who was coming and going from the vine-covered door. Jake had asked her to stop with her suspicions, and she had tried; but, she'd finally understood James, and she'd made him a promise as well. Coffee and breakfast were waiting for her on the table when she got back. \"Good morning beautiful,\" Jake said as he watched her come through the door. \"How was your run?\" \"It was really good,\" answered Tatum, neglecting to mention her excursion to WMI. \"It's sure nice having you here,\" he said as he pulled her in for a good morning kiss. They ate and sat together over coffee, then Tatum showered and they headed into town where Jake dropped her off at work before venturing to his own office.\n\n.\n\nTatum's week was full; it seemed as if she'd been scheduled extra to make up for the time she'd taken the week before. She spent her days going through the motions with patients, her mind constantly distracted by her new life with Jake or the strange events at WMI. Finally, on Thursday she found some time to re-visit her intent from the previous Friday. After lunch on Thursday, Tatum headed directly for the file room. This time she was alone and she knew exactly what she was looking for. Tatum went into the Unit Three room and flipped directly to the 'M\" section. _Mallard, Moltin, Mudder, Muller_. Tatum pulled out the only Unit Three file listed as 'Muller, J'. Tucking it under her arm, she methodically went through the other files, finding full folders for all of her week's patients. While walking back to her office, she wanted to ensure that James' file looked unremarkable in amongst many other patient files. Tatum returned to her rectangular workplace and placed the pile of patient files on her desk. Then, she stood up and double-checked to make sure her office door was both closed and locked. Uninterested in most of the records, Tatum put all but one file in a neat pile at the corner of her desk. She pulled James' file to the center of her workstation and slowly opened the documents, not sure what she would find. The file seemed pretty typical, with the exception of its apparent dormancy, which was unusual for a current patient. James' file had not one single entry for nearly ten years. _No need to write 'he sits by the window' over and over_ , Tatum thought as she considered the seemingly efficient lack of clinical notes. Behind the dated clinical record was the history of his commitment. James had been placed in the institution by his mother at not quite three years of age. He had been diagnosed with Autism at the age of two, and his mother had serious mental health issues. She was making the decision to give him up to the system because she felt that, given the pervasiveness of his needs, she was unable to care for him. _Pretty typical intake_ thought Tatum as she continued to flip through the file. The rest of the file primarily contained dated medical intake records and accounts created about assessments completed in years past. Tatum had nearly satisfied herself that James' file contained nothing of particular interest when, at the back of the file, she found a single hand-written note. From the hand-writing it appeared to be written by a woman. Tatum started to read. \"Dear James. If you are reading this letter you are probably an adult and have asked for access to your file. I hope that your life has been good and that you've been well cared for. I need you to know something that will always be true. I love you. I've always love you. I wanted to be there for you; I just couldn't. I'm not well and you need to be somewhere that can give you the care you need. Your father loves you too, but I can't leave him alone with three kids all by himself. You need more than he can give. Please forgive me James. I have only done what I think is right. Love always, Mom.\" Tatum stared at the letter for several minutes thinking about the pain James' mother must have endured in order to give up her youngest child. Then, suddenly, acting on what seemed like an entirely insane impulse, Tatum flipped back to the intake form. At the top it read James Muller. She carefully re-read all of the information on the page. _Name, Birthdate, Date of Intake, Reason for Intake_... Finally, Tatum got to the piece of information she was impetuously seeking, _Name of Legal Guardian_. Tatum looked at the signature on the bottom of the page. The person identified as having the legal authority to decide James' fate was J. Milligan. With no summertime heat to explain her physiological reaction, Tatum gasped. _J. Milligan? Jennie Milligan?_ _But his last name is Muller?_ Tatum thought back to her many conversations with Milligan. \"He passed away when he was just over two,\" Milligan had said. \"Jennie took care of all the arrangements. That time was such a blur. I basically remember the memorial service and that's it.\" Tatum caught her breath again. _It can't be. It just can't be!_ Slowly, like an experienced investigator finally figuring out the crime, Tatum started putting pieces into place. Jennie had committed James 'Muller' instead of James Mulligan. To protect her son and her family, she'd let the rest of her family think James had passed away so that they could go with their lives without guilt. Committing her son under a false name was the best way she knew to protect everyone that she loved. But, one piece was still missing. _If Jennie is dead and Jennie was James' mom, what does Six E have to do with anything_? Tatum had some planning to do.\n\n.\n\nBack at her office, Tatum called Jake. \"Hi Sweetie, it's me. Just wanted to let you know that I'm going to work a bit late,\" she lied to her husband-to-be. \"Could you pick me up outside the main entrance around nine?\" Tatum wanted to be sure she had enough time. She finished up her work for the day and then headed down to the cafeteria to grab a to-go lunch bag. The leftover prepared lunch would make a perfect snack for her to consume while she waited in the bushes. She returned to her office and bundled up in all of the outer wear she had worn earlier that morning, and then headed out the administration unit door, making certain that she said goodbye to Marja. Once out of the building, Tatum walked down the entrance corridor as she usually did, but instead of continuing down the street towards town, she looked around to make sure she was alone, and then she turned and concealed herself in the wall of trees that fenced WMI. As she'd done several times previously during her runs, she worked her way around the outer perimeter of the grounds, staying out of sight as she moved. Finally, she reached her destination and hunkered down, masked by her vegetative shield, ensuring she had a full view of Unit Six's disguised door. Then, she waited. Hours passed and not one person came or went from the veiled exit. Dark had set in completely, and although Tatum had eaten her bagged supper and did not feel hungry, the cold, dark air was beginning to be too much for her. She hadn't prepared properly for her unplanned stake-out, so the cold ground served as her seating place. She was just about to give up when she heard the faintest click. Unsure she heard anything Tatum listened intently and carefully watched the shrouded doorway. She heard the faint click again, and then a single face peered out from behind the vines. The face checked first left, then right, and then left again. Confident no one was watching, two orderlies exited the secret doorway, taking tender care to ensure all of the shrubs and vines used for protection of their secret remained intact. Once inspection of their camouflage was complete, Tatum saw the body language of the orderlies completely change. They became relaxed and nonchalant. Both orderlies were men she'd seen before in passing. Tatum was fairly certain they both worked on Unit Four. She listened. \"Sort of feels like we're in some kind of spy movie, hey Jeff?\" \"Yah, a spy movie that pays us a lot of money.\" Both men laughed. Tatum thought about Marja's rumor. \"I've just heard that you make more money if you work on the research unit,\" Marja had said. _But for what?_ wondered Tatum. She knew one thing for sure, she intended to find out.\n\n.\n\nJake picked up Tatum outside the front entrance at nine, just as she had asked. She'd returned to her office to warm up, not wanting Jake to notice that her face was red and her shivering intense. \"Hi Honey,\" he said as she jumped up into the truck. \"Long day, hey?\" \"Yah, just had some reports I needed to catch up on and I didn't want to bring them home. When I'm at the farm, I like to concentrate fully on Brady,\" she lied to Jake for the second time that day. Her day had been full, but not with anything she was prepared to share with anyone at this point, especially Jake and Milligan. \"Remember you mentioned that we could insure your mom's old car so that I would have a way to get around without always having to depend on you?\" \"Yah.\" \"Do you think we could insure it tomorrow? If I'm going to be working late sometimes, I'd rather be able to drive myself.\" \"Sure. I'll take care of it in the morning.\" \"Thanks Jake,\" replied Tatum, not explaining any further.\n\n.\n\nFriday morning Tatum returned to the inside of the Research Unit, but on this visit, she was interested in more than just her new Center. Tatum waited through the morning and patiently worked with the research assistants as she always did. But, as soon as the lunch hour came, she fled the Unit like a woman on a mission. Skipping the cafeteria, Tatum headed straight to her chair beside James. \"Hey James, how you doing today?\" she started, only to make the conversation seem slightly normal. She continued, \"I'm having a pretty good day. It's been a pretty eventful week. I'm in the Research Unit today. Hey, do you remember when I told you I'd try and find out what you meant by 'mom six E'?\" No response. \"Well, I'm trying, but I'm not really sure where to start. You don't like the Research Unit much,\" Tatum said more to herself than to James, as she tried to talk herself through the information that she already had. _Wait! Six E!_ Suddenly it dawned on her and she couldn't believe she hadn't seen it till now. _Of course!_ She thought to herself as she slowly started to piece it all together. _Unit Six's secret door; Unit Six E!_\n\nTatum got up suddenly, said a quick goodbye to James and speedily headed to Unit Four. She had a few minutes before she needed to be back at the Lab, and she fully intended to find out where her well-paid orderlies were working. For the first time, Tatum's determination overrode her good sense. She walked into Unit Four with no obvious reason for her visit. She boldly wandered through the unit, evaluating the faces of the men who worked there. _Damn it! They're not here_ , she thought as she quickly moved to Unit Five to continue her search. Success came quickly. Right inside the door of Unit Five was the first face she had seen peeking out from behind the vines the night before. Tatum made a note of his name tag - 'Jeff Painter' it read. She gave a quick wave to the guard at the front, as if she had ample reason to be there, and then continued sauntering through the unit like she had somewhere to be. Out of habit, she turned toward the cell of the only patient in Unit Five with whom she'd ever spoken. Outside of Lee's cell was the second face from the other night. She encoded 'Owen Fulstone' into her memory. Then, to provide herself with a reason for visiting, Tatum called out to Lee. \"Hi Mr. Trent, how are you doing?\" She made small talk with Lee long enough that it seemed like he was her purpose and then she returned speedily to Unit Six for her afternoon workday. When she finally re-entered the lab, Garry commented, \"Long lunch Tatum?\" He didn't mind that she was late. He just wanted her to know he'd noticed so it wouldn't become a habit. \"Yah, I went to see a patient on Unit Five. Had some crisis stuff going on. Took longer than I expected.\" Lying was becoming something of a habit. Tatum went to her desk. But, instead of working on finances for the Autism Center, she went to the administrative scheduling system. In contrast to every time she'd ever entered the system before, Tatum wasn't the slightest bit interested in her own calendar. She searched, and she continued to search, until she had full calendars for the next two weeks. She printed off the information that she'd found. At the top of each print-out, a name was listed for each schedule. The first schedule read 'Jeff Painter' and the second 'Owen Fulstone'. Tatum folded the schedules, looked over her shoulder and then slid the creased pieces of paper into her purse.\n\n.\n\nLater that evening, Tatum mumbled something about having reading to do, and encouraged Jake to head to bed without her. Tatum took a book called 'Sensation and Emotion' with her to the couch so that Jake wouldn't question her motives. Once she was sure the household had retired for the evening, she opened the schedules she had pulled earlier that day. Both Jeff and Owen had worked day shift on Friday. That meant they worked another day shift on Saturday and then night shift Sunday and Monday. _They must do their dirty work on their days off_ Tatum rationalized, realizing she'd seen them leaving the concealed door on Thursday evening. Tatum looked again at the schedule. Monday evening would be perfect. She was well aware that the orderlies were not allowed to sleep on night shifts in case something happened with one of the patients. But, she was also well aware, that this rule was almost always broken. The orderlies took shifts. One watched the respective Unit while the other caught a few winks. Jake had a work trip planned for the following week and she could tell the MacKinleys she was staying with Sam. If Jake wanted to talk from wherever he planned to be, she'd tell him to call her cell.\n\n.\n\nTatum spent the rest of the weekend trying to put James, Mulligan, Julia, and everything else out of her head for a couple of days while she spent some quality time with her new family. She knew the week ahead promised to be difficult. She would spend Monday evening investigating whatever was behind the shrouded door and then on Tuesday, once she had some more to tell, she intended to talk to Milligan about the huge secret she'd been keeping. She felt guilty about keeping it from him for so long, but wanted to be sure she knew she was right before she got him involved. She also intended to tell Jake, but not yet. He would just tell her not to get involved.\n\n.\n\nMonday morning Tatum kissed Jake goodbye as he got into his pick-up and headed for the airport. After he'd left, she slid behind the wheel of the Red Chev car that Jake had made road worthy for her over the weekend, and threw her overnight bag in the front seat to her right. \"I'll see you guys tomorrow after work,\" she called out to the rest of the Mackinley clan standing on the front porch. She wanted to be doubly sure they would not to expect her home that evening. \"Call my cell if you need anything. I'm not sure what Sam and I will do this evening,\" she added just to be sure that they wouldn't try calling her at Sam's house.\n\n.\n\nTatum parked her car in the Regency Apartments parking lot. It would be the first time she'd used the parking spot attached to the apartment that she technically still rented until the end of December. Expecting to walk, she'd dressed warmly and barely felt the burn of the cold Saskatchewan wind that removed any potential of heat from the morning sun. As she entered the main building of WMI, Tatum once again made certain that she checked in with Marja. She wanted to be sure that Marja was in the know about all of her comings and goings. Tatum went quickly to her office and got right to work; she did not want anything to seem out of the ordinary today. At lunch hour she went to the cafeteria, hoping that she would run into Anne. As she expected, her trusted ally was in the hot lunch line-up talking with anyone who was willing to visit. \"Anne,\" she called out to get her attention. \"Tatum, honey. What's up?\" Anne responded with a mouthy grin as she always did. \"Joining me for lunch?\" Anne asked hopefully. \"Not today, unfortunately. But, I wanted to pre-book a date for tomorrow. Does tomorrow work?\" \"You bet,\" she answered enthusiastically. Tatum suspected Anne rarely turned down any offer for company. \"Okay, meet you here at noon tomorrow then,\" confirmed Tatum. \"Yup. See you tomorrow.\" Both women paid for the choices they'd made that day and went their separate ways.\n\n.\n\nTatum's plan for lunch that day was to have a talk with James and also to be certain that he knew she wouldn't be coming by for lunch the next day. \"Hi James,\" she started, \"I need to tell you some stuff today, stuff that you may already know.\" Tatum kept her voice low so that no one else would hear. \"I think I've finally figured out what you were trying to tell me. I've discovered a doorway; a concealed doorway, that it's obvious I'm not supposed to know about. I watched the door and there's people coming and going from there. I'm going to try to get in and see what's going on. I'm going to do that tonight. Also, I wanted you to know that I'm going to meet Anne for lunch tomorrow so I won't be coming for a visit; I'm going to talk to her about all this as well. But, I only wanted to tell you for now. Cause...I know can keep a secret,\" Tatum teased, knowing full well she'd laugh at her joke alone.\n\n.\n\nShe worked diligently with her patients throughout the rest of Monday and then collected her coat and purse and deliberately exited through the Administration Unit where she could ensure Marja would see her leave. \"Night Marja,\" she called to the desk clerk, with perhaps just a bit too much emphasis. Tatum completed the same route she'd walked the week before and then turned the same way and hid in the same bushes. Once she was confident she was alone, she walked back in the outer entrance of Unit Three and headed straight for her office. She walked quickly, desperately wanting to avoid running into anyone that she knew. \"Hey Tatum,\" called a familiar voice. \"What are you still doing here at this hour?\" Tatum turned around and saw Larry, holding a clipboard and staring at her openly as he typically did. \"Oh, just a late night. Lots of reports to catch up on,\" she said, hopeful her voice sounded steady. \"Okay. Call me if you'd like anything, okay? I'll bring it right over.\" \"Will do,\" Tatum called over her shoulder as she quickened her step. The next several hours seemed like an eternity. Tatum ate and then sat and reviewed her plans for the rest of the evening. Everything had to go perfectly, otherwise... Actually, she had no idea what would happen, but she was certain it wouldn't be good.\n\n.\n\nAround eleven, Tatum decided she had finally waited long enough. She put on the lab coat and clipboard she'd brought especially for this evening. She wanted to look as official as possible, without looking out of place. Keys in hand, she walked authoritatively toward Unit Five. As she always did, she ran her FOB over the reader and entered the Unit, trying her best to act as if her actions were nothing out of the ordinary. Once inside, she walked straight to the check-in desk and said, in a tone that she hoped indicated that no questions were needed, \"Evening. Dr. O'Neill. I need to see Mr. Trent.\" \"Hi Dr. O'Neill. Nice to see you again. But, why would you need to see Mr. Trent at this time of night?\" This wasn't going to be as easy as she'd hoped. \"I can't tell you much because of confidentiality of course.\" The guard nodded. \"But, I can tell you he's having some nighttime issues. I'm here to take a look. Can't help him with something I don't really understand.\" \"Yah; I guess. Okay. Sign here.\" Tatum had planned for this. She signed willingly. She knew from the last time she'd visited without permission that the guard paid little attention. As long as you wrote something, he was satisfied. So Tatum happily signed her name and she added her time of access as well, eleven sixteen _am_. Having passed her first hurdle, Tatum entered the Unit feeling a little less shaky. She headed toward Lee's cell. Aware that the guard was still watching her out of the corner of his eye, Tatum threw a little more wiggle in her step for good measure. As soon as she was certain she was firmly out of the oogling guard's line of sight, Tatum quickly turned the corner and crouched beside the wall separating the cells from the staff desk. She knew the desk would be empty. Either Jeff or Owen would be snoozing and the other would be roaming the Unit, making sure nothing happened while his co-worker napped. Tatum went into the back of the staff room, the only area in the entire Unit that wasn't perpetually on camera. On the couch right where she'd expected, she found Jeff belly-up on the sofa with his head tipped back and his mouth wide open. Tatum walked slowly toward him, making sure her feet hit the floor softly so as to make no noise. His snores were loud and rough, like the sound of a piece of unoiled machinery, and as Tatum got close she could smell old cigarettes and whiskey in his foul breath. Tatum stood by Jeff's oversized mid-section as she contemplated her plan for unclipping his FOB from his key chain. For the rest of the night, she would replace his FOB with her own, so that he wouldn't notice anything different. Tatum had checked, and during night shifts the orderlies almost never left their assigned units. Slowly and carefully she slid the FOB off his ring and replaced it with her own. Just as she was finishing, she heard him fart and then grunt and roll-over. _Nice!_ thought Tatum as she left the room waving her hand in front of her face. She silently re-entered the hallway, holding tightly to the bounty she had just secured. She picked up her clipboard and stood up completely, regaining her authoritative disguise and then walked confidently back out to the entrance that she had come in. The guard looked at her questioningly. \"I just forgot one of my observation tools,\" Tatum lied for the umpteenth time that week. \"I'll be back in a few.\" The guard nodded.\n\n.\n\nWith the door to Unit Five closed securely behind her, Tatum stopped to catch her breath. Her heartbeat was doing double time and she needed to wipe her hands on her pants so that her clipboard didn't slip right through her sweaty hands. She hadn't much time. As soon as her head felt steady, Tatum gathered up her remaining courage and walked quickly toward the outside door. She wasn't about to waste any time returning to her office before she went on with the rest of her evening. It was late. She felt safe that no one would see her exiting Unit Five and moving through the dark around to the back side of the Research Unit. As she had done before, she carefully pushed the vines and shrubs aside and revealed the FOB reader that had previously denied her access. She ran Jeff's FOB over the same plastic security guard. Tatum heard the familiar click that she had so desperately longed for on her previous attempt. Armed with a detailed and believable story about what she was doing there, Tatum entered the unknown area as if she belonged there more than anyone else. _Whew!_ she thought as she entered the first room, a room that appeared to serve as an entranceway to the remainder of the space, _there's no one around at this time of night in here either._ Tatum looked around. Nothing seemed all that unusual to this point. She was in what appeared to be the access point to a variety of other areas, sort of reminiscent of the layout of the labs on Units Six's upper floor. Tatum looked up. For the first time, she was confident that she would find what she had come for. The sign high up on the wall identified the reason for the well hidden, limited access Unit. The sign read Unit Six Experimental. _Six E._\n\nShe didn't know where to go first. There were four hallways, each one presumably leading to a different destination. Resorting to basics, Tatum started with the hallway furthest to her right that was labeled simply '1' above its entrance. Her fear had been replaced by unbridled curiousity and she gave little thought to running into a security guard or some other worker as she walked quickly down the short hallway. Once again she used Jeff's FOB and heard the familiar click as she entered the point beyond the first hallway. Tatum was disappointed. Beyond the hallway were three offices, typical researcher's offices with filing cabinets and book shelves. Having learned that, at WMI, sometimes things were not as they seemed on first glance, she entered the first office and looked around. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, Tatum entered the middle office. On the back wall of the middle office was a door. A door painted the same colour as the wall, with no trim or other raised parts that could be obviously seen on first glance. The only thing giving the wall door away was a small indent, big enough for two fingers that would allow the door to be pulled outward to open, and the flat hinges that were necessary for it to swing. Tatum tentatively put her fingers into the slot and pulled the inconspicuous door toward her. It swung open easily. Tatum stood dumbfounded. The other side of the door was beyond her wildest imagination. The three small offices, and presumably the other nine offices that fell beside those she had gone through, were fronting a huge warehouse type area of enormous proportions. The area appeared to be blocked into sections, with some sort of organizational structure that Tatum couldn't possible understand. The huge space was filled with cells, similar to the cells in Unit Five. But, the disfigured Unit Five residents looked like well functioning beauty queens in comparison to many of the people now before her. Tatum looked more closely into the first set of barred rooms. She saw nearly twenty men in one cell, all dressed in light purple. _Men?_ she questioned her own assumption. She couldn't really tell if they were even human. Each of the men was missing nearly all of his skull. In place of the skull sat a hinged glass window. Tatum couldn't look away. The men's brains had been intentionally exposed and minimally covered so that they could be easily accessed. In the next cell, another group of many men were lying in their beds, each of them with an electric shock device around their penis. Tatum had heard historical accounts about such devices being used to complete classical conditioning with sex offenders, but it had been long since prohibited by all ethical boards everywhere. The third cell held yet more men, this time with entire sections of their skulls and brains removed, leaving huge craters in the front of their heads. _Lobotomies_ , Tatum rationalized as she looked at them in horror. Cell after cell held groups of women or men, each victim to some sick experimental treatment Tatum had only read about in her history courses, always from the section about unethical treatments from the past that would never happen in the current day. In comparison to her visit to Unit Five, Tatum was unable to contain her nausea. She grabbed a mop bucket and vomited, not because her stomach was weak with pregnancy, but because she'd never been so sickened by anything she'd ever seen in her entire life. Finally, after several minutes of gawking at the cages, making up what looked like the world's sickest zoo, Tatum's stomach settled and her head felt less dizzy. She decided she'd better get going on what she'd come for. \"Anybody here named Mulligan, Jennie Mulligan,\" she called out loudly enough that her voice reverberated through the large echoed room. She repeated herself. \"Jennie? Jennie Mulligan?\" Tatum paused and listened close. She presumed she wasn't getting an answer because, in a place like this, you wouldn't want to be singled out. Tatum decided on a different approach. \"Jennie. If you're here, I just want to know. I won't do anything to you. I promise. James, your son, sent me.\" Tatum stopped and listened closely once again. Finally, a small, meek voice could be heard from the furthest back corner of the warehouse. \"I'm Jennie.\" Tatum ran full speed to the cell that held the woman speaking. Like all the other cells, it held about twenty subjects. However, they looked much less damaged in comparison to some of the others. Tatum stooped at the bars and spoke. \"Who said that?\" She was almost shouting. \"Who said that?' she repeated firmly. \"I did,\" came the voice again. This time Tatum could see who was speaking. She was a woman of about sixty with a shaved head and purple issue. With the exception of her age, she looked the same as all the other shaved women in purple that Tatum could see in front of her. Tatum got close enough to the bars that she could see the woman's face. She had large blue eyes that were full of sadness; the kind of sadness and despair that can only be openly seen on the face of someone who has lost everything. She was thin, too thin. They all were. \"Hi Jennie. My name is Tatum. I'm a psychologist and a good friend of James. He told me to find you here.\" Jennie looked frightened and Tatum realized that what she'd just said sounded suspicious, like a lie. \"He told me using the only few words he has. It took me months to figure out what he was saying, but I'm here now.\" Jennie's face relaxed. \"You look better than some?\" Jennie finally found her voice again. \"Our cell block is only drug trials, no surgery. Some nasty, nasty side effects, but nothing permanent... I don't think.\" Tatum was relieved. She didn't have much time; she couldn't beat around the bush. \"Jennie, I also know your husband.\" Tatum realized she'd only heard Milligan's first name once; she couldn't remember. \"I call him Milligan. He thinks both you and James are dead.\" Jennie nodded. \"You do stupid things when you're young, things that sometimes you can't take back. I thought I was doing him a favour. I wasn't well. James was too much for him.\" Tatum nodded. \"You did what you thought was best.\" \"But now, what I wouldn't give to get it all back.\" \"How long have you been down here?\" Tatum asked the regretful mother of three. \"Somewhere around fifteen years. After I committed James, I couldn't live with what I'd done and I became suicidal. As soon as they know you're on the verge, they figure out a way to move you down here. I've seen it happen to so many over my years.\" \"What do you mean?\" asked Tatum not understanding what Jennie was saying. \"Patients who are about to commit suicide,\" she explained. \"They get moved down here; their families are told that they are gone.\" \"Don't the families want a body?\" asked Tatum, still in disbelief about what she was hearing. \"What did they say about me?\" asked Jennie, encouraging Tatum to put the pieces together. \"You had shot yourself and the damage was so extensive the family shouldn't look.\" As soon as it was out of her mouth, Tatum understood. \"Where do they get the bodies to give the families?\" \"Sometimes experiments go poorly and there are 'leftovers'. Some people don't have families who want a body. They become the spares.\" Tatum understood what she was getting at; she felt sick again. Suddenly Jennie's face changed. \"He's coming. Hide!\" she commanded Tatum. Jennie pointed to a barrel sitting beside the next cell block. Tatum ran and crouched behind the barrel. The night guard walked into the warehouse and ran his baton along the bars as he shouted. \"Are all you circus freaks happy? It's nighty-night time so tell me now if you need anything.\" No one said a word. After he'd walked in between each of the cell blocks and had done the minimum he was paid to do, the guard left the same way he'd come. Jennie quietly called Tatum. \"Tatum, you'd better get out of here. If they find you here...\" She didn't finish her sentence. \"I'll go out and get some help. I'll be back,\" replied Tatum.\n\n.\n\nTatum went back out the same door she'd gone in. On the other side of the door, she looked every direction to make sure the night guard was nowhere to be seen and then she quickly walked through the office and out the hallway. There was no way for her to leave the evilness of the building behind her quickly enough. Taking care on her way out as she'd done on her way in, Tatum stepped slowly through the vines and then ran. She ran as fast and as hard as she could. When she reached the brushes that provided her with cover, she sat on the cold hard ground and took long deep breathes of the cool night air. She needed to re-establish her wits. She still had to go back to Unit Five and return the stolen FOB. _Unit Five. That seemed like an eternity ago_. Tatum picked up the lab coat and clip board she'd left in the bushes. Taking more deep breaths, she slipped the lab coat on and picked up the clip board, trying to regain her look of someone with authority. Seeing her workplace through completely new eyes, Tatum re-entered WMI through the Unit Three outer door. She went back to her office and picked up a test; she wasn't choosy, she just grabbed a box, something to make the guard think she'd gotten what she went back for. She walked quickly to Unit Five and rubbed her FOB against the well-worn plastic. She stopped and signed in again, \"T. O'Neill. 12:05pm,\" she wrote, making certain once again that her visit fell during daylight hours. Tatum took the same route she'd taken before, hopeful that Jeff's turn on the couch wasn't yet over. It wasn't. She entered the back staff room, as quietly and softly and she'd done before. She knew right away that Jeff was still asleep. She could hear the grind of machinery and smell the grotesque combination of cigarettes, whiskey and onions. Tatum moved slowly and carefully toward the couch making sure not to make any noise with her steps. She clipped the FOB back where she had found it and then as carefully as she had gone in, she left. Tatum exited the back staff room standing tall and holding her assessment tools. She left as if she had every reason to be in Unit Five, and had not just seen the most disturbing scene she could imagine in the most twisted of fiction stories. For several minutes she stood outside of Lee's cell, watching him sleep and writing random notes on her clipboard. If anyone were watching and she doubted they were, she had done what she'd said she had come for. \"I'm all done,\" she announced to the night guard as she started on her way out of the forensic psych unit. \"Okay. Goodnight Dr. O'Neill. Have a good night,\" said the night guard as she exited. \"Good night,\" she answered, wanting to make sure she was friendly enough that he wouldn't bother to check with anyone else about her reasons for being there.\n\n.\n\nFor the third time that night, Tatum went back to her own office. The small odd-shaped office was starting to feel like a comfortable sanctuary from the craziness all around her. _Politicians? Bought-off police? How could this be? Who is involved?_ Tatum's head whirled. It was different then when it had whirled in the past. This time she knew she wasn't crazy, but she also had no idea who she should go to with the twisted information she now possessed. _Dr. Z!_ she decided. Her first call would be to Dr. Z. She was one of the few that would understand the magnitude of the ethical infractions happening in Unit Six E.\n\nDespite the fact that it was now early morning, Tatum dialed her teacher's number. The machine picked up. \"Dr. Z?\" Tatum said desperately into the machine. \"I was right. I was right about everything. Call me as soon as you get this message.\" Finally, the madness of the last few hours and the lateness of the evening got the better of her. Tatum laid her head down on her desk and fell asleep.\n\n. There was no window with daybreak light to give Tatum a clue about the morning hour. She lifted her head off her desk and looked at her watch. _Perfect!_ She thought as she inspected the clock. It was just after six. She could shower in the staff room and be back at her desk working before anyone came in and noticed that she had slept in her office. She showered quickly and then re-dressed, wearing mostly the same clothes as the day before. She had planned ahead and brought a different blouse. _No one notices anything but your shirt anyway_ she had decided when she had been preparing to sleep at work. Once she had freshened up and removed all evidence that she'd spent the night in her office,Tatum walked out toward the Administration Unit. It was nearly seven thirty. \"Good Morning Marja,\" she called out cheerfully to the desk clerk who was just coming in the main entrance. \"Tatum?\" questioned Marja. \"You're here awfully early today?\" \"Yah. My knee's been a bit sore, so I skipped my run; thought I might as well put the extra time to good use, so I came in to do some catching up.\" Marja nodded. \"Wanna grab a coffee before the rest of the crew gets here?\" \"Sounds like a great idea,\" responded Marja appreciatively. \"I could use the boost this morning.\" Tatum and Marja sat for several minutes drinking coffee and making polite small talk. While Tatum visited, she planned.\n\n. Soon enough, WMI was buzzing with its typical morning activity. Nurses, doctors and orderlies arrived for the well-staffed day shift, and the sounds of now-awake patients were evident throughout the facility. Tatum returned to her office and checked her schedule. She would continue with her normal routine for the morning, and then during lunch she would talk with Anne. They would decide what to do together.\n\n.\n\nAt just before noon, Tatum couldn't wait any longer. She headed down to the cafeteria and got in line, hoping that Anne would be only moments behind her. She grabbed two bagged lunches and two coffees and then waited by the dining hall entrance. When Anne arrived, she would be ready to head outside where they would have privacy. \"Hey honey!\" She finally heard the jolly voice of her trusted ally. \"Hi Anne,\" answered Tatum. \"Ready to go outside? I got you some lunch.\" Tatum held up her recent purchases. \"Yah, sure. But, what's the hurry? You seem a little stressed.\" \"I just need to talk that's all,\" replied Tatum.\n\n. The friends made their way out to the staff courtyard. It was cold and few employees were willing to brave the oncoming winter weather to enjoy the fresh air. They were alone. \"Anne?\" said Tatum, in a tone that let her friend know that their conversation was important. \"Yes. Tatum, what's wrong?\" \"Have you ever heard of Unit Six E?\" \"Umm, no. Should I have?\" \"I don't know. I don't know who knows. I'm freaking out.\" \"What? Why? Tatum. What's going on?\" \"It's a long story and I won't bore you with every single detail but I found a door.\" \"A door?\" \"Yah, below Unit Six.\" \"And?\" \"And it leads to Unit Six E.\"\n\n\"What, pray tell, is Unit Six E?\" \"It's horrible, Anne. More disturbing than anything you could ever imagine. There are people with half their heads.\" The emotions of the past twenty-four hours finally got the better of her, Tatum started to shake and sob. \"Tatum. What are you saying?\" \"I can't even describe it Anne. There were people in cages, like lab rats. That's what they are, lab rats. Horrible experiments with people, people that don't even look like people anymore.\" Anne's face was twisted in confusion. \"You need to help me figure out what to do. I don't know where to go, who to tell. I'm scared Anne.\" \"Okay. Settle down. First, are you sure? Maybe you just had a bad dream. You've had a lot of stress in your life lately.\" \"It wasn't a dream, Anne. Please believe me,\" Tatum begged. \"Okay. I believe you. Let me think.\" Anne paused, unsure of what to say to her distraught friend. \"Okay. I've got a plan. Here's what we'll do. Go about the rest of your day just like you've done till now.\" \"Okay,\" said Tatum. \"We'll meet after work, in the bushes outside of Unit Six. You can show me where you saw this door you're talking about and we'll watch until we see who is coming and going. Then, once there are two of us with the same story we'll take it to the police. It will be safer if we both go, then they won't just brush us off as crazy and we'll at least have a name or two to give them.\" \"I already know two names, orderlies that I saw leaving one day.\" Tatum thought about Jeff and Owen. \"Dr. Gagnon too. I never saw her actually leaving the building, but I saw her around there one night while I was watching.\" \"That's good. That's something to start with. But, I just feel like I need to see it for myself, okay? I just need a little bit more to go on. I'm not doubting you Tate, but to go forward with this, I'd be putting my job, my life, everything on the line. I just want to see it for myself before I risk it all. Is that fair?\" Tatum nodded. She knew that she was asking her friend to give her blind trust about something so unbelievable that she herself would doubt anyone telling her the same story.\n\n.\n\nDoreen Zubert had been out late. She was celebrating the success of her long and hard-fought fight with the University to recognize her outstanding teaching and service work. University tradition required an international research reputation in order to meet the criteria for the highest level of faculty promotion. Doreen intended to challenge that tradition with the argument that an international reputation for teaching and service were equally as valuable to the scholarly tradition. She won. Dr. Zubert had been promoted to Full Professor and more importantly, she had shown the old boys not to count her out. Her long-time work friends were not going to let the occasion go by unnoticed and had taken Doreen out for dinner and drinks. Drinks turned into karaoke at an off-campus pub where the middle-aged professors were pretty certain students would be unlikely to see them. When she arrived home in the wee morning hours, Doreen had fallen into bed determined to sleep off the evening's festivities. It was after noon the next day when Doreen finally decided that enough was enough and she stumbled out of bed to the coffee pot. Her head hurt and she wasn't about to answer any calls from the University until the recovery from her self-induced flu was complete. After several hours of sitting on the couch in her pajamas watching smut daytime television, Doreen decided that the blinking light on her answering machine shouldn't be ignored any longer. Knowing a blinking light almost always meant somebody wanted her to do something she didn't necessarily want to do; she hesitantly pressed the play button and waited for the request for her services to come. \"Dr. Z? I was right. I was right about everything. Call me as soon as you get this message.\" Dr. Zubert could hear the urgency in Tatum's voice. She stood for a moment and then thought about Tatum's stories of WMI. _Rat surgery. She was right about the doctor who does rat surgery?_ she wondered, not knowing exactly what Tatum was referring to. It was now nearly four pm, and according to the time on the machine Tatum had left the message in the early morning hours. _What the hell is going on?_ Doreen wondered as she looked up Tatum's home number. Finally she found the number of the apartment that Tatum had given her many weeks previous and dialed. The answering machine picked up. Doreen hung up and tried again. The phone in Apartment 203 was answered only by an automated voice for the second time. Dr. Zubert left a message. \"Tatum. I got your message. What's wrong? Call me right back, I'm at home. I'll try your cell and office number too.\"\n\n. Tatum had left Anne after lunch, satisfied that she would be able to convince her friend of the evil lurking below them. Together they would make a report to the police or whoever else could put an end to the malice of WMI's lower level. It was nearly four thirty, almost time to go and meet Anne outside of Unit Six. Tatum left all of her personal belongings in her office and started toward the Administration Unit, where she would repeat her newest habit of using Marja to have a record of her comings and goings. As she turned to lock her office door, she heard the phone on her desk start to ring. _The machine can get that. I've got more important things to do_ , she thought as she checked to ensure that the door had firmly latched.\n\n.\n\nDoreen was getting a bit concerned. Tatum didn't answer at her apartment, she hadn't answered her office phone, and her cell phone had gone straight to voice mail. She sat for a moment, trying to decide whether to chock up her call the night before to Tatum over-reacting, or whether she should go into full panic mode. _Where is she?_ Doreen wondered as she made the decision that, for this one time, she was going to assume this wasn't a drill. She went to her computer and googled 'Sophie's Chicago' in hopes that there would be a phone number, a number for Tatum's parents. She had mentioned a man. Doreen tried to remember, _Jake. I think his name is Jake._ Then, up on the screen she saw the following review. 'Sophie's is an up-and-comer. The small, family owned restaurant has taken Chicago by storm. Sophie's founders Jerry and Sophia O'Neill...' Doreen stopped reading; she couldn't care less about how Sophie's was doing. She had what she needed. She used the online phone directory and looked up Jerry and Sophia O'Neill. Sophia answered. \"Hello?\" \"Hello, Mrs. O'Neill? This is Doreen Zubert. I'm Tatum's supervisor at the University. I don't know if we've met.\" \"I'm not sure. How can I help you?\" Sophia asked the unknown voice on the other end of the line. \"I am just trying to get in touch with Tatum. I think she mentioned a friend named Jake. Do you happen to know his last name? I can't seem to catch her at her apartment\"\n\n\"Yes. Jake Mackinley. She actually moved out to his family farm with him last week. I think that the apartment phone is still connected; she moved out suddenly. That's probably why you haven't been able to reach her. Has she told you her news yet?\" Doreen was anxious to get off the phone, she wanted to find Jake. \"No not yet. It's all good I hope?\" Doreen asked politely continuing the conversation so as to not alert Tatum's mother to her fear for her daughter. \"She and Jake are pregnant. And, they've decided to get married.\" \"That's wonderful!\" said Doreen sincerely. \"That makes it even more important that I get in touch with her. I need to send my congratulations! You don't happen to have the number at the farm, or... Jake's cell phone number, do you?\" Doreen asked hopefully. \"Oh, of course, just give me a second, I'll grab them.\" The phone went quiet for a moment while Sophia looked through her well-organized address book for the recently recorded numbers. \"Here it is,\" she said into the phone. Doreen wrote down the numbers Sophia read out and then politely thanked Tatum's mother for her help and hung up the phone.\n\n.\n\nTatum left through the main entrance and then walked along her now well-known path through the bushes to where she and Anne had agreed to meet. She arrived first. Tatum crouched down in the undergrowth that was providing her with cover and waited, not taking her eyes off of the door that had recently become her obsession. Tatum sat quietly, having freshly developed her skills at remaining incognito. _Anne will be here soon_ , Tatum convinced herself. No sooner did she have the thought than she heard a branch breaking. _Good. She's finally here_ was the last thing Tatum thought before everything went dark.\n\n. When Tatum finally regained consciousness, she rubbed her eyes hard, trying to focus and figure out what had happened. She looked straight ahead and saw bars. Then she looked down and saw the chair she was tied to and her hands and feet firmly secured so that she couldn't move. Her mouth had been covered so that she couldn't scream. She looked around and realized she'd been here before. She was being held in a cell in Unit Six E.\n\nTatum listened. She heard voices. It was men talking and they were getting closer. Finally, Tatum could see faces. Jeff and Owen rounded the corner and neared her cell. \"What are we supposed to do with the good doctor until they get here?\" Owen asked Jeff. \"I don't know. Wait, I guess. How long were they going to be?\" \"Should be here any minute. I wonder who's taking the fall this time?\" Both men laughed.\n\n.\n\nDr. Zubert didn't waste any time. She started with the number for the farm. It was now almost six thirty. Surely someone would answer this close to dinnertime. \"Hello,\" came a small voice on the phone. \"Hello. Is Tatum there please?\" \"No. I'm sorry, she's not here right now,\" answered Brady politely. \"Is your dad home then?\" \"No, he's not here either. Can I take a message?\" \"My name is Dr. Zubert, I work with Tatum. Do you know where she is?\" \"Nope. She hasn't been home since yesterday morning. My grandma might know. Do you want me to get her?\" \"Uh, no. That's okay,\" Doreen answered hastily. _She hasn't been home since yesterday_. \"I'll call back later. Bye.\" She hung up the phone and immediately dialed the cell phone number that Sophia had given her. \"Hello,\" came a deep voice on the other end of the line. \"Jake?\" \"Yes. Who's this?\" \"This is Doreen Zubert. I'm Tatum's University supervisor.\" \"Okay?\" said Jake confused. \"Do you know where she is?\" Doreen asked. \"At home I assume. I am just on my way back from the airport. I'm driving. I haven't been home yet. Why?\" \"I just called your house and a young boy answered. Your son I'm assuming? He said she hadn't been home since Monday morning.\" \"Okay?\" Jake said again. \"Jake. I got a strange message last night. It was Tatum. All she said was that she had been right, right about everything.\" \"What does that mean?\" \"I'm not completely sure, but she had some strange theories about stuff that was going on at WMI.\" \"Oh shit!\" said Jake. \"I asked her to leave all that crap alone.\" \"Well, I don't think she did. Anyway, she talked quite a bit about two people. A Dr. Gagnon, a rat researcher, and a young Autistic man named James. Jake, I think she's in trouble.\" \"What kind of trouble?\" \"I don't know but I don't have a good feeling. You need to go to WMI and see Dr. Gagnon. You need to find her!\" \"I'm on my way right now. If you don't hear from me in a half hour or so... Call the police,\" said Jake as he sped the pick-up along the straight Saskatchewan highway faster than it was meant to go.\n\n.\n\nJeff and Owen came into Tatum's cell still laughing and talking. \"How's your day going?\" Jeff asked her sarcastically. \"You're awfully pretty,\" he continued with a tone that made Tatum's skin crawl. \"Yah, too bad we don't get to make the calls around here. I know what I'd do with this one,\" Owen responded to his foul-smelling partner. \"Why does it always have to be the pretty ones,\" stated Jeff, \"I'd like to keep this one around. There's plenty of ugly women out there that could figure us out. The world could use a few less of them anyway.\" \"Yah,\" was the only response out of the dull man he was talking to. When the dense orderlies were finally quiet, Tatum heard more voices coming toward the cell she was being held in.\n\n.\n\nJake had made it to WMI in record time. He parked his pickup right at the main doorway and then ran full-speed to the Unit Six entrance. Unsure of even what he was about to do, he only knew that Dr. Zubert had said Dr. Gagnon was a researcher, so that's where he was headed. The Unit was locked. Everyone had finished their work day and gone home. Jake searched until he found a small red button, a doorbell that could be used for participants attending research projects that ran after hours. He rang the doorbell until his finger ached. Finally, a small frail-looking woman with a sour face came to the door. \"Can I help you?\" she asked without really meaning that she was prepared to help. \"I'm looking for a Dr. Gagnon. Do you know where I might find her?\" \"Yes. What do you want with her?\" \"I need to ask her some questions about Dr. O'Neill, Tatum O'Neill.\" \"What kind of questions?\" \"Do you know where she is or not?\" Jake demanded. \"I'm Dr. Gagnon,\" she replied firmly, \"but I don't think I like your tone.\" Realizing what he'd just heard, Jake pushed the door, hard. June fell to the ground and Jake jumped on top of her and held her to the ground with his knee. He lifted his hand, more than prepared to strike a woman for the first time in his life. \"Where's Tatum?\" he ordered. \"What have you done with her!\" \"Huh?\" said June. \"I don't know what you're talking about?\" \"Tatum is missing and the person she was most suspicious of around here was you.\" \"Tatum was suspicious too?\" Jake loosened his grasp, slightly. \"What do you mean too?\" he asked. \"For years I've been keeping to myself, trying not to get noticed while I figured out what kind of twisted shit actually happens around here.\" Jake loosened his grasp further. \"What do you mean?\" \"There's something sinister going on below us, I know it. But I've never been able to find any proof. Maybe Tatum has figured out in a couple of months, what I couldn't do in years.\" \"Where is she? What do you mean, below us?\" Jake demanded again. \"There's a door. It's covered. I've tried to get in. My access doesn't work.\" \"Did Tatum have access?\" \"I doubt it. I don't know anyone who does. I was never able to put the pieces together fully.\" \"How do we get in? She left a message for her University supervisor. All she said was that she was right, about everything. Any idea what that means?\" \"It means we need to get into Unit Six E,\" said June standing up. She closed and firmly locked the door behind Jake and led him into the Research Unit. \"This is as close as I ever got,\" she said as she walked Jake through the maze of hallways and offices where WMI's on-the-books research took place. It felt like an eternity as he followed her, wondering where she was leading. First June guided Jake back through the network of hallways to her office. He watched as she removed the file folders from the bottom desk drawer and removed the small handgun she'd hidden beneath. \"I know,\" she said perceptively at Jake, recognizing his surprise at her possession. Wainwright was not a place where people kept guns in their desk drawers. \"I just didn't know what might come up if I kept snooping around.\" Jake nodded. June showed Jake what appeared to be an upper floor furnace room. _Weird,_ thought Jake knowing full well furnace rooms were rarely on the main floor. \"I think this is here to keep maintenance workers from needing access to the basement,\" explained June, pointing the heating system in front of her. She led Jake around the furnace. \"But, look at this. What would this be for?\" June was pointing at a grate in the floor. It looked as if it had been an elevator shaft from years gone by; likely before the bottom floor was used for the wickedness that now existed. The grate had been concealed by a large, metal box, heavy enough to discourage any attempt at movement. \"I couldn't make it budge,\" explained June. \"Help me,\" said Jake as he started to push. Together they pushed until Jake thought he had exerted so much energy that he might pass out. Finally, the box started to move. \"Push!\" commanded Jake, forgetting to keep his voice down. The movement of the box was easier once it was started, and slowly, with great effort, they managed to reveal the previously concealed grate. \"I don't know where it leads,\" warned June. \"As long as it goes _down_ , that's all I need to know,\" said Jake. He lifted the large grate and swung himself onto the steel cable that led to the bottom floor. To his surprise, June also suspended herself around the heavy wire and started shimmying herself down the large opening. At the bottom, Jake and June found themselves inside some kind of storage room. Presumably the retired elevator shaft had been converted into a store room. They opened the door carefully, hoping no one was standing on the other side. On the other side of the doorway, they saw a short hallway leading to a series of three offices. No sign of Tatum. Jake was confused, nothing seemed particularly out of the ordinary.\n\n. Finally, the voices came close enough for Tatum to hear. She couldn't make out what was being said until she at last saw the faces coming toward her. \"Hey honey,\" she heard Anne say. \"I'm really sorry about all this. We've just got too much at stake. You understand, right?\" This was the first time that Tatum had heard Anne's voice sound anything but jovial. At the moment, it was dripping with a threatening and creepy tone that reminded Tatum of Cruella DeVille, the villain from the Disney movie 101 Dalmatians. Tatum couldn't answer. \"You are too nosy sweetie. You should have just left well enough alone,\" she said as she unlocked the door. \"Now what?\" Jeff looked at the man with Anne who was obviously in charge. \"I saw her visiting with Trent, yesterday,\" piped in Owen. \"Does that help?\" he asked hopefully, knowing their lucrative bonuses depended on them protecting this place. \"Actually it does,\" said the man. \"He's got a history. He can be our guy again. Here's how it will go. She went to see him at night for some kind of treatment session. He thought she was pretty; end of story.\" The man smiled; a twisted malicious smile. \"Go get him ready. And, prep a treatment room. We'll bring her up after. She'll be found in the treatment room where he killed her.\" Tatum couldn't believe what she was hearing. The man in front of her was disciplined, concentrated and disturbing. His eyes were clear and his ability to plan and take charge unmistakable. This was the first time Tatum had ever seen Tim anything less than distracted and disheveled. \"We're on it boss,\" said Jeff as he led Owen out of the cells, ready to embark on their new well-paid duties. Tim looked at Anne. He smiled his sickly smile and then kissed her long and wet on the lips as he pushed her up against the wall. \"You're hot when you're nasty,\" he said to the nurse Tatum had trusted completely. \"And you,\" he started moving toward Tatum. \"You, I'm going to deal with right now. Gonna shut you up, just like the last little bitch that tried to interfere with our work.\"\n\n. June ran from office to office, looking for something, anything that looked out of place. Jake ran along behind, unfamiliar with the space but trusting his strange companion, more out of necessity than because she was someone on whom he would typically depend. \"Here!\" she whispered. June slipped her hands into the slot Tatum had found the time before and pulled. She and Jake stepped into the large warehouse that had taken Tatum's breath away. June was paralyzed. She could not believe what she was seeing. Jake had an MBA. He needed some help understanding what they were looking at. \"It's a human experimental facility,\" explained June as she walked towards the cell full of men with glass heads. \"Lab rats. Human lab rats,\" she said under her breath, more to herself than to Jake. \"Unbelievable. Even I didn't imagine this.\" Jake interrupted her thoughts. \"Let's split up, we'll cover more ground looking for her. Meet me back here in ten if you don't find anything.\" Jake ran to the right, winding his way in and out of the strange sights in the cells surrounding him. June ran to the left, slower than Jake, unable to avoid being captivated by the atrocities she was witnessing. There were experiments in sterilization, lobotomy and other types of surgeries she'd never seen before. There were social psychology labs entitled 'Coercion', 'Pain' and 'Discipline'. There were drug experiments for drugs whose names she'd never heard and couldn't pronounce. June tried to concentrate on her task of finding Tatum.\n\n.\n\nTim came closer and closer to Tatum, spinning and molding a set of yellow issue patient pants. Tatum knew what he was doing. Using the pants to strangle her would mean that Lee had easy access to the weapon used to kill her. Tatum looked up at Anne, pleading with her eyes for the nurse to take pity and make him stop. Anne just stared, seemingly enjoying the twisted and sick scene she was permitting. Tim put the yellow noose around Tatum's neck so that the chair pushed backward with a loud bang. \"There, now you're lying down, just like you'll be when they find you,\" Tim said in the voice Tatum had never heard before today.\n\n.\n\nJake heard the bang. He turned toward the noise and started to run, faster and harder than he had ever run before in his life. He ran until he finally reached the spot from where he was certain the noise had come, and then he stopped suddenly and listened. \"Sorry about his hun. But, we need to keep our little secret. The work we do; it must go on. Everyone wants it done, but no one else has the guts to do it.\" Jake snuck carefully around the corner so he could get a look at the woman talking. \"I told you a long time ago to mind your own business. I tried to warn you sweetie.\" Tatum could barely hear the sound of Anne's voice, she could feel herself getting dizzy and the room was starting to go dark. Jake could now make out the large framed nurse. He came up behind her and then waited on the other side of the cell. He also saw Tim and the limp figure he was leaning over. Fighting his impulse to shout to her, Jake slowly slid the cell door open, hoping not to arouse the nurse who was mesmerized by the events before her. Then, knowing he had but seconds before he was discovered, he jumped onto Tim's back and put his arm around the doctor's neck, mimicking Tim's own hold on Tatum. Realizing Jake's intent, Anne pulled from her pocket the syringe she had prepared, just in case someone foolishly attempted to interrupt their effort to silence Tatum. She squeezed a little bit of fluid out of the end, and then, as Jake and Tim struggled, she held the sharp end of the needle up to Jake's shoulder. \"Anne. Don't!\" yelled June from just inside the cell door. Anne moved closer to Jake. June pulled the trigger and Anne fell forward. As she fell, she completed her final act in defense of her life's work. She plunged the syringe deep into Jake's flesh. June watched as Jake's body became limp and his grip on Tim's neck loosened. Feeling his opportunity return, Tim tightened his grasp on the yellow trousers and pulled them as tight as he was able around Tatum's slim neck. \"Tim. Stop!\" yelled June for the second time. He didn't. June pulled the trigger again.\n\n.\n\nTatum felt life returning to her body. She sat up, seeing the mayhem all around her, and realized Jake was lying nearly lifeless on the floor. Tatum crawled desperately toward her fianc\u00e9, hoping she could do something to stop what she knew was about to happen. Jake reached up with his limp hand and put it on her stomach. \"Take care of them,\" were his final words to her as she sobbed into his hair.\n\n.\n\n\"Tatum. We have to get out of here,\" June urged her recent rescue as she tugged at her arm. \"I'm not leaving him!\" Tatum said defiantly. \"You have to,\" commanded June dragging Tatum as she fought. \"Quick, this way. Follow me.\" June ran with Tatum in tow. Years of experience with the institution's layout gave her some idea of where she would find her way out. Then, as if someone flipped a switch, Tatum took the lead. \"This way.\" The women ran out though the offices and down the short hallway that led to the stairs. Taking the stairs two at a time, they ran until their chests hurt. Tatum pushed the main door open, for the first time not caring at all whether the greenery on the other side was destroyed giving away her presence. \"Look!\" called June. Tatum looked out the door and saw enough red and blue to decorate a Christmas tree. \"I wonder how?\" asked Tatum out loud. \"Who cares how,\" was June's only reply.\n\n.\n\nJune spent the next several hours leading the investigators to Jeff and Owen, taking them on a tour of the vile downstairs facility, and making phone calls in an attempt to figure out how Unit Six E patients could ever be taken care of with any sort of dignity. Tatum just sat in shock.\n\n.\n\nOn Tatum's advice, Jennie was the first to leave her Unit Six E cell. She became the primary informant to the police, leading them to Dr. Fraser, Larry the unit head, and multiple politicians with no morals. Jennie had overheard enough conversations over the years to put everyone involved behind bars. # Chapter 22\n\nIt was early, really early. The morning sun was poking through the small crack Tatum had left in the curtains. She preferred to wake up to the sun, rather than the obnoxious buzz of an alarm. She rubbed her eyes and rolled over, as she always did, to lie quietly for a moment in the spot where Jake used to lay. His smell was gone, but she would forever feel his presence. Having satisfied her need to remember, she got out of bed and pulled her stretchiest yoga pants up and over her very pregnant belly. Her morning runs had turned into morning walks. She pulled the curtains fully open and enjoyed the warmth of the July sun, already able to tell that it was going to be a hot one. Her hair pulled back out of her face, Tatum splashed herself with water and then quietly pulled on her runners and opened the farm's front door. Months of practice meant that the screen now closed with a gentle bump. She walked down the long lane that led out of the MacKinley's yard and down the rural roads that she'd come to know like the back of her hand. The weather brought back memories, and as the sweat descended down her face she thought about the last year. No year had ever brought her so much joy combined with so much heartache. Walking was difficult, but the sounds of the Saskatchewan fields had become a source of solace for her, like morning meditation.\n\n. When Tatum returned to the farm, the rest of the family remained sleeping. She had risen and walked even earlier than usual, knowing Monday was always the day she went to have coffee with Milligan. Tatum showered and dressed and then looked in the mirror. Her previous up-town trendy appearance now replaced with the healthy glow of pregnancy and the wisdom of experience and suffering. She crossed the hall and kissed Brady gently on the forehead, being careful not to wake him. Then, she laid on the nightstand a note. \"Brady, I went to have coffee with Milligan this morning. I will see you right after work. I love you. Tate.\" Never again would she allow Brady to wonder where his parent was or when she would return.\n\n.\n\n\"Good Morning Milligan,\" bellowed Tatum as she neared the front porch where she saw her old friend rocking in his chair and waiting anxiously for her arrival. \"Morning Jennie. Morning James,\" she continued as she called in the front door before she took her seat. \"Morning Tatum,\" she heard Jennie call back from the kitchen. Being reunited with his family had given Milligan a new perspective on life. He and Jennie had a lot of recovering to do, and they wanted to start their new life together in a new space. They'd bought a small house a couple of blocks over from Regency Apartments, as he wasn't yet ready to give up completely on his position as manager. It was a turn of the century home that had been refurbished and suited Milligan perfectly. Its best feature was the quaint front porch, perfectly suited for coffee with friends. \"So, you all ready?\" Milligan asked glancing at Tatum's swollen abdomen. \"I think so. I don't know. Can you ever be completely ready?\" \"How's Brady. I bet he's excited?\" \"Oh yah. He asks every single day when he's going to get to meet his new brother or sister.\" As had always been the case, Milligan and Tatum chatted about everything that was important to them and also about nothing at all. When the conversation started to wind down, James and Jennie appeared on the front porch, James with his lunch-kit in hand. \"Ready Buddy?\" asked Tatum. \"Yath,\" responded James, in his still difficult to understand mumbly voice. As she did every morning, Tatum helped James to her car for the ride to WMI.\n\n.\n\n\"Morning Lisa,\" Tatum called out cheerfully as the Research Unit desk clerk buzzed her and James through to the secure side of Unit Six. James ran his awkward run toward the elevators he'd come to know so well. He knew at the bottom of the elevator was his second home, the place where he had friends and things that he liked to do. Tatum followed him, letting him lead the way. James pushed the button and the unlikely friends rode the elevator to the Treatment Center that now completely filled the bottom floor of the Unit Six building. \"Good Morning Amanda,\" Tatum said to her trusted assistant. \"Good morning Dr. O'Neill. Today's the big day, hey?\" Tatum nodded. She knew her assistant was referring to her meeting with the provincial directors for the mental health society. \"Cummon Tate!\" called James, anxious to share his joy with his biggest supporter. James led Tatum through the rooms of social events and activities she had organized as facilities for her day-time residents. Some of her Center participants still remained full-time residents, but Tatum's primary goal was to give them the skills so that they could stay with their families, or make other choices about how their lives would unfold. No-one in the WMI Treatment Center would ever sit alone by the window twiddling their thumbs, as long as she had anything to do with it.\n\n.\n\n\"Well, I guess it's time to go,\" Tatum announced to the group of patrons she was sitting with when she glanced at her watch. \"Bye Dr. O'Neill!\" they all called out happily in unison. Tatum walked outside and stopped to pause as she caught her breath in the heat. She smiled and then continued over to the Administration Unit where she would meet the team of provincial directors. She made sure that she would be the first in the board room where her WMI internship had all begun. After making certain Marja had prepped coffee and snacks for their visitors and decaf for Tatum, she waited.\n\n. When the provincial directors arrived, Tatum felt more calm and together than she had ever expected. The sad experience gained over the previous year had aged her in a good way. \"Dr. O'Neill?\" asked the elderly man who entered the room first. \"Yes. Please come in. We've made coffee for your visit.\" The directors, the elderly man and two middle-aged women, made polite small-talk while they grabbed some refreshments and they each took a seat. \"I'm sure you're wondering why we've come,\" started the elderly man. Tatum nodded. \"We've come because we've heard about your work with the Treatment Center.\" Tatum nodded again. \"We also, of course, heard about your bravery and smarts over the Unit Six E fiasco.\" More nodding. \"Your internship is now complete, correct?\" \"Yes sir. Technically, I'm not an employee here anymore. I'm just giving myself a small income from the Center's grant funds until I can find something more permanent.\" \"Well, we would like you to quit looking.\" Tatum looked at him, unsure of exactly what he was saying. \"Pardon me?\" \"We would like to offer you the Directorship of WMI.\" \"Like a permanent position as the Director of the Treatment Center you mean?\" Tatum said hopefully. \"The Center, yes. But also everything else. We want you to run this place.\" Tatum was stunned. \"The whole institution?\" she said in disbelief. \"Yup. What do you think? You would, of course, get the full salary and benefits package that our previous director had.\" Tatum knew he meant Dr. Fraser, and that, even without the unscrupulous padding of his salary for his work of malice, his salary had been more than generous. \"I'm not sure I'm qualified,\" she stated knowing full well the management side of her CV was less than stellar. \"We think you are and that's all that really matters, right?\" said one of the women who had said nothing to that point. She smiled a kind smile at Tatum.\n\n.\n\nTatum left the meeting the new Director of WMI, official immediately. She wasn't sure what to do next, but she thought she'd start by inspecting the Director's office, a gigantic step up from the small dark rectangular janitor's closet she'd be moving out of. She admired the large windows and the soft yellow light provided by the Saskatchewan sun that was falling over her new workspace. She thought about her first day at Regency Apartments and how she'd fallen in love with the open space. She looked out the window and sat in the warmth of the cheery colour. Tatum lingered on the comfortable office couch that remained from Directors gone past, enjoying the heat of the late morning sun on her very pregnant belly. She felt the person inside her kick, and then a tremendous wave of muscle tension like she'd never experience. Tatum knew immediately what was happening and waited anxiously, just to ensure there was another. She waited for three and then picked up the phone. \"Sam?\" \"Yah.\" \"It's time.\" ***\n\n\"You got this?\" Sam called out to her recently hired manager. The busiest restaurant in town now required a second in command to keep all of the operations running smoothly. \"You betcha boss. Go!\" was the only response she received. Sam drove like a maniac to get to the hospital where Tatum had already checked herself in and changed into one of the lovely hospital smocks that left most of her backside exposed. She smiled at her sweet, beautiful best friend. \"You ready?\" \"Like I've never been ready for anything in my life,\" answered Tatum with a confidence Sam had come to know and respect.\n\n.\n\nAs she expected, labour was long and hard, but worth every bit. When she was done, the nurses wheeled her up to the maternity floor, baby in hand and best friend walking proudly beside. The nurses helped the new mom onto the bed and then the youngest nurse asked, \"How do you feel about visitors?\" \"Bring them in,\" the proud parent beamed. Brady came in first. He ran at Tatum and jumped up on the end of the bed. \"Can I hold him?\" he blurted. \"Of course,\" answered Tatum as she handed Brady his tiny new brother. \"Hold him tight,\" was her only request before she turned to the rest her company. Tatum was surrounded by the faces of those she loved. Sam still by her side, Mr. and Mrs. Mackinley kissed and hugged their new grandson and his mother. Vinnie and Maria squeezed Tatum in their typically over-zealous fashion, and then Jennie passed Tatum a bouquet of flowers and gave her a peck on the cheek. Milligan hugged her tight with the same paternal pride he'd given Tatum since they day they first met. Finally, James walked clumsily over to the bed and wrapped his gawky arms around Tatum as he laid his head on her chest. \"What you call him?\" he asked his dear friend from his uncomfortable head-down stance. Tatum lifted James' face so that she could speak directly to him. \"I call him Jake. Everyone, please meet Jake Mackinley.\" George pulled his hanky out of his pocket to pass to his wife. She needed it to wipe her tears. Tatum bent down and gently took the baby from Brady's proud grasp. She looked up slowly at Jake's mother and carefully passed Carol her newest grandson. As she passed Jake to his grandmother, she quoted the words of the love she'd lost. \"He lost his father before he was born. He will always know his father through this place and its people.\" # Epilogue\n\nAlthough all of the events, characters, and places in this book are entirely fictional, the ideas came from more than only the author's imagination. Weyburn Mental Hospital, later called Souris Valley Care Facility, opened in 1921. At the time of its opening, it was considered one of the largest buildings in the British Commonwealth. Sources say that, at its peak, it housed somewhere between 2500 and 3000 patients and was considered to provide the \"cutting-edge\" of mental health treatment. Historical accounts talk about treatments and experimentation that would be the bane of any current research ethics board. Stories include drug experimentation, \"work and water\" as described in the novel, insulin, LSD, electro-shock, and lobotomy. Other accounts talk of patients who were committed, not because they were mentally ill, but because they simply didn't \"fit-in\" with the outside world. The most horrifying of stories include incidences of physical, emotional, and sexual abuse. After the deinstitutionalization movement in the 1980's, the building was altered to become a long-term care facility and then was eventually demolished in 2009. Before it was demolished, stories of haunting by tortured and abused patients were common. My summers in Weyburn often involved visits to the large, red-bricked, remarkable facility. Although only a child, I was fascinated by the scope and history of the infamous institution and its stately, well-groomed grounds. I would often feel as if I were part of a movie set as I walked down the long lane that led to the extraordinary structure whose circumference was said to be more than a mile. In comparison to its small farm town surroundings, the estate-like property seemed eerie and out of place. As I would walk, I would think about stories told by family members who had been employed in the institution in the days no one likes to talk about. That place and those true stories were only the beginnings of the tales I would one day weave.",
-        "\"Only if you stop talking. I don't want": "\"Only if you stop talking. I don't want to hear any more. Not this evening. I've had enough!\" He agreed and when I ordered him to go to bed, he gave me a grateful look. He fell asleep as soon he lay down. \"I'm going to bed too,\" said Kate, starting for the door. Before she opened it, she said: \"Thank you, Tibor, I'll never forget that you stayed.\" After she left, I took my notebook and jotted down these questions:\n\n1. Why did Otrin disappear: because of a holy town, because of a trinity, because of the European ruler, because of the DNA? 2. Did he disappear of his own will or did somebody force him into it? 3. If he disappeared voluntarily, is he hiding somewhere together with Isabelle? Where? 4. If he was forced, there are two possibilities. Either Isabelle or a scientific institution forced him. 5. If Isabelle kidnapped him, where did she take him? 6. If a scientific institution kidnapped him, which? (Get a list of scientific institutes in France)\n\n7. If he was kidnapped by an intelligence service, which? 8. Would it be smart to issue the disappearance of the two in media? Send pictures of them to newspapers? (Answer: J. E. will not allow this. You must not inform the terrorists that you are hot on their heels)\n\nSo many questions and almost no answers. Yawning, I put the notebook into the drawer, turned off the light and closed my eyes. 14. Despite tiredness, I couldn't sleep. My thoughts were like a swarm of bees, humming, jostling, and hurrying from one object to another. The whole night I kept getting up, lying down, getting up. In the morning when I was so tired that I was finally about to fall asleep, the ringing of the cell phone threw me up again. It was Frank. \"You were right,\" he said, \"your couple really traveled to St. R\u00e9my. They were seen on three resting places. And do you know what? Somebody else wanted the same information as you! You don't have to guess a lot to find out who he was, do you?\" \"Of course not,\" I laughed. After finishing our conversation, I took the list of questions I had written the night before, to cross out the possibility that Otrin was in the hands of a scientific institution. Now it was clear, that he was with Isabelle. Whether voluntarily or not that was the thing I had to investigate. Maurice was still asleep when I left him. Even if he woke up while I was away, I knew he was too afraid of J.E. to escape. I was thinking about Maurice a lot. He was not a bad person, yet he had made some stupid mistakes for which he will have to answer. One of them was breaking into Otrin's house. The other was breaking into the hotel room. However, I decided to keep this offence to myself. I decided not to tell anybody. I wanted to spare him punishment for that crime. The next thing we all had to fear was the accusation of being terrorists or at least have terrorist intentions. I was more than convinced that J.E. was leading his investigation in that direction. He wanted to prove that Otrin was a terrorist; everybody connected with him was his collaborator. Including me. I was well aware that no trial led by J.E. would be fair. We would be condemned before we were tried. So, it was suddenly of my interest too to find Otrin as soon as possible, to find him before J.E. and take him home as secretly and as fast as possible. But the truth was that J.E. was at least one step ahead of me. He found out the truth about Isabelle before me. And before me he knew that Otrin and Isabelle had come to St. R\u00e9my. He had already searched Isabelle's flat and I didn't have the slightest idea what he had found there. I only hoped that something, something small and tiny had escaped his eyes and I would be lucky enough to find it. For I intended to search the flat by myself as well. The only thing he didn't know was that Maurice was with me. Nevertheless, it was only a question of time until he found out, so I really had to hurry. I knocked on Kate's door. I did not expect to find her all dressed up, so a cry of surprise escaped my mouth when she opened the door: \"Oh, Kate, what does that mean?\" \"I'm leaving,\" she said. \"Come in.\" \"Leaving? But why?\" \"You were right,\" she said with a faint, bitter smile on her lips, \"I really do have a lot of work to do at home.\" \"You know I did not really mean it,\" I said, slightly embarrassed. \"Stay here and wait for your husband. I'm sure it'll do him good to see you.\" \"Oh, come on, Tibor, \"he sighed, \"he won't miss me at all. Just bring him home.\" \"But, but...\"\n\nShe took my hand. She had a deep, sad look in her black eyes. I felt an emotion moving in me again, but I managed to hold myself back.\" Don't try, Tibor, I won't change my mind,\" she said firmly, letting my hand go, stepping back. \"I know I cannot be useful here at all. I don't understand the language, you have enough to do without having to translate to me each word somebody utters.\" \"I really don't find it difficult...\"\n\n\"I know, Tibor. The other reason is that I am too old to keep running all over France. I'm getting on in years, you know. Well, my taxi will be here in a minute to take me to the airport so I'm going to say good-bye right here. \"She grabbed my hand again and squeezed it tightly. \"Please, find him, \"she repeated, tears in her eyes. \"I wish you good luck. And take care of yourself.\" I pulled her to my chest and she didn't resist. For a few moments we stood motionless, tightly embraced. \"We could have a wonderful time,\" I whispered into her ear. \"I know,\" she answered, \"that's why I am leaving. Because I am afraid of myself. Not of you, Tibor, of myself. Later I would regret it.\" She freed herself from my grip, picked up her suitcase and left the room without giving me another look. I did not follow her. After a while, I returned to my room and woke Maurice. \"Get up, boy,\" I said, \"we have work to do.\" 15. I, of course, did not have the key to Isabelle's flat, but many years of work with the criminals taught me things as well. Maurice was watching me with amusement when I was trying to open the door with a piece of wire. It was a piece of cake, especially as the lock was simple, old, an ancient one, so to say, with no special protection. I could read Maurice's thoughts. Something like that: so there you are, a burglar, with your mouth full of praise for yourself, how honest you are, a saint, that's why you have the right to condemn criminals. Yet, you are no better than the rest of us. I didn't care. I had no time for argument. It took me only a few seconds and the door was wide open. Though having searched the flat thoroughly, we found nothing. But I just couldn't leave the place. Something was tying me to it. A subconscious knowledge, my always unmistakable sixth sense. Look again, was it whispering at the back of my head. Look again. It's here. Maurice, standing at the door, his hand on the door handle, was waiting. With my back bent low, my eyes glued to the floor, I resumed searching. Inch by inch. \"I don't think you'll find...\"\n\nAt that moment, I noticed something white peeking from under one of the table legs. \"Lift up this corner of the table,\" I ordered Maurice. When he did, I pulled a folded piece of paper out, struggled to my feet, silently cursing my belly that without my permission grew big and heavy, and unfolded it. It was all written over in Otrin's handwriting. I recognized it although it was somewhat different from his handwriting in lectures. It was strange, probably written in a hurry. \"Look at this handwriting,\" I said to Maurice. \"What do you think?\" Maurice stared at the writing for some time, and then he said: \"His hand was trembling.\" \"Exactly. Otrin was scared to death when he was writing this!\" Otrin's lectures were written in nice handwriting, showing self-confidence. Letters were equal, nicely formed, standing upright like the soldiers in a row. I remember admiring his handwriting. On thispiece of paper, the letters were bending, falling. Some were big, others small, difficult to read. Maurice started to read aloud:\n\n***\n\n1. In the word Victoria, a lot of traps are hidden. According to the fact that Victoria is also a statue above the Brandenburg Gate, which had been stolen by the French two hundred years ago as their war booty and has been returned to Germany only recently it might happen that Victoria, the new European ruler will be kidnapped. 2. Queen Victoria lost her husband at the age of 42. From then on, she wore only black and was constantly sad, for she had loved her husband very much. The new ruler Victoria is threatened to become unhappy in her middle age and remain unhappy till the end of her life. 3. The new ruler named Victoria can become a victim of a deadly disease, leukemia, which ne of the queens of the British throne inherited in the past and can burst out in any of the female relatives. The name Victoria will give her the privilege to become a relative of the throne, and thus exposed to the deadly illness. 4. The name Isabelle, at first sight, resembles the name Jesus with the promise of bringing supernatural power to its owner, but unluckily Jesus died on the cross. The same fate may befall the person named Isabelle. 5. Sorry to say, but the beginning of the name Isabelle brings no good prospects. The first syllable suggests that the person named Isabelle might be liable to a tragic fate similar to the fate of Isis, Isolde, Isaac, Isaiah. Her own son Horus beheaded Isis. Isolde was prevented from becoming a queen. Isaac went blind; Isaiah was running naked around and around Jerusalem for no less than three years, as a sign of a protest against the occupation of Jerusalem. Isabelle should beware those fates. 6. There is another danger in the name Isabelle. It can be divided into two parts; is like iron and abel. Biblical Abel was killed by his brother Cain. Isabelle is thus threatened by a too early death. 7. The names Isabelle and Victoria are far from being a good combination. Yet indirectly the person with those names can still rule Europe. Through her daughter who must be given only one name. And that name must be Victoria. No Isabelle or anything else. Just Victoria. Through her, she can fulfill her mission. ***\n\nWe exchanged glances. \"I don't understand,\" said Maurice, drawing his eyebrows together in a frown. \"It seems as if he tried to scare her, to dissuade her from her intention to become the new ruler.\" \"What a change,\" I said, remembering the conversation between Isabelle and Otrin that I had read when visiting the Head of the Sorbonne. \"First he makes every effort to prove to her that she is the one who is chosen to be the ruler, and then this! Why, Maurice? Because he finally sees that she is expecting the impossible?\" \"She's not expecting the impossible and the Professor knows it. I don't know why he tries to dissuade her from the throne, but I know he won't succeed. Isabelle firmly believes in her future role as the European ruler and will do anything to make him help her.\" \"Everything means threatening him with the razor?\" \"If it is necessary.\" When turning the Otrin's piece of paper in my hands, I suddenly noticed some letters at the edge of the paper, written nearly invisibly. I neared it to my eyes. The letters were SPL! SPL! SPL! \"What, the hell, is that?\" Maurice bent over my shoulder. \"The code,\" he cried out excitedly. \"The code!\" \"What code?\" \"The one which will awake our DNA! We have to vibrate the sounds of the letters!\" I turned around and my look stopped him. After a while, a thought came to my mind. It was not a code for DNA, of that I was sure, but it still might be a code, a message written in... I turned to Maurice who sullenly stared out the window. \"Maurice, how does it go, you know, Otrin mentioned it here... wait, wait, I'll find it, it's also written in Da Vinci's Code... well...the thing with letters... Something like replacing letters.\" He slowly turned to me. \"Atbash? Is that what you have in mind?\" There were still traces of sullenness in his voice. \"Yes, exactly! I want you to decipher these letters using Da Vince's Code.\" \"Da Vince's code is a piracy. That's what Professor says,\" he exclaimed. \"It should be called the Merovingian Code, not Da Vince's. Besides, it's not complete. In addition, it's a forgery of an old Egyptian Code AS-AR (meaning OZIRIS)\u2013NEFER-MARNAS. Da Vince's Code is based on the presumption that John is Mary Magdalene. However, it does not take into account Rudolf Steiner's discovery, which proves that John is, in fact, Lazar. LAZAR- MAGDALENE-JOHN. Do you see what we get by taking into account Steiner? A trinity! A three layered person, if you want! One person composed of three...\"\n\nNow that was one drop too many! \"Damn, Maurice, if you do not stop talking about trinities and other stuff, I'll throw you out the window! Decipher these three letters! That's all I want!\" Even though offended, he took a pencil and started to scribble down the letters of the alphabet. He crossed out the vowels and put numbers above the consonants. \"Let's see,\" he said. \"The first letter S has number fifteen. Fifteen from the back is letter H. The second letter P has number twelve. Twelve from the back is letter L. The third letter L has number nine. The ninth letter from the back is P. The word he wrote is HLP.\" \"HLP,\" I said. \"Does it remind you of anything?\" He shrugged. \"Hlp, hlp, hlp, hlp.... Help!\" he cried out. \"It means help!\" \"Of course! Help. He's asking for help!\" \"That confirms my theory about the razor,\" I said. Maurice looked at me in admiration. \"How did you know we must use atbash?\" \"God's inspiration! Awakened DNA! Everybody around me seems to have it, why not me?\" I took my notebook out of my pocket and crossed out the possibility that Otrin voluntarily escaped with Isabelle. \"There is still a chance that the three letters are the code,\" insisted Maurice. \"The one stimulating the twelve helix DNA to action...\"\n\n\"Maurice, I'm not interested in that anymore. Without any doubt, Isabelle had forced Otrin to go with her. It doesn't matter why, yet according to his cry for help he is in danger and I have to find him as soon as possible. How big is the chance of her cutting his throat with the razor?\" \"Big,\" he finally admitted. \"If he does not help her get supernatural abilities.\" \"But if she kills him, he'll never be able to help her, \"I said feverishly as if Maurice was Isabelle and I was trying to talk sense into her.\" Dead he will be of no use! You yourself told that.\" \"Don't be so sure, \"he answered.\" He might be more useful dead than alive.\" \"I have no time for jokes, Maurice!\" \"This is not a joke. The Professor told Isabelle that after his death his skull was to be prophetic.\" I couldn't believe my ears! Speechless I gazed at him. \"I was there when they were discussing the talking skulls,\" he continued. \"I remember him mentioning Adam's skull and Mozart's. He was especially enthusiastic about Mozart's skull. Isabelle asked him if he possessed it because he knows so much about it and he answered that he did. He had it beside his bed!\" \"Rubbish,\" I said. \"It's not a complete rubbish, Tibor. Talking skulls are mentioned by quite a few writers and the Bible too, so there must be some truth in that. I don't believe that talking skulls really exist and rest on people's night tables, but I do believe that by talking skulls are meant a sort of computers. Nevertheless,\" he laughed, \"I'd be happy to have a prophetic skull now. It would help me find Isabelle and show me how to escape you.\" \"Well, my dear Maurice, if you had used your own, you wouldn't be in all this shit now.\" \"There you are right.\" We sat in silence for a while. It was Maurice who broke it. \"The Professor must tell Isabelle the word that would take her to the throne or find a descendant of the Annunaki.\" I jumped up. \"Spare me with that, Maurce! Spare me!\" \"As you wish,\" he said wearily, \"but it's an important part of the whole plan and you might get a hint how to go on with the investigation.\" \"I know how! I don't need any of your hocus-pocus!\" \"Have you asked yourself, why Isabelle and Professor are not in St. R\u00e9my anymore?\" \"Of course I have!\" \"Well, one of the possibilities is that they were kidnapped by the Annunaki.\" I pointed my shaking finger at Maurice. \"I warned you, Maurice! Get up and get dressed! We are going out! Now!\" \"To find information about Anunaki?\" \"Dammit, Maurice, shut your mouth!\" 16. We returned to Isabelle's neighborhood. Not to resume searching her flat, there was nothing left, but to interrogate her neighbors. So we learned that Isabelle's mother had died of cancer three years ago. Some remembered Isabelle as a little girl, but after she had moved to Paris to study, they did not see her anymore. With contempt in their voices, they were telling that she did not even come to visit her mother after she had been taken ill. In addition, she didn't even attend the funeral! Her mother always defended Isabelle, they were saying. Whenever they asked her why her daughter never came, she hurried to explain how busy she was with her studies. She was very proud of her. At the end of her life she suffered terribly. They helped her as much as they could. Brought her some food. Tidied the flat. However, they could not take away her pain. She died in hospital. Kate should have heard this, I thought to myself. She felt sorry for Isabelle because of her poverty. However, we did not get the information we wanted. Nobody had seen Isabelle lately. Nobody had heard or noticed anything strange regarding her flat. \"How is it possible that two people come into a flat and stay there for a few days without being noticed by at least one neighbor? One person?\" wondered Maurice. \"Oh, it is possible, believe me,\" I answered. \"I used to live in a block of flats and I can tell you I would not be able to tell for most of the people when they were at home or away, who they were and what they were doing. To think of it, I can only say that if I, who by profession should have known all the people, didn't, then the others know even less. That's why it comes to tragic deaths in the flats, when the corpses themselves attract the neighbor's attention with their nauseating smell.\" After a short pause I said: \"I guess they went back to Paris.\" Maurice didn't comment it. We had already lost all the hope when finally, a man told us that he had seen something. He saw a red car with the Parish license plate drive into the third garage, which for years had not been used by anyone. That was why it drew his attention. However, he did not know whether the car drove away or was it still there. We hurried to the town hall, looked for the office where they keep records of their citizens and their property and asked who the owner of the garage (we told the street and the number) was. After the clerk had studied my badge carefully, she told me, it was Isabelle's. We went back to unlock the garage. Of course, again in my special, illegal way. There was Isabelle's car in it. The one that was seen in many places on the motorway between Paris and St. R\u00e9my. We searched it thoroughly, yet didn't find anything that could help us with the investigation. A dozen questions were roaming my head. What does that mean? Were they still in St. R\u00e9my? Where? Near? Leaving the car in the garage they must have gone somewhere on foot. However, on foot they were not able to go far. Especially if they wanted, if Isabelle wanted, to stay unnoticed. With the razor on Otrin's neck, they couldn't have gone a long distance without being noticed and stopped. We searched the attic of the block of flats, we searched the cellars. Nothing! Not a small, tiny trace. \"I tell you, the Annunaki kidnapped them!\" I suppressed my anger. I was desperate. Didn't know what my next step should be. Therefore, I told myself that while waiting for something to turn up, I just might listen to the most stupid possibility in the world. \"Okay, tell me about your Annunki!\" \"They are not mine. However, they were the first inhabitants of Karsag, of the first Jerusalem. Have you heard of Jetties?\" \"Of course I haven't!\" \"They were giants and it has been reported that they have been seen near Himalayas and in the USA as well.\" \"When?\" \"Lately. Here and there.\" \"Didn't these old people all die out?\" He was shocked at my remark. \"God's sons don't die out!\" \"They were God's sons?\" \"Yes! They came to the Earth for different reasons and they left it when it wasn't interesting for them anymore. However, before they left they did everything to prevent Earth from being dangerous to them.\" \"Dangerous? How could the Earth possibly be dangerous to God's sons?\" \"Oh, it could! The Earthlings had all the possibilities to outdo them and consequently to subordinate them to themselves. The God's sons had to prevent this. First, they destroyed the second Moon that belonged to the Earth. By doing that, they gained more power over us, people. Destruction of the second Moon threw the Earth out of the galactic time and because of that, we were moved away from our real, original nature. Thus, we became an easier prey. Radiation was another weapon against us. In the beginning, the amount of radiation was adjusted to the weight of a man. However, Annunaki began to alter it. Either they enlarged it causing our DNA to undergo some fatal changes that led to hereditary damages or they reduced it, which caused construction of hydrogen compounds in our brain, which led to the reduction of intellect. What irritates me most,\" he disgustedly exclaimed, \"is that we are helping them destroying us! With our irresponsible activity we are constantly, day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute destroying our planet Earth not caring that our lives depend on it. We ourselves are sawing off the branch on which we are sitting. It's unforgivable how stupidly we are toying with nuclear energy which can, if it slips out of control, make us all freaks or kill us!\" I had to agree with his last remark at least. Maurice continued: \"And that's why they kidnapped Isabelle and Professor!\" \"Because of radiation?\" I asked, confused. \"No! Because they fear that Isabelle and Professor will bring the five lost chromosome helixes of our DNA back to life! That would mean an enormous threat to their existence!\" I was probably losing my mind because suddenly I remembered the stories of unexplained disappearances of some people who were not aware of having been absent for a long time and didn't have the slightest idea where they had been for days, months, years maybe! They could not remember anything. If that was true, if people were telling the truth, and I must say that their stories were convincing even for me, the sworn unbeliever, then, who knows, some aliens might really have kidnapped Isabelle and Otrin? Therefore, I decided to find out more about those Annunaki! 17. We were back in our hotel room. I was lying on my bed, Maurice was pacing the narrow passage between our beds and the wall, glowing with the enthusiasm to have been given permission to enlighten me with, as he had said, very important information about some Annunaki, of whom I had never heard before. \"Annunaki came to the Earth because they needed metal to build some kind of a shield around their planet Nibiru to protect them against the Sun. Many scientists and scientific institutions in different parts of the world have confirmed their presence on the Earth, independently. Professor came to the same results by using his methods of etymology and other language tools. He discovered a lot more than the others. He found out what the Annunaki looked like. They had a bull's head on a snake like body of a man, similar to the appearance of the Minotaur.\" \"Minotaur? Who the hell is he?\" \"It's the Man with a Bull's head. The legend says that King Minos once prayed to Poseidon the sea god to send him a snow white bull as a sign of support. He was to kill the bull to show honor to the deity, but decided to keep it instead because of its beauty. That made Poseidon angry. To punish him he made Mino's wife fall in love with the bull. She conceived a child and the fearful Minotaur was born. Half bull half man.\" (Wikipedia)\n\nI couldn't help laughing. \"I hope you don't believe this legend.\" \"Shall I continue or not?\" he asked reluctantly. \"It would give me immense pleasure,\" I exclaimed mockingly, which he did not notice because he was too eager to tell me more. \"There is a proof in the Bible that Annunaki lived on the Earth even in Moses' time. Caleb and Joshua were sent by Moses ahead to reconnoiter the land of Canaan. They returned with a big cluster of grapes and with news that in the land of Canaan live giants. Annunaki were, in fact, giants. According to Professor, the giants, at least those mentioned in different stories, for example in Homer's Illiad, or the giant Longinus, who pierced Jesus in his side with a lance, were not made up. Moses was also very tall...\"\n\n\"Are you telling me that Moses was an Annunaki himself?\" \"Well, he did not have a bull's head but his miracles show that he possessed supernatural abilities.\" \"As much as I remember it was God who helped him with his miracles, not Annunaki!\" As a kid I was a churchgoer and had to learn stories of Bible that later fell into oblivion, nevertheless, some fragments still managed to remain in my memory. Thus I remembered that Moses turned a rod into a serpent. The water of a river became blood. He stretched out his hand and the Red Sea parted so that the Israelites were able to escape. And there were some more which I forgot. \"It was either God, who helped him or a 12 helix DNA,\" replied Maurice. \"And that brings me back to the Earthlings. The first inhabitants of the Earth possessed a 12 helix DNA, Annunaki had only a 10 helix one. Some sources, with which I disagree, are claiming that Annunaki were eager to find out what was hidden in the sixth pair of the 12 helix DNA, which they lacked. It is said that they were making experiments on the sixth pair till they did not, unable to find out what it contained, destroy it. Unfortunately, they did not destroy only the sixth pair, they destroyed all the pairs except one. The one we possess today. The DNA double helix.\" \"And why don't you agree with that?\" \"Before giving you my opinion, let me tell you more about the history of the Annunaki as others described it. The chief leader of the Annunaki was God Anu. He lived on the planet Nibiru. It was for this planet that Annunaki needed a shield, made of gold, to protect them against the Sun. Anu had two sons, Enki, also called Ea, the first born and Enlil, the second born. The two brothers hated each other. Enki was angry because his younger brother Enlil became the inheritor of Anu's throne. Namely, Enlil was the son of Anu and Anu's sister's daughter (his niece) and thus genetically closer to Anu than Enki, who was the son of Anu and his wife, the Queen. Thus, the throne belonged to Enlil. Yet, Anu made up for the wrong he had done to Enki, by endowing Enki with the knowledge of genetic science. Genetic engineering. Thus Enki had no difficulties with cloning while our scientists are progressing slowly, making their first steps. Enlil was, of course, envious and so the brothers were in constant fight. It was Enki who discovered the 12 helix DNA in the creatures on the Earth. According to the sources, he started to manipulate the genes of the Niberians and the Earthlings. He was blending the genes of Niberians with the genes of the first inhabitants of the Earth. He used Niberian mothers to bear the embryo and give birth to the child. With gene manipulation Enki supposedly created the people, animals, plants and the whole living atmosphere on the Earth in the shapes we know now. Being an extraordinary scientist Enki knew the exact composition of the DNA, he knew how to cut it into parts, take out genes, insert in new ones and then put the parts together again. Nevertheless, each experiment of blending Nibirian genes with the genes of the inhabitants of the Earth, again and again gave the same result: creatures with a DNA double helix! It is hard to imagine isn't it? How on earth can blending of a ten helix DNA with a 12 helix DNA give a DNA double helix? Well, I don't believe it happened unintentionally.\" \"What do you believe then?\" \"In my opinion he was deliberately destroying the 12 helix DNA of the Earthlings. My conclusions comply with what was happening among the Earthlings and the Annunaki. I have already told you that Anu was the god of the Annunaki and as a god probably more or less cared about justice. His sons feared exactly that. Their father's sense of justice. The reports say that the sons were not very kind to the inhabitants of the Earth. Moreover, they were lazy and haughty. They subjected the Earthlings to their slaves, who had to dig in mines to find metal for them. In addition, they tortured them and mocked and so the Earthlings complained to Anu. When God's sons learnt about that they took prompt actions. They scattered the first inhabitants of the Earth across the face of the entire Earth. Being far away from one another, the people began to speak their, once common language, differently and soon they were unable to understand each other. They ceased to be one people speaking one language. Not united they presented no threats any more to the sons of God. Nevertheless, the Annunaki never again trusted the Earthlings and many of them thought it would be best to destroy the earthly vermin. They brought floods on the Earth, famine, starvation. They infected the inhabitants with deadly bacteria and viruses. Thus they decimated the population on the Earth, yet they were unable to eradicate it. But finally an opportunity to finish their job cropped up. The planet Nibiru, the home of the Annunaki, which orbits the Earth, started to near the Earth. Here I must tell you something else. According to Professor's foretelling, the planet Nibiru is nearing our Earth now too and will reach its nearest point in the year 2016. This will cause enormous catastrophes on the Earth, for Nibiru has a strong magnetic power and when it comes close to the Earth, the axis of the Earth will incline which will cause immense floods. You probably remember the fatal flood described in the Bible, ordered by God himself?\" \"Of course I do.\" \"Well, according to Professor, it was not God but the nearness of the Nibiru that caused it. Annunaki knew what was going to happen. They knew that this time the whole Earth would be under the water and all life destroyed. Enlil, the heir to the throne, who wished to get rid of the pest of humanity on the Earth, looked forward to it. Therefore, he sent out orders not to tell the Earthlings about the nearing cataclysm. Everybody obeyed him except his brother Enki. Whenever he could, he thwarted his brother's plans. Thus, he whispered to Noah to build a bark, later called Noah's ark and to bring into it two of all living creatures, male and female, along with every kind of food to be stored as food for the animals and his family while on the ark. Life was saved. But not because of good heartedness of Enki or even love towards humanity! No, it was saved just to oppose Enlil!\" \"Tell me, Maurice,\" I said, \"how is it possible that the Annunaki, possessing a 10 helix DNA predominated the Earthlings, with a 12 helix DNA? Wouldn't the opposite be more logical. The human beings should be smarter and stronger.\" \"Well, it depends,\" he said thoughtfully. \"It depends on what the sixth pair contains. I most certainly do not agree with those scientists who are trying to prove that the sixth pair was hiding a special ability. An ability that even the Annunaki didn't have. What ability, for god's sake? They already possessed telepathy, clairvoyance, ability to go to higher dimensions, immortality. What else could there be? I tell you, Tibor, nothing!\" \"Nothing?\" \"Nothing at all! In the sixth pair, there was no new ability!\" \"Why did they then have the sixth pair? Just to make confusion? To make us wonder?\" He stopped at the foot of my bed, his eyes shining feverishly. \"No, no, Tibor. The sixth pair is an inhibitory part of the DNA! I frowned. \"Inhibitory? What does it inhibit?\" \"This last pair prevented human beings the use of the other five or at least four pairs! The sixth pair was, to my belief, a brake! It prevented the Earthlings the use of foreseeing, telepathy, teleportation, transition in higher dimensions. For, with these supernatural powers the Earthlings would overpower the Annunaki. They would be able to foresee all Annunaki's intentions, they would be warned of dangers and they would have many options how to avoid them. One would be through telepathy. With the power of their thoughts they would be able to influence Annunaki's decisions, directing them away from them. The other would be the ability to escape with the help of teleportation, escape into higher dimension where the Annunaki could not follow them or at least would be unable to find them. Yet, these abilities could not be activated because of the brake! Because of the sixth pair! Some say the sixth pair might have contained immortality, but if that was true the first inhabitants of the Earth would still be alive!\" \"If our abilities were blocked by the sixth pair then there was no need to be afraid of us, no need to destroy our 12 helix DNA, is it?\" I asked, becoming quite interested in the story. \"If you ask me, Enki did not trust the blocker. He was afraid that due to some vibration or substance it might give way.\" \"And so he destroyed all pairs except one? The one we possess now?\" \"In my opinion, he tried to destroy them, but was unable. That's why he was making experiments again and again. In the end he just created the blocker, but not trusting it, as I have said, he put all pairs of DNA, except the double helix, to sleep. After that he kind of cemented the five supernatural helixes together with the blocker with a substance, which we now call inactive substance of the DNA. In the same way as builder's coat or water something with concrete. After removing danger of being overcome by the Earthlings, they could proceed with exploiting them and holding them in ignorance. If it hadn't come to the dispute between Enlil and Enki, human beings to this day would not have known even how children are conceived and born!\" \"Oh, come on, Maurice, now you are going too far!\" \"No, I'm not! I have already mentioned that Enki was able to clone, i.e. create life. I'm sure that he aroused fear and respect. Enlil was, of course, envious and did everything to make human beings believe that he was the creator of life and not Enki. The creator of children. Being in power, he could easily take some actions. He, for example, separated the women from men. He allowed sexual intercourses among women or intercourses among men. They didn't have the slightest idea that another kind of sex, heterosex was possible. For creating the natural offspring, he chose some women and men, took them to secluded places, made them mate and bear children. He then gave children to different people; the parents were, of course, prevented to come back. There was danger they would tell how things really work. If people had found out about the original sin, Enlil would have no longer been the mighty God and Creator. Then one day some of these parents managed to escape. I'm sure it happened with the help of Enki. Or it might be that Enlil himself discarded them after they became useless to him. Those people then told the truth to the others. They explained vaginal sex between a man and a woman and its consequences. Children!\" He looked at me with satisfaction on his face. I needed some time to think about what he had just told me. Well, what I had heard were tales, fairy tales, I decided. Most of them identical to biblical stories. The last part about ignorant men and women, not knowing about heterosexual sex and the pleasure it offered and that it produced children, made me laugh. But, I had to listen to all this nonsense because Maurice had promised me information that would help me find Isabelle and Otrin. Where was this information? I did not see it. I sat up. \"Maurice, what does all this have in common with the disappearance of Isabelle and Otrin?\" \"They were probably kidnapped because they meant danger.\" \"To the Annunaki?\" \"Yes. Professor is on the way to awaken the sleeping pairs of our DNA. That is for sure danger for them.\" \"Did they kill them?\" \"No, I don't think so, they, especially the Professor are too precious for them. He knows more than they do.\" \"Where did they take them then?\" \"I suppose, that a group of the Annunaki has its hiding place on the Earth or underground, in some tunnels. According to some legends Maitreya, the future Buddha who will reign after the destruction of this world, is already hiding in one of those tunnels.\" I climbed out of the bed, thinking what an immense portion of stupidity I had to swallow in the last few days. It was getting unbearable. It was starting to alienate me from the case, from the reality, from the truth I was after. Instead of looking for Otrin on this earth, I was suddenly supposed to look for him in some tunnels, residences of gods, sons of gods... Oh, my, my...\n\n\"Maurice, now I'm going to tell you what I think happened to Isabelle and Otrin. Isabelle smelled danger. She might have even noticed J.E. somewhere, or she assumed that he was following her and so she dragged Otrin to some other place.\" \"But her car is in the garage!\" he protested. \"Yes, and that's why I think they couldn't have gone far. I'm going out once again to see if I can find any trace. You'll stay in the room and wait for me.\" \"I'll go with you!\" \"No, you won't! Stay here and wait for me!\" I needed peace. I had to be alone to get my thoughts in order. 18. First I returned to Isabelle's flat to search it once again. I found nothing. I even started to look into trash bins but stopped when one of the neighbors told me they had been emptied two days ago. I walked the streets of St. R\u00e9my, intently watching the buildings, trying to find out in which Isabelle and Otrin might be. I was imagining that Isabelle was secretly watching me from behind one of the curtains. Tired, despondent and fed up with everything I stopped at a pub and ordered a cup of coffee. It was so warm outside in the garden that I had to take off my coat. It was quite unusual for March. But unusual was the whole winter. Too warm and without snow. Even in our country which is known for cold weather in winter. This weather was the constant discussion in all radio and television news as being unusual, as something that had never happened before. The blame was on environmental pollution. New laws to reduce greenhouse gas emissions were accepted. I must stress that I have nothing against such laws, they are necessary, but in relation to unusual weather conditions, I have my own theory. I know there have been unusual weather conditions since the Earth exists. In my opinion, the changes have always been due to the position of the planets and not to what we are doing on the Earth. Last winter, for example, was described as the coldest in the history of the Earth but after a while a meteorologist found out that there were winters like that in the past too, which confirmed my argument that climate changes are subject to a sort of cycling. They come around eventually. Suddenly, a familiar language, spoken by two women at the table behind me, attracted my attention. It was my mother tongue! When you are so far from your homeland, your mother tongue reaches your ear like a gentle melody, it is like a caressing hand. I had to turn around. I was right. Two women were sitting at the table. One was older than me; she must have been over sixty, the other, a little younger and slimmer. The elder woman seemed somewhat familiar to me but, I was not able to remember where I had already seen her. She became aware of my looks and gave me a kind smile. \"Our compatriot, am I right?\" she asked. \"It's nice to hear our language so far from home,\" I answered. \"That's true,\" she agreed. \"Have you been here long?\" \"Two days,\" I said and asked if I may join them. \"You are welcome,\" she exclaimed. I took my cup and moved over to their table. \"That's my friend Stana,\" she said. \"A Slovenian by birth, living in Paris.\" We shook hands. \"I came to visit her. I live in Ljubljana. By the way, I'm Marija.\" At that moment, I knew who I was talking to! To Marija Doval! The woman who had been travelling with Peter and who had presumably stolen his suitcase! I was shown a photo of her at the airport. According to J.E., she was one of the head terrorists in the net that he was after. I hardly stopped myself from bursting into laughter. This woman a terrorist? This small, plump, old, kindhearted woman? Impossible! Nevertheless, a police officer has to be cautious, even though his logic tells him there is no need to be. I must admit there have been situations where all logic denounced. That is why I did not tell the women who I really was and why I was interested in them. What bothered me was why the women were in St. R\u00e9my at exactly the same time as were Isabelle and Otrin! \"Have you already visited Saint-Paul's mausoleum?\" asked Marija. \"No,\" I said. \"Not yet.\" \"You must! \"she exclaimed and continued enthusiastically: \"It used to be a convent in old times, then it was sold to the state and a physician turned it into a mental hospital. Vincent Van Gogh was treated there.\" The mausoleum was only a few steps from where we were sitting. I could see the windows she was pointing to. \"He painted two of his most precious paintings there,\" she continued. \"You must go and see his two rooms that have been turned into a museum. It would be a shame to be here and not to see it! That wall over there, \"she pointed to some stones, \"was built in the 14th century. Moreover, the whole city was built on the remains of the Roman city of Glanum. You'll be surprised at the great number of archeological sites in this city!\" \"Don't forget Caroline, the Princess of Monaco,\" added Marija's friend. \"She lives here too. I heard that Diana, the late Princess bought a house here as well!\" Their faces were shining with excitement, but I hardly listened to them. I was thinking how to find out what really interested me. When they got up to leave, I hurriedly said:\n\n\"Do you, ladies, have any special plans for this afternoon? I... hm... I'd appreciate some help with the sights. I see your knowledge of...\"\n\nRegret showed on Marija's face when she answered: \"Sir, we won't be here in the afternoon. We are going to Avignon to get our plane tickets.\" \"Your plane tickets?\" \"Yes. We will fly to Brussels tomorrow but we think it is safer if you take the tickets a day before the flight. That is why we are going to Avignon this afternoon.\" I walked them back to their hotel. On the way, I learned which bus to Avignon they were going to take. After we parted, I hurried to Maurice. I told him about Marija Doval. \"But are you sure about that?\" he asked doubtfully. \"Isn't such coincidence strange? I can't believe it!\" \"You can't believe it!\" I exclaimed angrily. \"You believe in monsters from the space but you do not believe that you can meet a normal human being in St. R\u00e9my? Well, get ready! We are going to Avingon!\" \"To Avignon?\" \"Yes, to Avignon!\" Waiting in our car, hidden behind some trees, we were watching some passengers and the two women board the bus. Then we tailed it. The airport Caumont was only about twenty kilometers away. I have never heard about it but it was familiar to Maurice. \"In the 14th century Avingon was the seat of the Papacy instead of Rome, \"Maurice said. \"And according to Professor, it will be again in the distant future after Vatican is destroyed.\" I gave no comment on this. I had other worries. After the women got off the bus in Avignon, they disappeared inside the airport building. I would like to follow them but was afraid they might see me. Maurice squinted at me. \"What if they fooled you? What if they don't fly tomorrow but are boarding the plane now, to escape us?\" He really got on my nerves. He said exactly what I was afraid of and did not want to admit to myself. I decided to go and see where they were, when I saw them coming out of the airport building. A sigh of relief escaped me. They went, deep in conversation, towards the center of the city. I nearly threw Maurice out of the car, saying: \"Go, follow them!\" Maurice looked at me surprised. \"Me? What about you?\" \"I have to find out if they really bought tickets to Brussels for tomorrow. I'll catch up with you!\" After I showed my badge to the girl at the counter, she told me that the women had bought two tickets to Brussels for the next day. Therefore, Marija was not lying to me. Upon reflection, I too bought two tickets. The same destination. The same plane. I demanded seats far away from the two women. The girl did not say anything, but I saw that she was tense, or maybe even scared. \"They did not commit any crime,\" I said, I had to say something otherwise she might hit the panic button and my research would come to nothing, \"however, they are going to take me to a person who knows some information I most need. And, miss, I must ask you for discretion, that is, do not to tell anyone of what I've told you and by all means, don't try to warn the ladies. If you do, I'll have to charge you of not obeying police orders.\" She nodded, her eyes glimmering with fear. I knew she would not dare to disobey my orders. Outside it suddenly came to my mind, what if Otrin and Isabelle had escaped by plane? They could have taken a taxi to bring them here. It was near, only a few kilometers. I hurried back to the frightened girl. She immediately looked at the list. I saw she didn't dare say that passengers' names were confidential and that she should not reveal them. \"Yes,\" she said. \"Two days ago they took a flight to Brussels.\" I called Maurice. \"Where are the women?\" I asked nervously. \"In a shop,\" he said. \"Looking at clothes.\" He told me where he was and a few minutes later, I joined him. The information astounded him. \"They flew to Brussels? But why?\" \"Don't ask me!\" I yelled. \"It seems after all J.E. was right! I made a fool of myself, defending Otrin! He is a terrorist! All of them are terrorists!\" I was afraid he'd skin me alive, so angry he became. I stepped back. \"Isabelle is not! She might seem confused, well, she might be confused, she might have lied, but she is not a terrorist! Never! I don't allow you to say that!\" \"You are in no position to allow or disallow me anything!\" We looked daggers at each other. Then I said, trying to keep my voice calm: \"Okay, then tell me what all of them were doing in St. R\u00e9my and why all of them are now suddenly heading for Brussels?\" \"How am I to know that? All I know is that Isabelle is not a terrorist!\" 19. Marija Doval and her friend took the last bus back to St. R\u00e9my and we again tailed it. It was very late when we arrived. I parked the car in the parking lot opposite the entrance of the hotel in which Marija Doval and her friend were accommodated. I decided to watch the hotel the whole night. Maurice wanted to keep me company but I sent him to our hotel. Reluctantly he obeyed. The night was long and cold. And I was dead tired. I nodded off quite a few times. I was angry with myself each time I woke, for during my sleep, even though it had lasted a few seconds, the women could have slipped out of the hotel unnoticed. In fact, when Maurice joined me early in the morning I had no idea, whether the women were still in the hotel or not. What a relief it was, when some minutes later the women appeared and got into the bus. I was also grateful to Maurice for remembering to bring my luggage too. \"What about the bill,\" I asked. \"Paid,\" he answered. In Avignon, we waited until Marija and her friend disappeared into the airport building. Then we parked the car. We were the last to board the plane. Heads low, we crept to our seats that were in the last row, while theirs were in the first. The chances to be spotted by them were almost zero, nevertheless, I decided to be highly cautious. After I had settled myself in the seat and fastened the belt, I closed my eyes, hoping, I would get some sleep, I missed at night. In vain! My head was too full. Have I finally started to make progress? Was I on the track of the greatest crime in the history? Not only that I was on the track, I was about to prevent it, I! Not J.E., I! While he was probably digging all over Paris to find Maurice, I was preparing the big catch. Not without satisfaction and a malicious smile on my lips, I imagined his face when the big news got him. On the other hand, I was well aware that it wasn't going to be long until he found out where Maurice was. The fact that he was with me would put another idea into his head, if it hadn't already been there: that I was a terrorist too. If I wasn't I would have handed Maurice to him. He probably had me on his list of the suspects before, yet because I was a police officer he did not dare to start investigating me without evident proofs. Now he had them. And if I don't succeed in solving this mess as soon as possible, I'll find myself in great trouble. Now I was lucky to be a step ahead of him and I'll have to act fast. I must be ready when Marija Doval and her friend join Otrin and Isabelle. The plane landed. People got up from their seats, starting to collect their things from the boxes above them. Then they impatiently waited for the plane door to open, standing in the narrow corridor between the two rows of seats, pressing against each other. I told Maurice to hurry to the exit, to stealthily follow the two women. With the help of my badge, I left the plane by the exit for the airport staff. Then I waited in a taxi for Maurice to join me and the women to come out of the airport building. Maurice came first. He immediately spotted the taxi I was in and hurried across the street to me. \"What the hell are you doing,\" I shouted when he opened the door. \"Where are the women? Why did you leave them?\" \"There they are,\" he said, pointing to a bunch of elderly women, pouring out through the door across the street, laughing and chatting lively at the same time. \"There they are,\" he repeated. \"They have joined a group of tourists. All women. All old.\" \"I'll be damned...\"\n\nA young woman, the only young in the group, holding a tourist brochure high above her head as a signpost, led them to a bus, waiting at the parking lot at the corner of the airport building. \"They are pretending to be tourists going on a tourist trip,\" I said. \"They are all terrorists. J.E. was right. Old women are the worst. Maurice nodded. After they'd climbed into the bus to the city, I ordered the taxi driver to follow them. \"Your phone is ringing!\" \"What?\" \"Your phone is ringing, \"repeated Maurice. \"In your pocket.\" \"Oh, yeah, thanks. \"I was so deep in thoughts that I overheard it. It was Frank. \"We found the suitcase,\" he said. \"Really? Where?\" I have completely forgotten the suitcase! \"It was sent, by mistake, to Ethiopia. You know how it works there. They opened it, searched the content, closed it again and left it, I don't know where. Then it attracted the attention of a cleaner and after that, they finally read the address written on it and decided to send it back.\" \"Send it back to Slovenia?\" \"Yes. The airport has already handed it over to Otrin's wife.\" For a moment, my thoughts wandered to Kate. I could imagine what she felt, receiving Peter's suitcase and still not knowing whether Peter was alive or not. It must have been hard. But, when she finds out that it is true what J.E. said about him, being the leading terrorist, she'll wish he were dead. However, the suitcase did not get out of my head. This suitcase was the central part of this terroristic group. It was supposed to be stolen by Marija Doval, which was Otrin's lie, of course. The reality was that there was a bomb in it and to avoid police and customs control Marija Doval took it, claiming that it was hers, expecting, according to her previous experiences, that they would not examine the luggage of an old lady. The expectation proved to be justifiable. But now, that the suitcase has been found in Ethiopia with no traces of a bomb in it,.... Well, it means... What does it mean? That, after all, Otrin and Marija Doval are no terrorists at all or that the suitcase was sent to Ethiopia to cover the tracks? If that were true then they must have collaborators at the airports, in Paris and the one in Ethiopia. J.E. was talking about the terroristic world net. What if he was right? The bus stopped and the women got off. One by one, like ducks, they followed the young woman. Was she a terrorist too? Were they all terrorists? We left the taxi and secretly followed the group. I, hiding behind Maurice's back. I'd never been to Brussels before, so I gaped at the nice sight opening in front of us. It was marvelous. Breathtaking! The market was not paved, as is the habit in our country but was covered with enormous, soft, colorful flower carpet, watered by fountains and cooled by low trees. Three beautiful houses, palaces in fact, like those I had seen in Rome and Vatican were arranged around it. From under the roofs of the palaces facing each other, each standing on one side of the flower carpet were hanging European flags. In those buildings the European Parliament is probably having their sessions when they are in Brussels instead of Strasbourg, I thought. Suddenly, Maurice uttered a hysterical cry: \"Isabelle! Isabelle!\" He was pointing towards the third palace. At that moment, my eyes caught the glimpse of Marija Doval! She rapidly left her group and hurried towards Isabelle who was accompanied by Peter Otrin! Both, Isabelle and Otrin, were moving slowly, somewhat cautiously towards the first palace! The one in which at exactly that moment the European Parliament was holding a conference! The thought that they intended to blow it up made me start to run as mad in the direction of the three to stop them. Maurice was close at my heels. I could hear his heavy breathing. Being only a few paces away, I suddenly, to my horror, spotted J.E. in the crowd, followed by two police officers! The officers grabbed Isabelle and Otrin, J.E. caught Marija Doval by the arm. She, screaming angrily, began to wriggle violently, trying to get rid of his hands. A large group of people gathered around them. Maurice furiously started to elbow his way through the crowd. \"No!\" I cried. \"Maurice, don't! He'll arrest us, too! Let us run away!\" But that fool would not listen to me, so, the only thing I could do was to follow him! The van with Otrin, Marija Doval and Isabelle was about to drive off when J.E. noticed Maurice hurrying towards them. He jumped out of the van like a wild cat, knocked Maurice to the ground, twisted his arms behind his back and forced him to get up, then pushed him into the van. \"J.E.!\" I cried. \"He has done nothing wrong! Let him go!\" J.E. turned around, one leg in the van, starting to grin broadly at the sight of me. \"Well, well, what an honor. Let me invite you to join us!\" He pulled his leg out of the van to make room for me to enter. \"And if I turn down your invitation?\" I asked. I was well aware that it was not an invitation. \"Something tells me you will not,\" he answered with an unpleasant smile on his face. \"Am I under arrest?\" \"Of course not,\" he answered sweetly. \"You'll help me with interrogations. I need experts.\" I was not far from smashing his hypocritical, insolent face. But not to make the situation worse, I quickly pulled myself together and climbed into the van. I had the honor to get the passenger seat. The van was divided by a glass wall. I could see Maurice, Isabelle, Marija Doval and Otrin behind it, but I was unable to hear them. The glass was soundproof. Maurice was embracing Isabelle. Otrin's gaze was blank; he was pale, shrunken. In a word, in a very bad condition. He seemed not to know where he was or what had just happened. He was obviously not aware of the presence of the others. Beside him was sitting Marija. Judging by her swinging arms and movement of her lips I knew that she was still screaming. J.E, pulled to a stop in the parking lot of the police station. Handing me handcuffs he said: \"Handcuff them!\" \"But, J.E.,\" I protested, \"there is no need to...\"\n\n\"Do as I told you!\" Using the back door, I climbed in. Maurice looked hopefully at me, but I said nothing to calm him or the others down, to reassure them that everything would be okay, knowing it was not going to be, not in the hands of J.E. Besides I did not know whether they were terrorists or not, so I just said: \"I advise you to cooperate or you'll make things worse.\" They didn't cooperate. Maurice stubbornly stuffed his hands into his pockets instead of stretching them ahead, Isabelle hid her hands behind her back and when I tried to touch her, she snarled, showing her teeth to me, two rows of beautiful white teeth, ready to sink into the skin of my hand. I left her alone. Marija Doval was flailing her hands like mad, still screaming hysterically, only Otrin was sitting silent and lifeless, he didn't even as much as bat his eyelid when I handcuffed him. As for the other three, J.E. had to call for help. Six of his officers had their hands full to shove them into the building. 20. After J.E. had given hard, furious and emotional lecture to the four young officers on how they were totally inefficient, how they did not care about their own country, how the most beautiful buildings in Brussels would already have been blown up if he hadn't prevented it by catching the Foreigner, his accomplices Marija Doval, Isabelle, Maurice and me, after he succeeded in making his officers stand in front of him with tails between their legs, he ordered one of them to fetch the Foreigner, Peter Otrin in fact and it was then that I was happy that Kate was not with me anymore. I was looking for the opportunity to tell Otrin who I was and about Kate having been here, looking for him ever since J.E. brought us to this police office, however, J.E. made sure I never got this opportunity. Otrin seemed exhausted. He was pale and emaciated. He looked ill. I tried to talk J.E. into having him examined by a doctor first, but he refused. \"We don't have time for that! Who knows what they were planning to do when I caught them. They might have already planted a bomb, which is going to explode any minute!\" Then he turned to Otrin, yelling: \"Where have you been the last week?\" Peter wearily looked at him. But when he spoke, his voice did not sound tired, it sounded angry and bitter. \"Everywhere. This bitch is crazy.\" \"Why did you disappear?\" \"Because of the razor blade on my neck!\" Now he was shouting. J.E. warned him not to raise his voice again, which made Otrin even more furious. \"Not raise my voice? You treat me like a criminal, and I shouldn't raise my voice? That crazy woman nearly killed me, and you cuffed me instead of her! What kind of police are you? She had been dragging me around like a sack of shit for one whole week! Where were you all the time? Hiding somewhere? And then, when you finally decide to act, you cuff me and treat me like a murderer! Me! I demand that you immediately release me. Immediately!\" His lips were trembling. His black eyes were glowing with anger. He jumped up, but two policemen shoved him back into his seat. When listening to him, looking at him I couldn't but ask myself, if he was, after all, not telling the truth. He sounded so convincing, was so sincerely agitated that I nearly believed him. Wasn't he, after all, a victim and not a terrorist? To tell the truth, I would be disappointed if terrorists looked like Otrin. Not only physically, but... Well, don't get me wrong, I do not sympathize with the terrorists, I hate them, however, if they were like Otrin, then there would be something terribly wrong with the rest of the world. Including me. And please, don't say, that you shouldn't judge a book by its cover. Not in this case. Otrin was hiding nothing. Nothing at all. He was what he appeared to be. An angry, worn out, stubborn old man. To be intimidated by people like Otrin, would be ridiculous. But J.E. was too infatuated with himself to see it. \"Let's start again,\" he said firmly. \"What is your name?\" Otrin stubbornly pressed his lips together. He gazed blankly at the wall behind him. \"Why did you come to France?\" No answer. \"What did you have in your suitcase?\" Silence. \"Where did you hide the explosive?\" Now Otrin's eyes became filled with horror. \"What? Are you crazy? What explosives?\" \"I'm the one to ask questions, not you! Where have you hidden it?\" Otrin unbelievingly stared at him. \"Did I come into the land of fools, or what?\" \"Answer!\" J.E. was losing his temper. \"Who are your accomplices?\" \"What do they intend to do? What is their next target?\" Silence. \"Where are they hiding?\" Finally, J.E. hissed through his clenched teeth: \"As you wish!\" He grabbed a folder, lying on the table in front of him and threw it into Otrin's lap. \"There in this folder is everything, each word you uttered in the Sorbonne lecture room! I order you to decipher all of your codes and write them on this paper!\" He threw some blank sheets at him. As Otrin did not bother catching them, they flew scattered on the floor. One of the policemen picked them up and shoved them into Otrin's hands. \"You have time until evening! And remember I know your codes mean people, places, events! I want names! Names, have you heard? I want the exact time of the events! I want the names of the locations!\" He shouted at the policemen. \"Take him back to his cell! \"Then he pointed with his forefinger to Otrin: \"And remember, until evening!\" Now it was Isabelle's turn. I was not so sure about her innocence as I started to be with Otrin's, nevertheless, I had to admit to myself again, that she was the most beautiful girl, I had ever seen. No wonder Otrin fell for her charms. I would, too. Even the razor would not bother me. I had to lower my head to conceal the suppressed laughter at the thought that this tiny girl intimidated him, a grown up man, though not very strong, yet a man, with a razor! And once again I could not help thinking that his one-week capture was after all voluntary. And that Otrin's anger when trying to convince J.E. that he was a victim of the insane girl, was faked. \"Well, Isabelle,\" started J.E. kindly, \"I want you to tell me about Professor's plans. I know you took him a prisoner and had to threaten him with a razor to prevent him, the dangerous terrorist, from escaping, and you will be awarded for that, but first you have to tell us, what this man was up to.\" \"I want the code!\" she retorted, the color of her eyes turning from soft blue to cold grey. J.E. faked enthusiasm. \"That's it! Good girl! The code! Did he tell you the code? What is it? Put it down on this piece of paper, will you?\" He shoved the paper and a pencil before her. Isabelle's, somewhat dreamy look, wandered past him to the same wall that just some minutes ago hosted Otrin's stubborn eyes. She started murmuring: \"pns, pppppppns, pnnns, pns... \"\n\n\"Put it down, Isabelle,\"J.E. impatiently urged her. \"Put down the code. Write the meaning of it.\" He rose and went to the other side of the table. When touching Isabelle's shoulder to encourage her, she wildly jumped up from her chair, screaming: \"Don't touch me! Don't you dare to touch me! I am Victoria Isabelle de Saint R\u00e8my! The new European ruler! I want my throne! Get out of my way!\" J.E. astonishingly looked at her for some time. Then ordered coldly: \"Isabelle, sit down!\" She seemed not to have heard him, so he beckoned to the police officers to shove her into her seat again. However, when they neared, she violently started fighting them back, kicking at them and screaming: \"I am Victoria! The new European ruler! Victoria is Magdalene, because Magdalene is Vagdalene and Isabelle is Jesus, because Isabelle is Issu and my father was Dagobert, and he is a Meroving and I am Marat. My mother is a Habsburg...\"\n\nFinally, the two men held her firmly in their grip. J.E. went back to his seat. He studied her face for a few minutes, then, obviously fed up with her, waved his hand towards the door, and the officers carried her out. Yes, they had to carry her because she wouldn't walk! Long after the door had closed behind them, we still heard her screaming: \"I'll have all of you beheaded! All of you! Ppns, pnnnnns, pns...\"\n\nAfter her voice faded out, I said to J.E. that she should be taken to a hospital. There was something terribly wrong with her. However, he again rejected my idea saying that Isabelle was bluffing. \"They are all liars! They are all trying to make a fool of me! \"he shouted. \"But I'll teach them a lesson they'll never forget!\" Breathlessly, he hurried to the door, turned around, pointed at me and hissed: \"I'll be away for a while. Until I come back you are in command. However, I am warning you. If anything happens to a prisoner, if anybody escapes, you will pay with your life! Understood? \" I nodded. I understood and believed. Then he turned to the officers: \"And you two are responsible for him (meaning me)! If he escapes, you are dead! Understood?\" They said it was. They, too, understood and believed. After J.E had gone, we were looking at each other in embarrassment. My first thought was, of course, to escape. If it came to fighting, I would probably overcome these two boys, who were staring at me more with fear than hate. But, if I escaped, leaving Otrin here, how would I explain that to Kate? Or to my wife? Or to my friends who counted on me? No, I decided. I will not escape. Yet, I'll not wait helplessly for J.E. to return either! I have to talk to Otrin, at least! I have to find out what he, Isabelle and Marija were looking for in Brussels. Did they really intend to blow up the Congress Palace? I have to talk to Otrin, I repeated to myself. But how? Will the officers allow me to visit him in his cell? J.E. had told them to take care of me, to prevent me from escaping, but he had not told them explicitly not to allow me to talk to the prisoners. He even put me in command of them. I could make a use of that. \"I'm going to put some questions to the prisoners,\" I said trying to sound as if it was the most normal thing in the world. \"One by one. The first will be the Foreigner. Take me to his cell.\" The officers exchanged a perplexed look, not knowing whether they should allow me or not. I quickly resumed talking. I must not give them time to think, I said to myself, quickly changing my tactics. I switched my bossy way of communicating with a highly confidential, kind, persuasive one hoping to make them feel like allies. Allies, doing something good for their boss and themselves. I talked nineteen to the dozen how my investigation was going to help J.E. and how they were going to be awarded by him and so on. Finally, they agreed. They took me to Otrin. \"Call us when you finish,\" said one of them, and then they went back to the main entrance to guard it. 21. Otrin lay curled up on his bed, his face to the wall. Although he must have heard me, he did not turn. He looked fragile and helpless. I sat in the chair next to his bed. Clearing my throat, I said: \"Kate was looking for you. She was in Paris and in St. R\u00e9my as well.\" Without turning, he asked wearily: \"Who are you?\" \"My wife and your wife are friends. They asked me to find you. We, your wife and I, came to France...\"\n\n\"Where were you so long? The woman nearly killed me!\" Anger in his voice made me angry, too! Who the hell did he think he was? He did not even bother to ask how Kate was! He was not interested if she was still here! He did not express the wish to see her! Besides, he could have shown at least some gratitude, for we really took great pains to get him out of the mess, he had put himself in. And dragged us all into it too. \"Are you at all aware of how many people you put in jeopardy?\" I said crossly. \"Including me! Because of you, I will be left to rot in this jail for the rest of my life!\" The old man finally turned around. \"You? Why you?\" \"Because I know you and tried to save you!\" He remained speechless for some time. All he could do was slowly shake his head. Then he said bitterly, half crying: \"I really do not know what got into that girl's head. We were having such a good time. I thought we were having fun. Then suddenly she got completely mad. In addition to that I have no idea at all what this J.E. wants from me! Why he treats me like a criminal. When he came to the airport after I had reported my lost suitcase, he acted as if I had stolen it myself! What is the matter with that man?\" Now he raised his head and inquiringly looked at me. \"I will explain what,\" I answered. Then I told him what J.E. was accusing him of. Otrin's jaw dropped. After I had finished, he stammered: \"The first minute I stepped on the French soil, I knew things were going to go wrong, and I immediately wanted to return, but J.E. would not let me go home.\" \"Peter, I know you don't like being interrogated but you cannot avoid it. When J.E. returns interrogation will become even uglier. I'd like to help you, but first I have to know the truth. So, please, answer this question without getting angry again: Have you ever, ever in your life come into contact with terrorism? I mean, have you met anybody, who had strange, violent ideas. Threatened to destroy...\"\n\nHe stopped me by raising his hand. \"For God's sake, detective...\"\n\n\"Call me Tibor...\"\n\n\"Tibor, I haven't met either terrorists nor non-terrorists for ages. I don't have time for meetings. I'm preoccupied with studying and writing. I am always running out of time for even most necessary things in my life. Thank God, Kate takes care of them. My answer is no. I have never met a terrorist in my life! I do not know what they look like! I know terrorism only as a word! It means...\"\n\n\"Okay, okay,\" I hurried to avoid new explanation of words. \"I had to ask.\" \"I know,\" he said. \"J.E. is convinced that the names in your lectures, like Bush, Laden, Sarah, Kriemhild and so on are codes. He thinks that, in fact, these names are the names of the terrorists who cooperate with you. Moreover, he is sure that the names of places like Karsag, Worms and others are coded messages of places you intend to blow up.\" \"You must be kidding!\" He stared at me as if I were a ghost. \"When he was asking me about bombs and other stupidity, I thought they were just rhetorical questions. To anger me.\" \"No, Peter, they were not rhetorical.\" He closed his eyes. I saw that his breathing became heavy. He looked so pale and ill and old that I feared he was going to die right now in front of my eyes. \"Are you okay, Peter?\" I asked worriedly, getting up to feel his pulse. To my relief, he opened his eyes and I sat down again. \"I have always been saying that the greatest danger comes from illiterate, stupid people,\" he said slowly, disappointedly. \"From people with empty heads, being too lazy to fill them with some knowledge! Emptiness in your head easily becomes a hotbed for fears and ghosts. Stupid people are to be afraid of, believe me. Are to be avoided. They themselves arouse troubles and violence against which they are fighting. Because of the lack of knowledge. I tell you, stupid people are the real threat to this world. Bigger than any natural catastrophe.\" \"Peter, where the hell were you and Isabelle hiding all this time and what were you doing\" I asked next. \"You have to tell me everything, you have to tell me the whole truth, only then I might find a way to save us both.\" \"She invited me to go with her to the Provence for the weekend,\" he said. \"She invited you? Did she not force you to go?\" \"No, she did not. Not at the beginning. She said it would be good for my writing if I visited Provence. You know, Provence plays an important role in my works.\" He made a stop. Then he continued: \"I don't like traveling, you know. In fact, I hate long travels, especially by car. Nevertheless, I decided to accept her invitation because Provence is strongly connected with the dynasty of the Merovings.\" \"Why didn't you tell Kate, your wife, that you intended to go away? Why didn't you answer her calls?\" He could not hide his embarrassment. \"Hm... well... Isabelle suggested this trip should be our tiny secret. She was not going to tell Maurice, and I should not tell my wife. It was only for two days. I agreed I had the right to a two-day's peace, and so we turned off our phones. She was... well, at the beginning she was such a wonderful person. I must admit I was overwhelmed by her kindness... She helped me with everything. She even dined with me because I am not good at those self-service things. I don't know what to choose, what's good and what isn't. You know, at home Kate takes care of my food... my everything. I don't have time to. I must work. That girl led me to the shops with personal equipment like toothbrushes, toothpaste, shaving razors and so on. I had mine in the suitcase that got lost. You have probably heard that a woman had stolen it from me?\" \"No, she did not,\" I surprised him. \"Your suitcase was found in Ethiopia. It was sent there by mistake. Now it's already waiting for you at home.\" This remark left him speechless for a few seconds. Then he murmured: \"I was sure, she had stolen it.\" \"The woman, who was thought to have stolen your suitcase sat next to you in the van today.\" He widened his eyes in amazement: \"She? Next to me? How come, I did not recognize her?\" I risked an accusation to see his reaction. \"Don't lie! You knew who she was. You had an appointment with her in Brussels! When she saw you she ran toward you like mad. I saw her. I saw both of you, so there is no need to keep it from me.\" \"Whaaaat?\" \"Peter, you promised to tell the truth! However, if you do not want to, I will! You planned to meet at the Congress palace in which the European Parliament was in session that day. Tell me why!\" \"I did not plan anything!\" he shouted wildly. \"Yes, I was on the way to the Congress Palace because I had no other choice! Isabelle was pressing the razor against my ribs!\" \"This lie has no sense, Peter! The three of you came in front of the Congress Hall at the same time! You knew each other because you had met before. When Marija Doval saw you, she...\"\n\n\"Wait until I tell you why we came. Isabelle and I. I don't know about the other woman. You'll have to ask her. We came with the intention to present Isabelle to the members of the European Parliament as the new European ruler!\" \"Come on, Peter, you should try better!\" \"I'm telling the truth and nothing but the truth! I have already told you that she kept me prisoner, threatened me with the razor the minute I did not obey her. I knew she would kill me if I acted against her will. I was in constant fear, I...\"\n\n\"Why, the hell, didn't you try to take that damn razor out of her hands? She's weaker than you are! You are a man, for Christ's sake!\" \"If you feel the cold, sharp blade on your neck or on one of your veins, you don't dare move, believe me! You are a fool if you think that a razor in a woman's hands is less dangerous than in a man's! Isabelle did not joke! She would not hesitate to kill me!\" After showing me cuts, some of them still fresh on his wrists and neck, I said to myself, well she might have after all, meant it. \"It was my idea to go to Brussels,\" he continued. \"I persuaded her that the best time for her inauguration was when the whole European Parliament was assembled. And that was today. I hoped to get a chance to tell somebody that she was mad. I hoped to be able to cry for help. The fact is, that I would have been saved by now if that fool hadn't caught us and taken me prisoner again. Nothing has changed except that one fool was replaced by another!\" His story seemed logical. Acceptable. A wry smile flickered across his face when he said: \"As a man to man, I have to admit that at the beginning the attentiveness of this girl did me good. Not only because she was more sophisticated than most of the students I had known, not to mention that she was the only one who knew my written works, but also because she was young and pretty. I would lie if I denied I did not wish to be at least twenty years younger.\" I started to like him for his frankness that I didn't expect. \"When she asked me if I wanted to spend the weekend with her, I felt like a teenager,\" he added, somewhat shamefully, but immediately burst into a self-mocking laughter again, while pointing to his flowery shirt: \"She even managed to talk me into buying this! When my wife sees it, she'll think I lost my mind. In fact, I did!\" \"What did you expect from the weekend with her?\" \"To tell you the truth, I don't know what. I was trying to convince myself that Provence made me go, but deep inside me, I knew this wasn't the real reason. More than I was ready to admit to myself, I liked the idea of spending some days with that girl. Secretly, I even hoped... Well, you know what!\" I thought of Kate and nodded. Yes, I knew what. \"When did you find out what Isabelle really expected from you?\" \"When we were about half the way to St. R\u00e9my. At first, we were having great fun in the car. We were talking, laughing, discussing millions of things...\"\n\n\"Her names among them?\" \"Yes, and other things as well. History, for example. In addition, we enjoyed the wonderful landscape of Provence. We stopped here and there, tasted the famous Provencal wines. I felt heavenly. We were sitting in a restaurant on the highway when she asked me to read her destiny from her coffee cup. Of course, I told her only good, brilliant things. When I predicted her successful, brilliant life, life of a queen, I didn't even dream that I had just sealed my own fate! She thanked me for the final proof she needed. 'You know, Peter, 'she exclaimed happily, 'I have known all along that I am to be the next European ruler. And you confirmed it now. Thank you. Thank you!' The way she said it, the seriousness with which she had said it, made me laugh. She was silently, strangely watching me for some time before asking:\n\n'Are you laughing at me? ' 'Yes, no... Well, my dear, you were so cute when pretending that you believed in my fortunetelling, that I could not help laughing. You should be an actress. You missed your profession.' Her face darkened, and I saw anger flicker in her eyes. 'Don't you ever again dare to make fun of me!' It was then that my drunkenness left me. 'Isabelle, don't be insulted, I was not making fun of you,' I started to apologize. 'I'd be happy if you became the ruler. I think you would make the best ruler in the world. I'll vote for you if it comes to that.' 'What do you mean I would make?' Her eyes were feverish, her face flushed with indignation, her voice hissing: 'I will be! There is no question about it! Don't doubt it or I'll have to kill you!' Suddenly I realized that that girl was mad as a hatter. I got scared and decided to get rid of her as soon as possible. I made a plan to immediately return to Paris! When we were leaving the restaurant, I put a worried grimace on my face and said desperately: 'Isabelle, I've just remembered I have a very important meeting this evening. With the Head of the Sorbonne and the Mayor of Paris. I should have cancelled it, but I forgot. I must go back. I really must! You understand it, don't you? I'll call a taxi, don't worry about me. You just go on, enjoy the weekend...'\n\nBefore I finished the sentence, a razor flashed in her hand. 'Get into the car!' she ordered. Needless to say, I obeyed.\" After a short pause, Peter continued: \"We spent the second part of the way mostly in silence. Or, I spent it in silence. Isabelle was talking about what made her the next European ruler. She said she had found all the necessary information in my books. With the help of my theories, she found out that Isabelle was the same as Issu/Essu. Jesus. She believed she was Jesus. She told me she had searched her family history and discovered that the grandfather of her father was an Austrian, which meant a Habsburg and that his name was Dagobert. As Dagobert was one of the Merovingian kings she was, without any doubt, the new European ruler and my duty was to help her to the throne. We arrived at St. R\u00e9my late in the night. The block of flats where she lived was in darkness. People were asleep. When I stepped into her flat, revealing her true origin, true social position, I was shocked. But it wasn't the poverty that really took my breath away, it was the wall of the room, which was to be my bedroom. A big map of Europe covered almost all of it. There was a red circle around Brussels. Small pictures of Jesus, Mary Magdalene, Queen Victoria and her own were pasted around the map. At the top of the map the name Marat was written in red big, fat letters, at the bottom Habsburg, on the right side in even bigger letters Meroving. Then I knew that she had studied the names long before my arrival to Paris. She invited me after she was certain that it was she who ought to be the new ruler. My role was only to confirm this. To prove it. Scientifically.\" \"Was there really no way for you to call somebody? \"I asked. \"When you were in her flat could you not draw any attention of the neighbors?\" He answered that he couldn't. Isabelle was close on his heels all the time. Even when going to the toilette the door had to be left half open. \"I am sorry, that the idea of going to Brussels and the Parliament to present her as the new ruler didn't enter my head sooner. She would have taken me there and in the Parliament I would have been able to shout for help. Instead I was trying to convince her that the names Isabelle and Victoria were bad for her, hoping she would decide to drop the idea of becoming the ruler. But I was wrong. She wouldn't believe me. She demanded from me to find the code for awakening her DNA Each time I said I couldn't, she gave me a cut on the skin. It lasted until I started to play her game. I told her I had discovered the code and gave it to her. It was murmuring pnspnspns. I warned her that the code needed some time to be activated and that in the meantime we could go to the Parliament to take the throne. That fool agreed! That's why we were in Brussels heading for the Parliament building.\" \"I found your cry for help,\" I said. \"And I read your efforts to dissuade her from the idea of becoming the ruler.\" \"I hoped somebody would find it and be able to read it,\" he said. \"At that time, I was in extreme danger. Isabelle suddenly got an idea that I was the reincarnation of Charlotte Corday! Do you know who Charlotte Corday was?\" \"After having read your lectures, I know everything,\" I laughed. A sour smile spread over his face. He continued: \"Charlotte Corday killed Marat. Isabelle was the reincarnation of Marat, so, according to our hostile relationship, I was probably the reincarnation of Charlotte Corday. After this recognition, she started to feel endangered by me. She thought Charlotte would try to repeat the same action in this life too, i.e. kill her. I went to great pains to make her believe that reincarnated people were reborn to repair the damage they caused in their past lives. That they try to make their karma better by acting differently. However, I did not convince her Upon a long reflection, she suddenly established that her karma, a karma of a victim of a terrible crime having been performed by me in my previous life when I was Charlotte Corday, demanded revenge from her. If she didn't revenge, she would be restless to the rest of her life, unable to reach her goals. It was then, out of despair, that the idea of Brussels, of her immediate inauguration in the Parliament, entered my mind and saved me! She needed me for this last act. After that she would kill me. \" A shrill scream came through the wall. It was Isabelle, shouting: \"Pns! Pppppppppnns! Pnnnnnnnnnns! Pnsssssss!\" \"She's trying to awaken her sleeping supernatural abilities?\" I asked. \"Yes,\" he answered. \"And what does pns mean?\" A roguish smile showed on his face. \"It means penis. She is vibrating the word penis! pns.\" I joined him in laughter. \"Is pns the code, you are all looking for?\" \"Perhaps it is,\" he answered. \"Nevertheless, Isabelle is sure it is. She came across the paragraph in my book that gives some solutions to how man can regain his lost image of god. You probably know,\" he said seriously, \"that according to the Bible, the first man was perfect, made in the image of God. I'm convinced that man's regaining this image will happen through the penis, which is a tunnel, where daena/daemon, meaning dom (home in Slovenian), waits for him to take him into the birth egg, which is cosmos, in fact.\" \"If I understood correctly, Isabelle thinks that penis is the word that would, if pronounced correctly, open the door to the supernatural abilities?\" \"Yes, she thinks that word is the door to heaven.\" \"And is it?\" \"I don't know. Penis is only one of the words, which offer that possibility. Although it is, I admit, the strongest because of its reproductive role.\" \"Which are the other possibilities?\" \"Words indicating things or persons with their heads down.\" I stared at him in amazement. He smiled understandingly.\" Let me give you some examples:\n\n\\- Saint Peter who was crucified with his head down,\n\n\\- a lamp (you know it hangs on the ceiling or stands on a desk, 'looking' down),\n\n\\- a lamprey,\n\n\\- a bat,\n\n\\- a penis,\n\n\\- a daffodil,\n\n-a hangman (tarot cards). You see, I enumerated a wide range of words, however, Isabelle decided to choose penis and from then on she keeps persistently murmuring it!\" \"A good choice,\" I smirked. \"It seems she trusted your theories more than anything in the world. How come, she did not take you seriously when you revealed all the bad characteristics of the names Isabelle and Victoria?\" He smiled bitterly. \"I shouldn't have told her about substitutional victims.\" \"Substitutional victims? What's that?\" \"Princess Diana was a substitutional victim, for example. Instead of the Queen.\" I took a deep breath. \"Are you suggesting, Diana was sacrificed by somebody or some of the people instead of the Queen?\" \"No, no! She herself chose to be sacrificed! Sacrifice is not a sacrifice if it is not voluntary. She saved the Queen. And because she was pregnant, her child was a substitutional victim too, sacrificed to save the Prince, the heir to the throne.\" \"They proved she was not pregnant,\"I insisted. \"I know better, \"he answered stubbornly, not wanting to discuss that any further. \"You said that somebody decides to be sacrificed for somebody else. Who sacrificed herself or himself for Isabelle?\" \"Nobody! And that's the point. She got it all wrong. She has put it into her head that a substitutional victim meant you could choose somebody to suffer instead of you. Somebody you can burden with your troubles, inconveniences, accidents, failures and so on. For example, you can redirect an accident, which was meant for you, to another person. To your substitutional victim.\" \"Oh, I see. Just like that donkey, who carries the sins of a whole village into the desert and dies there? \" \"Something like that. When I tried to make her visualize all the horrors she would have to go through if she insisted on becoming the ruler, she carelessly waved her hand, saying: 'Don't worry, I'll find somebody who will have to undergo these troubles. And if she dies, I'll choose another one. It can't be easier!' I couldn't make her understand that the sacrifice must be voluntary. So you can see why I achieved nothing by warning her not to take the throne.\" It was time to go to the other two prisoners, so I got up. \"I believe you, Peter, but that is, sorry to say, not enough. You'll have to convince J.E. as well. I advise you to be as cooperative as you can. Don't let him throw you off balance. Answer all his questions. You'll do no good to yourself if you keep silent.\" He immediately got excited again. \"Who, the hell, is that J.E.? A God? Our government sent you to bring me home, so he must let me free! He has no right to keep me here!\" \"The fact is, Peter, that this man is said to be an expert for terrorism. All governments respect him and give him a free hand to act as he thinks is best. Now he thinks the best thing is to take us all prisoners. Me too. He even took my phone so right now I cannot inform our government where we are, what is happening to us and ask them to help us. We are left on our own. Therefore, we must be more than careful.\" Finally, for the first time since our meeting, fear shone in his eyes. \"Don't worry Peter, I'll find a way to get us out of here. Trust me and do as I said.\" He nodded and I left his cell. I ordered the officers to take me to Marija Doval's cell but to my surprise they did not want to. While I was talking to Peter, they obviously decided that I had no right to investigate the prisoners. They escorted me back, by force, of course, to the office to wait for J.E. While waiting, I was silently grinding my teeth, throwing furious looks at the officers. They did not care. They were standing like two statues at the door, guarding me. \"What is he doing so long?\" I asked angrily after a while. \"Where is he?\" They remained motionless as if they hadn't heard me. I knew they were afraid of J.E. I had heard him before accusing them of being ineffective and clumsy. He had threatened to fire them saying he didn't need them because he always had to do all the job by himself. If he hadn't caught us, he shouted at them, Brussels would be in ruins now. No, I could not count on their sympathy and understanding. They were too scared. I focused on J.E. When I told Peter that J.E. had a free hand regarding terrorism, I did not tell him the whole truth. He was doing things, which no government would approve of, so he was doing them secretly. And that was dangerous. For, instead of handing the suspects over to the prosecutors, as he was obliged to, he judged and sentenced them himself. Often to death and nothing happened to him. The government turned a blind eye on that. That's what I'd heard of different people. I feared that might be the case with us too. My only hope was Frank. If he had tried to call me and couldn't reach me that must have seemed strange to him. He knew I would never turn off the phone if I was on a case. Especially a case like that. I hoped that his help was on the way and that it will arrive on time. \"I'd like to get my cell phone back,\" I said. The answer was no. \"I have the right to a lawyer!\" Now they didn't even bother to answer. Suddenly, the door opened and J.E. came in. He was not alone. With him was a tall man, all muscles, shaved to the skin, big black spectacles on his nose, so I couldn't see his face. The man gave me the creeps. I knew why he was brought. Without a greeting, without a word he threw himself into a chair, arms crossed over his chest. A satisfied smile showed on J.E. 's face. \"I brought an expert for hearings,\" he said maliciously. \"He knows how to make our birds sing, don't you Claude?\" Claude nodded. I grabbed the sides of my chair so tightly that the knuckles of my hands became white. I was asking myself how much pain I would be able to endure if I was tortured. \"Bring the woman!\" J.E. ordered and the officers left the room. Marija Doval entered with a frightened look on her face. J.E. had to tell her twice to sit down before she was able to understand what he was saying. She sat on the edge of the chair as if prepared to run out of the room in case of a danger. \"Introduce yourself!\" Marija told her name. \"What is the reason of your coming to Paris?\" \"I came to visit my friend, \"she answered politely. \"Were you in Madrid last June?\" \"Yes, sir. I was. I have a friend there too.\" \"What about Rome in September?\" \"Yes, I was...\" She frowned. J.E. 's questions finally struck her as odd. \"Why did you come to Brussels?\" \"I... I came sightseeing... I... Here... What did I do wrong?\" Her lips started to tremble. She was scared to death. Tears sparkled in her eyes. She repeated: \"What did I do wrong?\" I suddenly felt sorry for this poor, old lady. I opened my mouth to tell her some comforting words, but seeing J.E,'s threatening look, I changed my mind. \"Where did you plant bombs?\" Covering her mouth with both her hands, eyes wide open with horror, she stammered: \"Oh, my God, what bombs? I don't know anything about bombs...\"\n\nTears were starting to run down her cheeks. Her eyes wandered from one person in the room to another, asking for help. Nobody dared. \"Where are the bombs?\" J.E thundered again while the gorilla with the dark spectacles was slowly, dangerously rising from his chair and stepped behind Marija's back. \"I, I came to Brussels to find my brother!\" \"Look, look, so now we have a brother too,\" said J.E. mockingly. \"Names! I want names! You can start with your brother's name!\" \"I... I don't know, sir. I can show...\" She wanted to open her bag. J.E. jumped up, hysterically shouting to the gorilla: \"Watch out! She's got a gun!\" The man knocked the bag out of Marija's hands. It fell on the floor, but before he picked it up, he twisted her hands on her back and cuffed them to the chair. Marija was loudly sobbing. Then he investigated the bag. \"There is no gun in there, \"he said, throwing on the table the content of the bag. Keys, a purse, a photo, a piece of paper. \"I... I... wanted to find... to find my brother... my half-brother...\"\n\nJ.E. angrily sat back again. He would have liked it if there had been a gun in that bag. He could act immediately! It would be so much easier! \"Your brother is the Foreigner, isn't he?\" he howled. Puzzlement showed on her face. \"Sir?\" \"The Professor,\" I explained and received a dirty look from J.E. \"No! No!\" she cried. \"I saw this man for the first time in my life on the plane! We were talking about his Prophecies. I was interested in what would happen to Ljubljana. I live there and...\"\n\nJ.E. interrupted her, shouting: \"Where did you plant the bomb?\" \"I, I... there was no bomb... I....\". \"When did you make arrangements to meet in Brussels?\" \"Sir, we didn't make any arrangements. I was with my friends. We were admiring the nice buildings. Then I saw the Professor. I wanted to introduce him to my friends. They would be interested in his prophecies...\"\n\n\"Where is the explosive with which you intended to blow up the Congress Palace?\" \"I don't know anything, you must believe me, sir, I don't know...\" Her nose was running but she could not blow it for her hands were cuffed. Her face was blushed, eyes wet. The man behind her back grabbed her hair and pulled it. She screamed from pain. I could not endure it anymore, so I rose, but J.E. brutally shoved me down into my seat. \"I... I really know nothing about the bombs and explosives. Why don't you believe me? Please, please, let me go. I did nothing wrong... Pleeeease...\". \"What were you doing in Brussels?\" \"I told you, sir. I came to find my half-brother. My father and his mother were together in a German camp during the second world war. They fell in love. She got pregnant... They had to part. My father told me about her and my half-brother on his death-bed. My mother knew nothing about this. That woman wrote to my father that he bore him a son. He tore the letter. But on his deathbed I had to promise him that I would find him. On his death bed... That's why I came.\" \"Where is the bomb? Where is the explosive?\" \"Please, please... auuuu... auuuu... it hurts. Please, believe me. Look at the photo... It's the photo of the woman. Of my brother's mother. On the paper is her address. You can verify it. I am not lying. Auuuu, please, no, it huuuurts...\"\n\nI grabbed the photo and held it in front of J.E. 's eyes. His eyes swept over it, uninterested, and then suddenly, he stretched out his hand and pulled the photo out of my hands. He gave it another look; I saw his face fall, his lips and hands tremble. Sweat broke out on his brow. \"Where did you get it?\" he shouted angrily, jumping up from his seat. He was shaken to the core! He beckoned the gorilla to let go of her hair. \"Where did you get it?\" \"My father gave it to me. The photo was taken in the camp...\"\n\n\"You are lying, you... you communist whore! Lying! This is forged! Forged!\" With the photo in his hand, he rushed out. Dead silence fell upon us. We were exchanging glances. Nobody understood what had just happened. What had driven J.E. away. I decided to use the moment of confusion. \"Take the woman back into her cell,\"I ordered to the officers. I feared that when J.E. came back and saw her, he might kill her, so upset was he about something connected with the photo. The best thing was to move her away from his eyes and then try to bring J.E. to senses. As soon as the officers moved to do what I had said, the gorilla blocked their way, saying coldly: \"Nobody is going to take anybody anywhere! We'll all wait for J.E. to return!\" \"But...,\" I started. \"Shut up! No talking!\" We were sitting in complete silence in the office for five hours! Finally, J.E. returned. His face was the face of a dead man! White and ghastly! His eyes were full of hatred. He pulled a gun out of his pocket and aimed it at Marija. I intended to jump and take the gun out of his hands but was stopped by the gorilla who grabbed me, pulled my hands behind my back and handcuffed me. Aiming at Marija with a trembling hand, J.E. shouted: \"You bitch! You damn bitch!\" To our shock, tears began to run down his cheeks. I saw Marija close her eyes. Her lips were moving slightly. Was she praying? I thought so. At the next movement of J.E. 's hand holding the gun, we all held our breath, expecting him to... Hey, what was he doing? He was not pointing the gun at Marija any more, he turned it to himself! He opened his mouth, put the gun into it and pulled the trigger. A second later, his blood gushed out from a big hole in his head. 22. The investigation following the tragic incident lasted a few days. The French police was cautious. It did not take them long to find out that Marija, Isabelle, who was immediately taken to hospital for treatment, and I were no terrorists or in any way dangerous to their country, but they were not so sure about Maurice and Peter Otrin. Maurice was found guilty of two burglaries. I heard later that he was given a two-year suspended sentence. Otrin had a really hard time to prove that his strange writings, the names of the leaders of different countries, trinities, places and numerous other names weren't secret codes or incitement to illicit acts. Yet even though they dropped all charges against him, they openly told him that he was to blame for Isabelle's insanity. No matter how hard he tried, he could not convince them that it was her own sick ambition and greed that drove her to that. They said from now on he was unwelcomed in their country. It meant prohibited. The investigation revealed that J.E. was Marija's half-brother. He was a Slovenian on his father's side. A Balkan, as he used to call the Slovenians. His mother and his father, his step-father, in fact, never told him the truth. It's a pity, I think. As a child he wouldn't have suffered much if he had been told that his blood was mixed. He would have got used to it and maybe learnt to respect all people no matter what nationality they were. When he saw his mother on Marija's photo, he ran home to demand the truth from his mother. She told it and paid for it with her life. J.E. shot her on the spot then returned to the office to probably kill Marija. Why he changed his mind we will never know. He must have recognized that he would not be able to live with the truth. Marija was sad. She was looking forward to finding her brother and she imagined a happy meeting. She felt sorry for him, yet she did not grieve. He was not the brother she would want. Finally, we were allowed to return home. On the plane Marija and Peter had again neighboring seats. Yet this time Peter did not behave sulkily as on the way to Paris. He was ready to explain all his prophecies to her. He confirmed his prophecies that in the year 2016 great catastrophes threaten to destroy the world, however, he comforted her that negative powers were always opposed by the positive ones and that it seemed they would be really strong in 2016. But they had a short arguing too. Marija asked him, offended, why he had said that she had stolen his suitcase. \"I have never in my life stolen anything!\" she exclaimed. \"No matter how hungry I was I never stole a breadcrumb! It was not nice of you to say I was a thief!\" Otrin felt uneasy. \"I can't help,\" he defended himself. \"The more I was telling you that I cannot show you my book of Prophecies, the more you pushed me. I could think of no one else to be interested in my suitcase.\" In the end they parted as friends. ***\n\nMy wife was waiting for me at the airport and Kate was waiting for Peter. While holding my wife in my arms, I was looking at Kate, who had arms around Peter's neck. Our eyes met. My look was saying to her that we could have had a really nice time together if she had only wanted and hers was answering: yes, I know and that's exactly why I left. Forty years of marriage is forty years. You cannot just make them disappear. When we were in our car, I asked my wife how was her lover. She gently patted my knee, and said giggling: \"I prepared a delicious dinner for him and a warm bed. I am anxious to bring him home as soon as possible. I promise, he won't be sorry.\" ***\n\nMore than a year has passed since our return from Paris. I am spending most of my time in my cellar carving small figures of wood. Here and there, I murmur to myself the letters: pns, ppppns, pnnnsssss. Who knows, one day I might hit the right vibration. I could use some clairvoyance to see finally, what my wife is doing when I am not near. I also searched my name. It has an interesting perspective. I mean, I have it. It says I was born to achieve something of great importance. What that is I don't know yet. I'll know when I find the other two in my trinity and my pre-adequate. I'm working on it. In future I plan to visit Otrin. I need some help. I don't know where he is now. He is presumably hiding somewhere in the mountains. When he returned from Paris, people from all over the world started to besiege his home. They wanted to know what their names foretold them. When he refused to tell them, one of them tried to cut off his head. Later that person told the police that Otrin's skull was going to be clairvoyant and will be able to talk. From then on Otrin and Kate are on the run. Nevertheless, I'll find them when I decide to! Pns... ppppppppns... pnnnnns...",
-        "The only way to avoid falling into this trap is": "The only way to avoid falling into this trap is to identify the whisperings of Satan in time, and to then seek refuge in Allah. An accurate recognition of these insinuations can be made if one is well aware of Satan's characteristics, tactics and snares. The only source in which to seek guidance in these matters is the Qur'an. In the pages that follow, we shall examine the methods of deception Satan employs to lead people away from the path of Allah, as they are outlined in the verses of the Qur'an. He Causes People to Deify Others Besides Allah\n\nThis matter is described in the Qur'an as ascribing divinity to anything besides Allah. However, billions of people who may be destined for Hell for committing this are unaware of even the concept at all. They imagine that the words \"Associating partners with Allah and ascribing divinity to something other than Allah\" refer to regarding anything else other than Allah, the Creator, as possessing the ability to create, worshipping idols or adhering to the polytheism of the past. Members of societies where ignorance of religion prevails, being limited by such a perception, are therefore faulted with an erroneous view of reality, a logic contrary to the Qur'an, according to which they excuse themselves by saying, \"I believe in Allah, I do nobody any harm, I am useful to other people, I do not think that I will go to Hell.\" The fact is, however, that regarding anything other than Allah as a protective force, fearing anything other than He, and feeling a particular love for anything other than Allah, is tantamount of associating equals and partners as divine besides Him. Adopting guidance other than that of Allah is one of the most common forms of deifying others besides Him. By accepting and following guidance from others than Allah, present-day societies, which are mired in ignorance, are reviving the idol-worship of by-gone centuries. Polytheistic religions have been replaced by atheistic ideologies, and the idols once worshiped have been replaced by statues of the founders of these ideologies. In this way, myriads of people, irrespective of race or nationality, have been prevented from living truly according to the religion of Allah. Satan, of course, is the worst instigator of this perversion. Because, every step by which a person strays further from Allah represents an advance in which Satan has secured his victory over man. For that reason, Satan dulls the minds of those who ascribe equals to Allah. Ascribing divinity to others besides Allah, an error that comes to pervade the whole of their lives, prevents such people from reasoning properly. They conduct themselves not in the manner commanded by Allah, that is, according to the guidance of the Qur'an and the Sunnah of the Prophet (saas), but by the temptations of Satan. A life lived deifying others besides Allah is so cunning a snare by Satan that those caught in it are unable even to realize the situation they foundered in. Most regard themselves as being on the true path, or, still, as more worthy of Paradise than others. The suffering to be endured by those who deceived themselves, being unaware that they had been deifying others besides Allah, when they learn on the Day of Judgment that they had actually been among the unbelievers is described in verses of the Qur'an as follows:\n\nOn the Day We gather them all together, We will say to those who associated others with Allah, \"Where are the partner-gods, for whom you made such claims?\" Then they will have no recourse except to say, \"By Allah, our Lord, We were not idolaters.\" See how they lie against themselves and how what they invented has forsaken them! (Surat al-An`am, 22-24)\n\nOne of the factors that lead to falsely ascribing equals to Allah is the misdirection of love, a sentiment which mankind has possessed since its creation. This emotion, which is a means to draw closer to Allah, becomes an evil passion in societies where ignorance is prevalent, turning people instead away from Allah. Believers direct the love within themselves towards Allah. This form of love is superior to all others. They love other people and things as recognition of their love for Allah. According to the Qur'an, it is impossible for them to feel such love for a human being, or, for instance, one who rebels against or denies Allah. Believers love for the good pleasure of Allah, and love those who act according to His will, disliking those who do not. As a result of their love of human beings representing their love for Allah, it is profound and enduring. In contrast, the so-called love of the idolaters is superficial and fleeting. For idolaters, love is expressed for the numerous false-deities they idolize. Though, they claim to love Allah. And yet, that love is merely verbal. Rather, they devote their energies towards these idols on which they expend their misdirected love. They love, for example, their fathers, sons, spouses, money, position and rank, far more than they do Allah. The love felt by the unbelievers is discussed in the following verse:\n\nSome people set up equals to Allah, loving them as they should love Allah. But those who believe have greater love for Allah. If only you could see those who do wrong at the time when they see the punishment, and that truly all strength belongs to Allah, and that Allah is severe in punishment. (Surat al-Baqara, 165)\n\nAnother of the more common manifestations of the idolization of others besides Allah, so prevalent in those societies ignorant of the true religion, is inordinate love of women. If the love felt for a woman surpasses that felt for Allah, then that passion is tantamount of deifying another besides Him. More correctly, love felt for another human is only justified if he or she reflects divine qualities. Since there is no limit of the love that can be felt for the divine, that is, Allah, that love, by one who loves for the sake of Allah, is powerful and lasting. Allah has revealed that this passion for womankind is another among Satan's snares:\n\nWhat they call on apart from Him are female idols. What they call on is an arrogant Satan. (Surat an-Nisa\u00b4, 117)\n\nAscribing partners to Allah is a grave sin, and severe ingratitude towards Him. That is why Allah has revealed that, although He forgives all sins, only He will never forgive deifying others besides Him:\n\nAllah does not forgive anything being associated with Him but He forgives whoever He wills for anything other than that. Anyone who associates something with Allah has committed a terrible crime. (Surat an-Nisa\u00b4, 48)\n\nDeifying equals to Allah is so subtle a threat that it can even menace those who spend their lives in careful worship to Him. Because, good deeds are nullified for ascribing equals to Allah. For that reason, Satan prepares traps of various kinds to cause believers who have dedicated their lives to Allah to attribute equals to Him. At times he may use women, at others money, or other means. For example, following a victory, Satan will lure the person by suggesting to him, \"this was your achievement.\" In this way, Satan seeks to make the person believe that he somehow possesses power independent from Allah. Believers must be on their guard against any incitement that will ultimately make all their efforts nil. It is for this reason that a very clear warning has been announced to believers in the Qur'an:\n\nIt has been revealed to you and those before you: \"If you associate others with Allah, your actions will come to nothing and you will be among the losers.\" No! Worship Allah and be among the thankful. (Surat az-Zumar, 65-66)\n\nHe Hinders Gratitude\n\nBefore Satan was expelled from the presence of Allah, he made himself an important promise, one which reveals one of the most insidious tactics employed by Satan against man:\n\n[Satan said,] \"Then I will come at them, from in front of them and behind them, from their right and from their left. You will not find most of them thankful.\" (Surat al-A`raf, 17)\n\nSatan wishes to prevent people from being grateful to Allah. The reason for this is that gratitude is one of the matters most emphasized in the Qur'an. Around 60 verses refer to the importance of gratitude. One of Satan's primary aims is therefore to cause people to neglect this virtue, the importance of which is so repeatedly mentioned by Allah. In order to render thanks one must first recognize the importance of gratitude itself. One who thanks Allah knows that He is the sole Lord over that which he enjoys, and that it was He Who had bestowed them upon him. He also knows his powerlessness before Allah. The level of awareness of one who ignores the greatness and majesty of Allah, refusing to accept these realities in his heart, will be limited accordingly. The societies foundering in ignorance, which Satan seeks to further corrupt, are far from the recognition of the virtue of being grateful. They only consider gratitude after they have suffered a disaster, but soon forget once the situation has been rectified. They then return to their lives of impiety. In the Qur'an, the example is given of those who pray during some tragedy, but who return to deifying idols once their difficulties have passed:\n\nSay: \"Who rescues you from the darkness of the land and sea? You call on Him humbly and secretly: 'If you rescue us from this, we will truly be among the thankful.'\" Say: \"Allah rescues you from it, and from every plight. Then you associate others with Him.\" (Surat al-An`am, 63-64)\n\nThe fact is, however, that rendering thanks to Allah is one of the human being's most important responsibilities. Because, everyone's life is replete with countless blessings for which thanks ought to be given. So extensive are these blessings, in fact, as is revealed in the 18th verse of Surat an-Nahl, that any attempt to number them would be futile. In fact, one can give thanks for all one receives. For instance, one who, like the Prophet Ibrahim (as), knows that it is Allah Who provides for him what he eats and drinks (Surat ash-Shu`ara\u00b4, 79), knows whenever he eats or drinks that it is to Allah that he must give thanks. Giving thanks must not, however, be restricted to what one receives for eating and drinking. All through the day one benefits from numberless blessings, which he may not always be cognizant of or remember to give thanks for, and the value of which he only realizes when he they are no longer available to him. The blessings of \"seeing\" and \"hearing,\" frequently mentioned in the Qur'an, and described as means of giving thanks, are examples of these. Sight and hearing are not faculties that came about by chance. Allah's creation of people's eyes and ears was intended as a means for them to give thanks to Him, and in order that they may serve Him, as outlined in the following verse:\n\nAllah brought you out of your mothers' wombs knowing nothing at all, and gave you hearing, sight and hearts so that perhaps you would show thanks. (Surat an-Nahl, 78)\n\nSimilarly, ships and other forms of transport, even the wind, and the seas, which make up three-quarters of the Earth's surface, are also means for people by which to give thanks. Allah reveals this truth as follows:\n\nIt is He Who made the sea subservient to you so that you can eat fresh flesh from it and bring out from it ornaments to wear. And you see the ships cleaving through it so that you can seek His bounty, and so that hopefully you will show thanks. (Surat an-Nahl, 14)\n\nAmong His Signs is that He sends the winds bearing good news, to give you a taste of His mercy, and to make the ships run by His command, and to enable you to seek His bounty so that hopefully you will be thankful. (Surat ar-Rum, 46)\n\nIt is Allah Who has made the sea subservient to you so that the ships sail on it at His command, enabling you to seek His bounty, so that hopefully you will be thankful. (Surat al-Jathiya, 12)\n\nA believer's gratitude towards Allah, for the blessings conferred upon him, is a sign showing he is worthy of such blessings. In this way, not only is the blessing appreciated by the believer, but he opens opportunities for him to receive further blessings. In revealing that He will increase the blessings of those of His servants who give Him thanks, Allah threatens the ungrateful, conversely, with suffering:\n\n[Musa said to his people,] \"And when your Lord announced: 'If you are grateful, I will certainly give you increase, but if you are ungrateful, My punishment is severe.'\" (Surah Ibrahim, 7)\n\nThe way the Prophet Sulayman (as), a man endowed with the rank of prophethood, had asked Allah to inspire him to give thanks (Surat an-Naml, 19), serves as an example for all believers. Because, Satan ambushes people from in front, back, and from the right and the left, and seeks to prevent them giving thanks to Allah, by such means as deceptive as inspiring in them to take things for granted or preventing them from recognizing the value of the blessings conferred on them. He Inspires Fear\n\nBelievers' nearness to Allah is like a spiritual shield against Satan. Surrender to Allah, calling on Him by His beautiful names, knowing that everything in the world is under His control, and turning wholeheartedly towards Him, instills believers with spiritual fortitude. Satan tries, by all means, and at all times, to destruct that spiritual strength. One such method is to inspire \"fear\" other than the fear of Allah. There is a specific reason why Satan employs this weapon. Fear can limit the expansion of one's awareness, the weakening of conviction in Allah, and the interruption of one's submission to Him. Such a condition is impossible for a true believer. Satan can only influence those who are weak of conscience, who are heedless, and whose minds are for the time being, or totally, shut off from reality. A verse of the Qur'an recalls that Allah is the only power that ought to be feared:\n\nThat was only Satan who intimidated his adherents. But do not fear them\u2014fear Me if you are believers. (Surah Al `Imran, 175)\n\nFor the believers, the world is a temporary place, the experience through which is governed according to a specific destiny. That only which they must fear is Allah, the Sole Commander of fate and of this world. Those who are not believers, however, assume that the world is an uncontrolled, a haphazard series of events and convergence of people. Satan easily inspires fear into these hearts. For them, everything they encounter is indecipherable, and all outcomes unclear. They adore many idols, instead of Allah, out of their fear of death, of poverty, or of the future. Satan's inciting \"fear\" affects those who live amongst the believers, but who are sick at heart. This fear, which completely consumes them whenever they are confronted with some difficulty on the path of Allah, develops in them a lack of conscientiousness. For example, the mental condition of a people taken with fear, during a battle, is described in the Qur'an:\n\nThose who believe say, \"If only a sura could be sent down.\" But when a straightforward sura is sent down and fighting is mentioned in it, you see those with sickness in their hearts looking at you with the look of someone about to faint from fear of death... (Surah Muhammad, 20)\n\nOne who has submitted to Allah surrenders to his destiny and fully entrusting himself to Him. He is completely free of fear, and by the awe in him inspired by submission to Allah, he fears no other power but Him. What must not be forgotten here, however, is that the courage of the believers is different from the unconscious and irrational courage of unbelievers. This disposition is one which derives from complete trust in the reality of fate, and the confidence which comes from submission to Allah. It cannot be imitated by those who do not truly believe. There are several examples in the Qur'an of this courage of the believers. For instance, when the Prophet Musa (as), and those who followed him, were trapped between Pharaoh's army and the sea, those among them of weak faith were taken with the fear that they were doomed. However, the Prophet Musa (as) advised them \"Never! My Lord is with me...\" (Surat ash-Shu`ara\u00b4, 62), thus expressing his submission to and faith in Allah. The sorcerers who were threatened by Pharaoh with having their arms and legs cut off, because they believed in Allah, exhibited the same fearlessness. The Prophet Ibrahim (as),who was thrown into the fire, felt no fear either. The faith and submission of the believers, referred to in Surat al-Ahzab, increased when they encountered the enemy forces. The reason for this is that Satan's incitement of fear is ineffective against a person who has submitted to Allah. As Allah has revealed in the Qur'an, \"He [Satan] has no authority over those who believe and put their trust in their Lord.\" (Surat an-Nahl, 99)\n\nHe Seeks to Damage Relations between Believers\n\nIn the Qur'an, believers are commanded to support and help one another, in a spirit of unity, and to watch over one each other. The requisite unison to be fostered among believers is revealed in the following verse:\n\nAllah loves those who fight in His Cause in ranks like well-built walls. (Surat as-Saff, 4)\n\nThus, Satan seeks to cause believers to ignore this important stipulation, to impede their unity. In this regard, he expends his greatest efforts towards adversely affecting the speech of the believers. By encouraging such disdainful behavior, belonging more properly to members of the societies of the ignorant2, such as speaking harsh words, and making barbed and veiled comments, he seeks to divide the believers. A person of faith may be confronted with this danger at any time, if he drops his guard against Satan. For, as our Prophet (saas) has also said, \"anger comes from the devil\" (Abu Dawud). For that reason, believers are warned of this menace in the Qur'an, and are commanded to say what is best to one another, as well as being reminded that Satan is their enemy:\n\nSay to My servants that they should only say that which is best. Satan wants to stir conflict among them. Satan is an outright enemy to man. (Surat al-Isra\u00b4, 53)\n\nSatan wants to stir enmity and hatred among you by means of wine and gambling, and to debar you from remembrance of Allah and from prayer. Will you not then give them up? (Surat al-Ma\u00b4ida, 91)\n\nHe Makes People Believe He Is Sincere Counsel to Them\n\nSatan wishes to wreak destruction continuously upon man, whom he considers his principal enemy, while never disclosing his enmity towards him. On the contrary, he approaches him in the guise of a helper, who wishes to offer advice. After having made a person believe his intentions are good, he then brings him under his control. And, recognizing a person's weaknesses, he presents temptations to exploit those vulnerabilities. That same cunning led the Prophet Adam (as) to commit the mistake that caused him to be expelled from Paradise. Satan approached the Prophet Adam (as) and his wife in the guise of a friend, and swore to them that he was offering them sound advice:\n\nThen Satan whispered to them, disclosing to them their private parts that had been concealed from them. He said, \"Your Lord has only forbidden you this tree lest you become angels or among those who live for ever.\" He swore to them, \"I am one of those who give you good advice.\" (Surat al-A`raf, 20-21)\n\nSatan brought about the expulsion of the Prophet Adam (as) and his wife from Paradise by deception. The Prophet Adam (as) was able only to return to the true path by repentance, and seeking forgiveness from Allah. The way the Prophet Adam (as), who had been warned by Allah that Satan was his enemy, but was nevertheless deceived by Satan, demonstrates to what extent Satan is deceptive and cunning. That suggested to the Prophet Adam (as) by Iblis, chief among all the satans, that he was one giving sincere advice, is repeated to others by the other deceptive satans. Pharaoh, who had told his own people \"I only show you what I see myself and I only guide you to the path of rectitude.\" (Surah Ghafir, 29) in an attempt to prevent them from following the path of Allah, is one such example. Similar insinuations can be encountered frequently in societies of the present-day that have veered from the true faith. The suggestion made to one who wishes to live according to the religion, such as, \"you are still young, enjoy life, you can perform your religious observances when you are older,\" is one such example. And, the one offering such a suggestion maintains that he is doing so for the person's own good. The fact is, though, that the road he is calling him to is the one that leads to Hell. In order to follow through with his strategy of \"giving good advice,\" Satan will employ others already under his control. The Qur'an refers, for example, to those who are marked out by Satan, who, after having turned to faith, strayed from the true path, due to the negative influence of Satan. The verse in which this tactic is mentioned is as follows:\n\nSay: \"Are we to call on something besides Allah which can neither help nor harm us, and to turn on our heels after Allah has guided us, like someone the satans have lured away in the Earth, leaving him confused and stupefied, despite the fact that he has companions calling him to guidance, saying, 'Come with us!'?\" Say: \"Allah's guidance, that is true guidance. We are commanded to submit as Muslims to the Lord of all the worlds.\" (Surat al-An`am, 71)\n\nAll must take extreme caution with regard to this foe. But, only he who has wholly submitted himself to Allah, and frequently praises His name, is aware to do so. Such a person will easily identify Satan as the source of perverse suggestions, to then suppress them. One not so disposed, however, will imagine these to be from himself, and be influenced by them. He Leads People Astray from the True Path by Employing the Name of Allah\n\nOne of the most cunning and deceptive tactics exploited by Satan is for him to approach people while making reference to Allah. In this way, he seeks to encourage, under the pretence of being in the name of Allah and His religion, acts actually disapproved by Allah. These acts he wishes to be conducted under the guise of religious observance. One taken in by such a ruse uses the blessings given to him by Allah to fight in His cause only to satisfy his own personal desires. For example, when such a person finds himself somewhere where there are a lot of unbelievers, and where there is plenty in the way of material benefits, though he attempts to fulfill his obligation of relating the morality of the true religion, he interprets the manner in which he ought to do so according to his own desires. While it may be perfectly legitimate at times to enjoy certain material blessings, his manner of doing so is improper. In his case, an action he had initiated for the benefit of Islam, deviates from its original aim, and instead it is these material blessings that become the objects of his desires. He may appear outwardly to be acting within the bounds set by Allah, but in his heart is a desire to satisfy his base passions, not pleasing Allah. In this case, not only will he receive no reward for his deeds, but his faith will weaken (Allah knows best). In our example, Satan has approached the person by making reference to Allah, and caused him to lose the Hereafter by tempting him instead with the deceptive allurements of this world:\n\nMankind! Allah's promise is true. Do not let the life of this world delude you and do not let the Deluder delude you about Allah. Satan is your enemy so treat him as an enemy. He summons his party so they will be among the people of the Searing Blaze. (Surah Fatir, 5-6)\n\nSuch people, whose faith is weakened by their seeking after the mundane and transient pleasures of this world, and who, in addition, hide behind the name of Allah, that they may disguise their deviant intentions, fall into the category of hypocrites, as mentioned in the Qur'an:\n\nThey [hypocrites] will call out to them [believers], \"Were we not with you?\" They will reply, \"Indeed you were. But you made trouble for yourselves and lagged behind the others and doubted; false hopes deluded you until Allah's command arrived. The Deluder deluded you about Allah.\" (Surat al-Hadid, 14)\n\nThis tactic is both subtle and very deceptive. Because, on this occasion Satan has prepared a snare by laying himself directly across the person's straight path (Surat al-A`raf, 16). However, people who fear Allah as required will not fall into Satan's trap. Allah gives people who fear Him the clarity of understanding to allow them to reach the true path and to distinguish between good and evil:\n\nYou who believe! If you fear Allah, He will impart you with the faculty of discernment, and erase your bad actions from you and forgive you. Allah's favor is indeed immense. (Surat al-Anfal, 29)\n\nAnother method by which Satan deceives people, by employing the name of Allah, is to encourage them to sin while referring to Allah's capacity to forgive. Of course, Allah is great in compassion, and will forgive the sins of any of His servants who repent sincerely. However, if one excuses himself by saying, \"anyway, Allah will forgive me,\" only then to commit a sin, he is headed on a most perilous path. Due to this rationalization, his heart may harden, and he may become insensitive, and ultimately lose his fear of Allah. Referring to those who sin knowingly, saying, \"We will soon be forgiven,\" (Surat al-A`raf, 169) the Qur'an reveals an example of Satan deception by way of the name of Allah. He Seeks to Demoralize the Believers\n\nSatan hopes that, in time, the believer will weaken, waiting patiently for him to drop his guard. Minor concessions, which gradually lead the person away from higher spirituality, soon results in a shell developing around his heart, his reason to become clouded, thus allowing him to be further enticed by other temptations and doubts inspired by Satan. In a verse of the Qur'an, a group of believers, whom Satan had sought to lead astray, because of some blame they had earned, are referred to as follows:\n\nThose of you who turned their backs on the day the two armies clashed\u2014it was Satan who made them slip for what they had done. But Allah has pardoned them. Allah is Ever-Forgiving, All-Forbearing. (Surah Al `Imran, 155)\n\nHe Makes False Promises\n\nSatan resorts to another tactic which is common to all frauds. He makes false promises. Unbelievers are often duped by these promises. However, they are but a ruse, and one which can cause a person to lose the Hereafter. Common to these promises is that they make reference to that which is transient in this life. At times, Satan promises amusement, sex, prosperity, or prestige. He whispers to people \"specious words\" (Surat al-An`am, 112). Whatever the object, however, the fate of those who are deceived by Satan is always the same: Hell, an eternal torment. This truth is revealed in the Qur'an as follows:\n\nHe [Satan] makes promises to them and fills them with false hopes. But what Satan promises them is nothing but delusion. (Surat an-Nisa\u00b4, 120)\n\nWhen the affair is decided Satan will say, \"Allah made you a promise, a promise of truth, and I made you a promise but broke my promise. I had no authority over you, except that I called you and you responded to me. Do not, therefore, blame me but blame yourselves. I cannot come to your aid nor you to mine. I reject the way you associated me with Allah before.\" The wrongdoers will have a painful punishment. (Surah Ibrahim, 22)\n\nA believer, who seeks to gain the pleasure, love, mercy and Paradise of Allah, will not, of course, be deluded by any promise with regards to the transient things of this world. Because, no degree of repute he may attain in this world, property he may acquire, or any blessing he might enjoy, are to him of any true importance. These, he knows, will exist but only for a brief time, and no longer be of any significance beyond his death. He Inspires People to Harbor False Hopes and Unfounded Concerns\n\nAnother method employed by Satan is to inspire people with unsound concerns. He over exaggerates for them the significance of unimportant events. Those who suffer from a sickness in their hearts, and are weak in character, are easily influenced by these insinuations. They regard every adverse outcome as part of a plot designed against them. (Surat al-Munafiqun, 4) They will go as far as to imagine that they were deceived even by the messenger. They are habitually restless, anxious and indecisive. They are consumed with concerns that would never even occur to a conscientious person:\n\n[Satan said,] \"I will lead them astray and fill them with false hopes. I will command them and they will cut off cattle's ears. I will command them and they will change Allah's creation.\" Anyone who takes Satan as his confidant in place of Allah has clearly lost all. He [Satan] makes promises to them and fills them with false hopes. But what Satan promises them is delusion. (Surat an-Nisa\u00b4, 119-120)\n\nSince a believer is Satan's greatest enemy, he cannot consider himself immune from him as a danger. Because, the slightest concession he may make will create an opportunity for Satan to make an attack, by way of such tactics as fomenting doubts. However, a believer who has absolute faith in the Hereafter, who turns wholeheartedly to Allah, will remain uninfected by such false concerns. He Portrays Deviance As Attractive\n\nFor those people who have succumbed to his influence, Satan creates the impression that the perversion in which they engage is acceptable behavior. Such people thus become entrenched even further into their perversity:\n\n... Satan has made their actions seem good to them and debarred them from the Way so they are not guided. (Surat an-Naml, 24)\n\n... However, their hearts were hard and Satan made what they were doing seem attractive to them. (Surat al-An`am, 43)\n\nThose whose hearts have grown hard lose the ability to distinguish between good and evil, Satan having portrayed to them their evil as being proper. Those who fall under Satan's influence, on account of this hardening of their hearts, become obstinately devoted to their perversions, which they have falsely deemed wholesome. This type of devotion can at times be discerned among adherents of false religions, which have become corrupted over time, referred to as \"the religion of the forefathers\" in the Qur'an, and among hypocrites and unbelievers, who rebelled against the messengers of Allah and fought against them. Satan's influence over these people is described in a verse of the Qur'an as follows:\n\nWhen Satan made their actions appear good to them, saying, \"No one will overcome you today for I am at your side.\"... (Surat al-Anfal, 48)\n\nHe Instigates Fear of Poverty\n\nSatan offers the life of this world at the expense of that of the Hereafter. For that reason, those who fall under his influence strive for that which is of this world, as if they were never to die, failing to make an effort to attain the Hereafter. Satan has been exploiting this same trap for thousands of years. Up to the present day, billions have worked so hard, acquired property and wealth, only to die in the end, leaving all they strove for behind them. Those now living have learned nothing from the example of those who came before them, who ignorantly stored up goods and wealth as if they would never die. Satan also seeks to corrupt believers by portraying to them the life of this world as something of greater value than it is and as being enduring. In non-believers, and those weak in faith, he instills fear of poverty. He inspires in them miserliness, thus wallowing in a shallow existence. Satan's endeavors are described as follows in one verse of the Qur'an:\n\nSatan promises you poverty and commands you to avarice. Allah promises you forgiveness from Him and abundance. Allah is All-Encompassing, All-Knowing. (Surat al-Baqara, 268)\n\nSetting for humanity traps by inspiring in them the desire for wealth and property, is a very ancient method of Satan. In fact, as revealed in a verse of the Qur'an, Satan told the Prophet Adam (as) the lie that, \"shall I show you the way to the Tree of Everlasting Life and to an imperishable kingdom?\" (Surah Ta Ha, 120), promising him material property. For that reason, Allah issued several warnings to the believers, against the inordinate love of material wealth. This is revealed as follows in a verse of the Qur'an:\n\nHere you are then: people who are called upon to spend in the Way of Allah and then some of you are tight-fisted! But whoever is tight-fisted is only tight-fisted to himself. Allah is Rich and you are poor. If you turn away, He will replace you with a people other than yourselves and they will not be like you. (Surah Muhammad, 38)\n\nWhoever he or she may be, whether a rich businessman or a beggar, every penny a person fails to spend in a manner compatible with Allah's good pleasure has, though he be unaware of it, one with whom he shares the ownership of his property. Allah has made Satan the co-owner of the property of the unbelievers. This shared-ownership is referred to in the Qur'an in the following way:\n\n\"Stir up any of them you can with your voice and rally against them your cavalry and your infantry, and share with them in their children and their wealth, and make them promises! The promise of Satan is nothing but delusion.\" (Surat al-Isra\u00b4, 64)\n\nThe Prophet Muhammad (saas) warned the believers against such deception on the part of Satan:\n\n\"There are two impulses in the soul, one from an angel which calls towards good and confirms truth; whoever finds this let him know it is from Allah and praise Him. Another impulse comes from the enemy which leads to doubt and denies truth and forbids good; whoever finds this, let him seek refuge in Allah from the accursed devil.\" Then he recited the verse: \"The devil shows you fear of poverty and enjoins evil upon you.\" (Tirmidhi)\n\nHe Fosters Pride\n\nPride is Satan's primary vice. It was for his pride and disobedience that he was expelled from the presence of Allah:\n\nExcept for Iblis who was arrogant and was one of the unbelievers. He said, \"Iblis, what prevented you prostrating to what I created with My own Hands? Were you overcome by arrogance or are you one of the exalted?\" (Surah Sad, 74-75)\n\nThis ailment in Satan also poses a serious threat to human beings. Because, Satan's primary purpose is to infect this same ailment on others, to render them the more like him. For anyone who contracts this sickness, his reason will become clouded, and his conscience thwarted. It is on account of this menace that believers are warned in the Qur'an to remain humble:\n\nDo not strut arrogantly about the Earth. You will certainly never split the Earth apart nor will you ever rival the mountains in height. (Surat al-Isra\u00b4, 37)\n\nDo not avert your face from people out of haughtiness, and do not strut about arrogantly on the Earth. Allah does not love anyone who is vain or boastful. [Luqman said to his son,] \"Be moderate in your tread and lower your voice. The most hateful of voices is the donkey's bray.\" (Surah Luqman, 18-19)\n\nThe believer must expend the greatest care to avoid pride, Satan's ultimate vice. Otherwise, he will lose the reward for his deeds, and incur a grave affliction on his faith. Satan's influence can take many forms. For example, one may have performed extraordinary service for the sake of Islam. This service is a blessing granted him by Allah, for it is He Who makes it possible. Since one cannot act outside the control of Allah, there is no question of who should be praised for this service. Accordingly, a sincere believer devotes his service to Allah, not expecting anything in return, except His good pleasure. The Qur'an severely threatens those who expect praise for the service they render. In one verse it is revealed that:\n\nThose who exult in what they have done and love to be praised for what they have not done should not suppose that they have escaped the punishment. They will have a painful punishment. (Surah Al `Imran, 188)\n\nIndeed, Allah inflicted severe punishment on Qarun, a man who had regarded his wealth as a product of some personal quality, saying, \"I have only been given it because of knowledge I have.\" (Surat al-Qasas, 78)\n\nSatan also seeks to disrupt the peace that exists between believers by inciting in them pride. Because, pride in believers is a vice, and one fraught with such a failing makes other believers exceedingly uncomfortable. It must also be kept in mind that Satan ambushes people very cunningly, and without making his influence known. Satan is in no hurry. He inspires people to regard themselves superior to others, but can effect this idea slowly, and over time. Unless one is on his or her guard against this form of deception, its influence gathers strength. For instance, Satan will inevitably seize the opportunity to make such a suggestion following some minor success. If a person fails to recognize in his heart that this success was achieved by him, solely according to the will of Allah, then he will be deluded by the suggestions made by Satan effecting in him pride. Satan will also employ other tactics to this end. For instance, when a believer commits a mistake, then, the task of other believers is to reproach the believer in question sympathetically, not forgetting that the offender is merely a powerless servant like themselves, because Satan will encourage feelings of anger or contempt towards him. Anyone who despises a believer for having committed an error, or for any other reason, is beginning to fall under the influence of Satan's desire to make him think himself superior. If that errant perception persists, the person will eventually become arrogant, while any feelings of affection and compassion towards other believers will diminish. The end result is one who is unto himself, refuses to accept others' advice before acting, and who regards himself as superior in intelligence to other believers. Then, the insinuations that he ought to regard himself as superior increase, further confirming for him his false sense of superiority. Severe detriment can be caused to the faith of one who succumbs to such a state of mind. At some later time, as revealed in the Qur'an, his heart will shut itself off to the signs of Allah:\n\nThe people who truly do believe in Our Signs are those who fall to the ground prostrating when they are reminded of them, and glorify their Lord with praise, and are not arrogant. (Surat as-Sajda, 15)\n\nAs we should learn from this verse, only those who are humble can acknowledge the signs of Allah. It is impossible for one who is arrogant, presuming himself superior to others, to grasp the significance of these signs. He Encourages Religious Observance Merely for Show\n\nOne of the most subtle vices in this world is people's desire for recognition from others. The manner of seeking recognition usually depends on the circumstances of the person. Where money is valued, then it is wealth that will be boasted of; where prestige is esteemed, then social status will be most prized. Satan seeks to exploit this desire when believers set out to fulfill their religious obligations. For those without true faith in their hearts, religious duties are things performed, not to gain the good pleasure of Allah, but to acquire prestige in the religious community. Such people are referred to in the Qur'an in the following terms:\n\nSo woe to those who perform prayer, and are forgetful of their prayer, those who show off... (Surat al-Ma`un, 4-6)\n\nA very important religious observance that Satan will divert from its true intent, and misuse as a means of showing off is \"giving,\" the spending of one's wealth in the cause of Allah. Those who look for acclaim from others, rather than the good pleasure of Allah in fulfilling this obligation, have instead become the friends of Satan:\n\nAnd [We have prepared a humiliating punishment] also for those who spend their wealth to show off to people, not believing in Allah and the Last Day. Anyone who has made Satan his comrade, what an evil comrade he is! (Surat an-Nisa\u00b4, 38)\n\nGiving in the cause of Allah is one of the most important opportunities by which a believer may purify himself and seek to attain the Hereafter. If showing off, one of Satan's more vile habits, is confused with such an important observance, then this purification fails to develop, and a major opportunity to attain the Hereafter is wasted. For that reason, a believer must be on his guard against Satan as he spends in the cause of Allah, and, as with every other religious observance, perform it with pure intent, and seek only the good pleasure of Allah. Believers are warned of this pitfall in the Qur'an:\n\nYou who believe! Do not nullify your charity by demands for gratitude or insulting words, like him who spends his wealth, showing off to people and not believing in Allah and the Last Day. His likeness is that of a smooth rock coated with soil, which, when heavy rain falls on it, is left stripped bare. They have no power over anything they have earned. Allah does not guide disbelieving people. (Surat al-Baqara, 264)\n\nHe Seeks to Turn People Away from the Verses of Allah\n\nBeing committed to conforming to Allah's book is a significant undertaking. The penalty for ignoring this responsibility is commensurately severe. As we know, Satan's foremost aim is that man suffer such a punishment. One who turns away from the Qur'an, under the influence of Satan, also turns away from Allah. Because, the Qur'an is the word of Allah, and a source of light for the believer, throughout the course of his life. Withdrawing from the teachings of the Qur'an is a grave pitfall to be avoided by believers. Because idolaters and unbelievers are already neglectful of the Qur'an, as they are blind to its truths, it is impossible for them to draw any further away from it. However, if believers, that is, those who have faith in the verses of the Qur'an, live in the manner set out according to them, distance themselves from the teachings of the Qur'an, they are then vulnerable to a terrible menace, Satan. Though, because they will remain unaware of this impending threat, they will continue to believe themselves to be on the true path, and thereby fall completely under Satan's control. This condition is described in the Qur'an as Satan becoming the bosom friend of his victim:\n\nIf someone shuts his eyes to the remembrance of the All-Merciful, We assign him a Satan who becomes his bosom friend. They [satans] debar them from the path, yet they still think they are guided. (Surat az-Zukhruf, 36-37)\n\nSuch carelessness can only affect one who has abandoned hope in the Hereafter, turns to worldly aspirations, and follows his own base desires. Such a person, by following in Satan's footsteps, in seeking after his own pleasure instead of that of Allah, has degraded himself to the level of an animal. Because, animals also subsist merely on the pursuit of basic physical needs (such as eating and drinking). What should make man superior, though, is his conscience in serving to his Creator, Allah. It is for that reason that the Qur'an offers the following analogy, to describe those who pursue their desires, while distancing themselves from its verses, which they had once believed in:\n\nRecite to them the tale of him to whom We gave Our Signs [i.e., verses], but who then cast them to one side and Satan caught up with him. He was one of those lured into error. If We had wanted to, We would have raised him up by them. But he gravitated towards the Earth and pursued his whims and base desires. His metaphor is that of a dog: if you chase it away, it lolls out its tongue and pants, and if you leave it alone, it lolls out its tongue and pants. That is the metaphor of those who deny Our Signs. So tell the story so that hopefully they will reflect. (Surat al-A`raf, 175-176)\n\nThough a believer may have read the Qur'an many times over, it will not make him immune from the ploys of Satan. Indeed, Satan adopts numerous approaches by which to assault the believer. Since Satan knows that a believer will never deny the truth of the Qur'an outright, he employs various strategies to distance him from the way of life commanded in it. It is revealed in the Qur'an, for instance, that every moment of time falls within a fate preordained. Becoming troubled and angered under adverse circumstances, despite knowledge of this fate, is tantamount to ignoring the verses of Allah. The heart of the one who has succumbed for too long to such a state of mind, corrupts the purity fostered by the Qur'an, and instead becomes darkened. Eventually, he will become completely insensitive, and unmoved by the message of the Qur'an. All who seek to lead a life as commanded in the Qur'an is vulnerable to this danger. Whoever he may be, one who fails to properly fulfill his responsibilities, after having read the content of the book, is prone to having his heart grow hardened. The state of such people who had previously been observant, but who then failed to live up to their responsibilities, is described in the Qur'an as follows:\n\nHas the time not arrived for the hearts of those who believe to yield to the remembrance Allah and to the truth He has sent down, so they are not like those who were given the Book before for whom the time seemed over long so that their hearts became hard? Many of them are deviators. (Surat al-Hadid, 16)\n\nAllah commands the faithful to cling firmly to the Qur'an, in order not to fall into Satan's snares. Because, the Qur'an is to be a guide for the believer throughout his life. Furthermore, believers are charged not just with reading the verses on a regular basis, but also with bearing them in mind at all times, reflecting upon them, and apprehending every situation according to the dictate of the Qur'an:\n\nAnd remember the Signs of Allah and the wise words which are recited in your rooms. Allah is All-Pervading, All-Aware. (Surat al-Ahzab, 34)\n\nThose to whom We have given the Book, who recite it in the way it should be recited, such people believe in it. As for those who reject it, they are the losers. (Surat al-Baqara, 121)\n\nHe Causes Forgetfulness and Absent-Mindedness\n\nCausing forgetfulness in people is a method which Satan frequently employs, though most people fail to realize it. Satan employs this trick on people in varying situations, and according to different tactics. For example, the forgetfulness and absent-mindedness he inspires in those who live a life far removed from the teachings of the true religion is not like forgetfulness, in the common sense of the term, or a momentary lapse in concentration. Those in whom Satan inspires forgetfulness in the sense meant here are those who spend the 60 to 70 years of their lives in shallow and pointless pursuits, totally disregarding Allah and the truth of the Hereafter. They are unable to comprehend the wisdom and warnings submitted by Allah to remind them of the Hereafter. The question of how and why they were created is of no relevance to them. Satan causes them to be neglectful of Allah, He Who created them, to call upon Him, and to acknowledge that everything is under our Lord's dominion. He ever inhibits them from considering the inevitability of death, or the verity of fate and the Hereafter. Similarly, because the hypocrites are continually surrounded by Satan, they also forget the existence of Allah, and therefore to call upon Him. This state of neglect they find themselves in is described here in the Qur'an:\n\nSatan has gained mastery over them and made them forget the remembrance of Allah. Such people are the party of Satan. No indeed! It is the party of Satan who are the losers. (Surat al-Mujadala, 19)\n\nAnother group in whom Satan seeks to inspire forgetfulness is the believers. However, this type of forgetfulness is different from that which he inspires in the idolaters and hypocrites. Satan seeks to make believers forgetful with regards to every aspect in which they have a responsibility. Because, everyone is being tested, throughout every moment of his life, with regards to his devotion to the commandments of the Qur'an. For that reason, one must remain continually vigilant, always seeking the good pleasure of Allah, at every moment of his life. Examples are provided in the Qur'an of the types of forgetfulness which Satan seeks to inspire in believers. Among these examples are instances of remaining in the company of those who ridicule the verses of the Qur'an. Allah advises the believers to avoid such discussions, and warns them of Satan's propensity to inspire forgetfulness:\n\nWhen you see people engrossed in mockery of Our Signs, turn from them until they start to talk of other things. And if Satan should ever cause you to forget, once you remember, do not stay sitting with the wrongdoers. (Surat al-An`am, 68)\n\nAnother stipulation recalls that it is only possible to do something if Allah has so ordained it:\n\nNever say about anything, \"I am doing that tomorrow,\" without adding \"If Allah wills.\" Remember your Lord when you forget, and say, \"Hopefully my Lord will guide me to something closer to right guidance than this.\" (Surat al-Kahf, 23-24)\n\nAnother example is provided with the story of the Prophet Musa (as). The verse describes that Satan had been the instigator when a young assistant who traveled with the Prophet Musa (as) forgot a fish they were supposed to bring along with them:\n\nHe [Musa's servant] said, \"Do you see what has happened? When we went to find shelter at the rock, I forgot the fish. No one made me forget to remember it except Satan. It found its way into the sea in an amazing way.\" (Surat al-Kahf, 63)\n\nBelievers must be on their guard against forgetfulness and the factors which give rise to it. There is no place in the thought of a believer for absent-mindedness, hypothetical scenarios that distract needlessly, or daydreaming of trivialities. Because, one distracted by these tendencies cannot then expend the appropriate effort in the cause of Allah. Caught up in the distractions of his day-to-day existence, such a person forgets his ultimate duty, and the only true reason for his existence, that is, to serve Allah:\n\nYou who believe! Fear Allah and let each self look to what it has sent forward for Tomorrow. Fear Allah. Allah is aware of what you do. Do not be like those who forgot Allah so He made them forget themselves. Such people are the deviators. (Surat al-Hashr, 18-19)\n\nAs a precaution against a forgetfulness and absent-mindedness, believers must never forget to have Allah in mind, fear Him and aim for His good pleasure, and not be deluded by the transient allurements of this world. Unless a person constantly bears these truths in mind, he will become defenseless against Satan. He Encourages Sentimentality\n\nSentimentality is the instance of a person's emotions becoming carried to a level beyond that prescribed in the Qur'an, to the point of being ruled by one's emotions instead of his reason. One who behaves emotionally is not rational. All that he does results from his particular state of mind at that moment. His level of patience, or fairness, the decisions he takes, and the responses he has, are all entirely dictated by his emotions. Ill-conceived and conflicting decisions invariably result when Satan intervenes. The taking of such decisions are then followed by regret. The lives of those who tend to act emotionally are full of regret. The mind of a believer, however, is balanced and his reason unclouded. His every action is governed by Allah's commands. One who behaves rationally makes his choices keeping in mind that he will be called to account in the presence of Allah on the Day of Judgment. Whatever the situation, he acts in light of the Qur'an, with no compromise. Satan will at times seek to tempt the believers by encouraging sentimentality. Every action contrary to the Qur'an, such as harboring love for unbelievers, or allowing oneself to become upset under adverse circumstances, are indications of Satan's attempt to inspire sentimentality subconsciously. These sentiments can be neutralized only through wholehearted commitment to implementing the stipulations outlined in the Qur'an, and seeking the good pleasure of Allah. It has been revealed in several verses of the Qur'an that there is no place for sentimentality in the mindset of the believers. No believer, for instance, ought to feel love for the enemies of Allah:\n\nYou will not find people who believe in Allah and the Last Day having love for anyone who opposes Allah and His Messenger, though they be their fathers, their sons, their brothers or their clan... (Surat al-Mujadala, 22)\n\nIn another verse, it has been revealed that if a believer loves an enemy of Allah it will divert him from the true path:\n\nYou who believe! Do not take My enemy and your enemy as friends, showing love for them when they have rejected the truth that has come to you, driving out the Messenger and yourselves simply because you believe in Allah your Lord. If you go out to strive in My Way and seeking My pleasure, keeping secret the love you have for them, I know best what you conceal and what you make known. Any of you who do that have strayed from the right way. (Surat al-Mumtahana, 1)\n\nAs can be gleaned from these verses, for any believer, faith is the sole criterion in love. Outside of that, neither family ties, nor community, are of any consequence. As long as he refuses to believe, an enemy of Allah cannot be the friend of or close to a believer. This distinction is referred to in the Qur'an through the words of the Prophet Ibrahim (as):\n\nYou have an excellent example in Ibrahim and those with him, when they said to their people, \"We wash our hands of you and all that you worship apart from Allah, and we reject you. Between us and you there will be enmity and hatred for ever unless and until you believe in Allah alone.\"... (Surat al-Mumtahana, 4)\n\nThis matter is again referred to in other stories of the prophets. For example, the way in which the Prophet Ibrahim (as) absolved himself from his father, when he learned that he had chosen to become an enemy of Allah, is described as exemplary behavior (Surat at-Tawba, 114). Another example is found in the story of the Prophet Nuh (as). Due to the fact that his son was an unbeliever, Allah called to him, \"... Nuh, he is definitely not of your family...\" (Surah Hud, 46). Because, the true family of a believer is other believers. Those who seek friends elsewhere eventually find that their only friend is Satan. He Influences People to Fixate on Details\n\nA believer must select the most proper and correct means to earn the good pleasure of Allah. He must not waste time in trivialities. In accordance to the verse, \"So when you have finished, work on...\" (Surat al-Inshirah, 7), when he has fulfilled a good action, immediately he undertakes the next. However, if he performs his actions without seeking the good pleasure of Allah, then he may become vulnerable to another little recognized ploy of Satan. One who falls into this trap becomes confused, fixated on thousands of details, totally removed from what ought to be his true aim, and, even, unable to remember what that aim is. Allah provides an example of this condition in a story about the Prophet Musa (as). The Prophet Musa (as) told his people, that is, the Children of Israel, that Allah commanded them to sacrifice a cow. In response, his people asked a great many unnecessary questions about the details of the sacrifice to be performed. And, when they were informed of these details, they answered \"... Now you have brought the truth... \" However, the extent to which that ritual had been distanced from its true aim, or that the Israelites had nearly failed to comply by Allah's command, is referred to in the following verse \"... So they sacrificed it\u2014but they almost did not do it.\" (Surat al-Baqara, 71)\n\nThe insolence of their words, \"... Are you making a mockery of us?...\" (Surat al-Baqara, 67), which the Children of Israel addressed to the Prophet Musa (as) reveal how in that instance they had been closer to denial, in other words, to Satan, than to faith. Underlying their errant logic was a deception provided by Satan. Satan, who made such a simple task as the sacrificing of a cow seem difficult, by burdening it with details, nearly succeeded in preventing the rite from being performed. The way certain societies have come to understand the meaning of religion has been shaped according to this same influence of Satan's. Many are suffocated by details, under the guise of piety to Allah, though, in truth, representing a manner of a religion far removed from the true teachings of the Qur'an. He Encourages Extravagance\n\nExtravagance is a characteristic of the societies where ignorance of religion prevails. Unrestricted spending, and the boasting of it, is regarded as a means to prestige by an unbeliever:\n\nHe says, \"I have consumed vast quantities of wealth.\" Does he imagine that no one has seen him? (Surat al-Balad, 6-7)\n\nThe fact is, however, that wasteful spending is despicable, and categorically prohibited by Allah. In a verse of the Qur'an, those responsible of such deviance are actually described as \"the brothers of Satan.\" That being the case, believers, who are Satan's principal enemy, need to be very especially careful in this matter. In the following verses, Allah has revealed:\n\nGive your relatives their due, and the very poor and travelers but do not squander what you have. Squanderers are brothers to the satans, and Satan was ungrateful to his Lord. (Surat al-Isra\u00b4, 26-27)\n\nThere is a point which believers must pay particular attention to, in order to protect themselves from this danger. A believer must never forget that he is selling both his self and his wealth, in return for Paradise (Surat at-Tawba, 111). After having accepted such a trade, he must not squander any portion of his assets on an aim not within the cause of Allah. The believer must work for the Hereafter with all he possesses. Everything he owns offers an opportunity to acquire further reward. Rejecting that opportunity is equal to opting for the life of this world, at the sake of the Hereafter. While He encourages believers to enjoy the blessings conferred upon them that are lawful, Allah also warns them against extravagance:\n\nIt is He Who produces gardens, both cultivated and wild, and palm-trees and crops of diverse kinds, and olives and pomegranates, both similar and dissimilar. Eat of their fruits when they bear fruit and pay their due on the day of their harvest, and do not be profligate. He does not love the profligate. (Surat al-An`am, 141)\n\nChildren of Adam! Wear fine clothing in every mosque and eat and drink but do not be profligate. He does not love the profligate. (Surat al-A`raf, 31)\n\nThe Means Employed by Satan to Turn People from the True Path\n\nThe Qur'an warns believers against certain bad habits specifically employed by Satan. Wine, gambling and fortune-telling are all vehicles by which Satan seeks to distract people:\n\nYou who believe! Wine and gambling, stone altars and divining arrows are filth from the handiwork of Satan. Avoid them completely so that hopefully you will be successful. (Surat al-Ma\u00b4ida, 90)\n\nThe important point here, however, is the end sought by Satan through these means. That aim is referred to in the following verse\u2014it is, to prevent people from remembering Allah and observing their five daily prayers:\n\nSatan wants to stir up enmity and hatred between you by means of wine and gambling, and to debar you from remembrance of Allah and from prayer. Will you not then give them up? (Surat al-Ma\u00b4ida, 91)\n\nTHOSE UNAWARE OF THE INFLUENCE OF SATAN SOCIETIES OF THE IGNORANT\n\nSocieties founded on ignorance of the true faith do not recognize the power of Satan nor his influence over them. According to them, Satan is merely a symbol of evil, with no actual consequence for their day to day lives. They believe he only encourages the great crimes. Monstrous men who commit atrocities under the influence of Satan are the only ones \"doomed to Hell.\" In their view, others, such as, for example a housewife, or a student not overtly harming anyone else, are not under the influence of Satan. Even if they do not fully observe their religious obligations, such people regard themselves as being of \"pure heart.\" They are people who have no ambitions over others' money or property, and cause no one any visible \"wrong\" or \"harm.\" Because they do not kill or spend illicit wealth, they believe, they will ultimately be allowed to enter Paradise. Again, according to the ignorant outlook, Satan's legions are composed merely of those who drink blood and sacrifice human beings, devious perverts like those seen only in horror films. These people, who are \"bound for Hell,\" are those who have sold their souls to the Satan. Hell, they believe, exists only for these \"evil\" people. This deceptive outlook, so prevalent in societies where ignorance prevails, renders Satan's task a great deal easier. Because they regard themselves as destined for Paradise, because they are not actually harming anyone, such people constitute the largest segment of humanity among which Satan can easily rule by and control. Until the day they will die, and be confined to Hell, they continue to deceive themselves, misled by the suggestions of Satan (Allah knows best). As revealed in the verses of the Qur'an, these people will be faced with their final outcome on the Day of Judgment, though they will be unable to believe it:\n\nThen they will have no recourse except to say, \"By Allah, our Lord, We were not idolaters.\" (Surat al-An`am, 23)\n\nSatan's true aim is to prevent people from living according to what is pleasing to Allah, to keep them from the commands of the Qur'an, and to lead them to overstep the bounds set by Him. It is not necessary that a person to commit murder, drink blood or practice Satan-worship to be among the dupes of Satan. One who fails to perform the observances clearly imposed by Allah, but who still regards himself as being of \"clean heart,\" or who thinks he renders service to others though his professional life, and has therefore fulfilled his requirements, has, nonetheless, fallen into Satan's snare. According to that revealed in the Qur'an, those duped according to the desires of Satan are in the majority. People of faith, however, are very few in number, though preserved from the influence of Satan:\n\nIblis was correct in his assessment of them, and they followed him, except for a group of the believers. (Surah Saba\u00b4, 20)\n\nWith a little careful attention, one will recognize even within his own community he is surrounded by this secret army of Satan. These unadmitted, but nevertheless obedient troops, will show themselves forth through different types of characters. They may include a person's mother, father, brother, spouse, friend, or even oneself. The only way of determining so is to refer to the Qur'an, revealed by Allah, the Creator of both man and Satan. Philosophical arguments based on such premises as, \"In my view,\" \"In my opinion\" and \"The way I see it\" are of no weight. The sole criterion is the Qur'an. If one person does not live according to that shown by the Qur'an, in other words, in the manner demanded by Allah, then he lives in the manner desired by Satan. Even if he is unaware of it, or refuses to accept it, the end-result is nevertheless the same; one who does not live in the way stipulated in the Qur'an, that is, in a way commanded by Allah, will be cast into the flames of Hell together with Satan. Those who will be thrown into Hell on the Day of Judgment are described in the Qur'an as follows:\n\nThey will be bundled into it head first, they and the misled, and every one of Iblis's regiments. (Surat ash-Shu`ara\u00b4, 94-95)\n\nSince such people are unaware that they are Satan's prisoners, they are easily misled by him. Acquiescing to, without question, the life desired for them by Satan, they waste the 60 to 70 years of life for nought. Even though the details of their lives may vary depending on their social status, the essential principle remains the same: they work solely for the life of this world, never thinking of Allah and the Hereafter, as if they were never to die. Many devote years towards attaining an academic degree or professional designation, working day in and day out for a better life, or greater prosperity, only then to one day die, as if none of it had ever been. They are soon forgotten, and are succeeded by others. From the moment of their death, neither the money they had acquired, their social status, the standard of living they achieved, nor the family they left behind, are any longer of any value: the time granted them in this world has come to an end. Still, though, some never think of death, an ultimate truth they will nevertheless have to face. They waste the span of their life without making any preparation for it. These people literally serve Satan, and Satan uses them to further spread his \"religion\" (in other words, his philosophy and system). Such people's mouths, eyes and skin all serve Satan. As a consequence, Satan is able to look not merely through one, but through millions of eyes, and hears through millions of ears. When they speak, no manner of reasoning in conformity with the Qur'an is to be detected, but the words of Satan. Satan will use anyone to spread the message of his religion, making no distinction between language, race or nation. In short, Satan exploits the selfishness of people towards his own ends. To do so, he does not need to enter into their dreams with terrifying visions, as is otherwise believed, or, as depicted in horror films, by managing to make them perform a deed they would otherwise never do. All that is required is that he become for them a bosom friend. In other words, his victim complies of his own volition. That is the reason for the great similarity between them and Satan, a relationship described in the Qur'an as one of \"brotherhood\":\n\nBut as for their brothers [i.e., those among mankind who listen to the devils and obey their orders], the visitors lead them further into error. And they do not stop at that! (Surat al-A`raf, 202)\n\nSatan enters his victim's subconscious, and rules every part of his body. For example, he inhibits the formulation of a sound thought. Satan is now so disposed to offer continual negative inspiration. Those of his victims, whose souls Satan enters and whose bodies he rules, employ the same methods as their fiendish partner to turn others from the path of Allah, and to prevent them from behaving rightly. Like Satan, they spread the message of his religion by laying a thousand and one traps by which to combat Allah's influence on people, and to cause them to forget that which will aid them to act in a conscientious manner. In this case, it is no longer necessary to refer to Satan himself, and those under his control, as separate entities, because they themselves have become satans. They are then satans in physical form. In several verses of the Qur'an, believers are warned against the friends of Satan. These issue from differing segments of society. Some may be industrialists, teachers or doctors, while others workers or students. These people, who live according to the religion designed by Satan, may have little in common socially. Yet, they all share one characteristic; they are all far removed from the true religion, the true religion of the Qur'an. We can organize those who are members of the society of ignorance, each of different characteristics but under the control of Satan, under several headings. Enemies of the Prophets\n\nIt has been revealed in the Qur'an that every messenger, sent with the divine religion to guide to the true path, was confronted with the enmity of a group of satans, comprising of humans and jinn. Satans among the jinn whispered into the hearts of men to misdirect their steps. The human component among these satans revealed themselves through their hostility towards the Prophet (saas) and the believers who followed him. By fighting against the Prophet (saas), they joined with others like them, at times engaging in joint action. By such joint action, they incited one another against the believers with high-sounding but deceptive speech. This cooperation is described in the Qur'an as follows:\n\nIn this way, We have appointed as enemies to every Prophet satans, from both mankind and from the jinn, who inspire each other with delusions by means of specious words\u2014if your Lord had willed, they would not have done it, so abandon them and all they fabricate\u2014so that the hearts of those who do not believe in the Hereafter incline towards them and are pleased with them and perpetrate whatever they perpetrate. (Surat al-An`am, 112-113)\n\nAs stated in these verses, had Allah so willed, these satans would not have been hostile to the Prophet (saas), and would not have inflicted any difficultly or sought to oppress the believers, nor wage war against them. Only according to the will of Allah can these creatures compose the circumstances by which to test the friends of Allah, by which they may be raised in rank in the Hereafter. By means of these situations, the believers are put to the test, their patience tested, and hearts cleansed. Satan, who cannot act outside the will of Allah, merely complies with the task set out for him by Allah, to help distinguish the believers from the unbelievers. Unbelievers Incited by Satan\n\nThe incitement of Satan is the most important factor behind the excesses of the unbelievers, and their hostility towards the believers. Allah revealed, in the Qur'an:\n\nDo you not see that We send the satans against those who disbelieve to goad them on? (Surah Maryam, 83)\n\nThe satans inspire their friends to dispute with you. If you obeyed them you would then be idolaters. (Surat al-An`am, 121)\n\nSometimes, Satan encourages idolaters and unbelievers to attack the believers in the cause of \"the religion of their ancestors\"; other times, out of racism; otherwise still, for worldly benefit. The characteristic common to every unbeliever who has ever opposed the true religion throughout history, is that they acted through the influence of Satan. Just as these attacks can be verbal, they can also be physical, with the intent to kill. A verse describes the action taken by the unbelievers against Allah's Prophet (saas):\n\nWhen those who disbelieve were plotting against you to imprison you or kill you or expel you: they were planning and Allah was planning, but Allah is the Best of Planners. (Surat al-Anfal, 30)\n\nSo effective are suggestions insinuated by Satan into the minds of the unbelievers that they pursue their rebellion against the messenger and the believers, even at the risk of their own lives. A telling example of this is referred to in those verses which describe the wars waged against the believers. Prior to the war, Satan incited the unbelievers against the believers, and portrayed the idea of fighting against them as fair-seeming. Indeed, he so rouses the unbelievers that he makes them believe that there exists no army able to defeat them. When the two armies met, however, Satan abandoned those who believed in him:\n\nWhen Satan made their actions appear good to them, saying, \"No one will overcome you today for I am at your side.\" But when the two parties came in sight of one another, he turned right round on his heels saying, \"I wash my hands of you. I see what you do not see. I fear Allah. Allah is severe in retribution.\" (Surat al-Anfal, 48)\n\nSatan does not in truth seek what is best for those who believe in him. Thus, he tries to ensure that all, believer or unbeliever, go to Hell. Presenting himself as a trusted friend is a tactic by which he can incite one people against another, and generally cause strife and evil. After achieving his objective, though, he abandons those, whoever they may be, who took him as their friend. Racists are another example of a type of unbeliever influenced by Satan. Wherever you will find them in the world, racist individuals or societies regard themselves superior to others, for no valid reason at all. A rage has been fomented in them. Generally, through the effectiveness of Satan's inducements, they devote their lives for the sake of something they do not even fully understand. Attention is drawn in the Qur'an to the anger incited in racists:\n\nThose who disbelieve filled their hearts with fanatical rage\u2014the fanatical rage of the Time of Ignorance\u2014and Allah sent down serenity to His Messenger and to the believers, and bound them to the expression of heedfulness which they had most right to and were most entitled to. Allah has knowledge of all things. (Surat al-Fath, 26)\n\nThe way racists harbor a hatred for others, by regarding themselves superior, brings to mind another feature of Satan which we have already mentioned. Here, the mentality of Satan, who hated the Prophet Adam (as) because he regarded himself superior to him, can be recognized as the essential philosophy of the racists. At the source of the perverted basis by which racist societies regard themselves as superior, lies the delusion of the superiority of their physical attributes, history, ancestry and lineage. Upon more careful examination, we may note that claiming one is superior to others on the basis of one's lineage is parallel to the errant logic of Satan according to which fire is superior to clay. Those to Whom Satan Portrays Their Perversions As Attractive\n\nUnbelievers and idolaters become passionately devoted to the superstitions they prefer over the true religion. Whatever the ideology or idea, those who believe in these superstitions have actually embarked on the road to Hell, which Satan had embellished for them. This embellishment made by Satan has become so attractive to the unbelievers that, when duped by it, they come to believe themselves on the true path, and become obstinately committed to their perversions. The influence on people of the attractiveness effected by Satan for a particular religion, in the time of the Prophet Sulayman (as), has been revealed as follows in the Qur'an:\n\n[The hoopoe said,] \"I found both her [Queen of Sheba] and her people prostrating to the sun instead of Allah. Satan has made their actions seem good to them and debarred them from the Way so they are not guided.\" (Surat an-Naml, 24)\n\nThis verse refers to a community of Sun-worshippers, and it has been revealed that it was Satan who had made this perversion appear attractive to them. Even if some in the modern world do not worship the Sun, they nevertheless are still followers of whichever false system or ideology they are blindly devoted to. The similarity between the Sun-worshipers of the time of the Prophet Sulayman (as), and those who abandon Islam in the present time and turn towards man-made ideologies, is the fact that it was Satan who portrayed these choices as attractive to them. Those Who Ignorantly Debate Over Allah\n\nThere is a technique often employed by prominent members of the society of the ignorant. They make unfounded comments about the true religion, to justify their own corruption and win supporters. One such group, who frequently resort to this tactic, regard themselves as \"elites.\" They consider themselves superior to common people. So high is their regard for themselves that they are entirely unable to believe that Allah will ever punish them. Not only do they flee from the religion of Allah, they prevent others from adhering to it (Surat al-An`am, 26). They esteem those who are religious as ignorant, na\u00efve and contemptible. They interpret the religion according to their own inclinations. Among these interpretations we can list the following:\n\n\u2022 How can Allah inflict suffering on one who does no one else any harm, who keeps to himself, and who, on the contrary, is helpful towards other people? (A person who thinks along those lines is actually attempting to justify himself.) \u2022 Islam is a religion of love. As long as you love people and do things for others, you have loved and worshiped Allah. \u2022 Working, being productive, and creating employment opportunities for others are the greatest forms of worship. \u2022 I love Allah and what He has created. I also know that He loves me. There is no need to pray and fast. I do not believe that Allah will send me to Hell when I do no harm to anyone. With these interpretations they propagandize their false religion. They are ungrateful to Allah, the Lord of all, Who created human beings to serve Him, and rebel against Him in a way that is grossly ignorant. Reference is made to such people in the Qur'an, in the following example:\n\nAmong people there is one who argues about Allah without knowledge or guidance or any light-giving Book, turning away arrogantly, to misguide people from the Way of Allah. He will be disgraced in this world and on the Day of Rising We will make him taste the punishment of the Burning. (Surat al-Hajj, 8-9)\n\nWhether a wealthy industrialist, politician or ordinary citizen, these people have fallen into the grasp of Satan, one as unscrupulous and untrustworthy as they are. Such people, who use the religion as a tool with which to justify their own belief-systems or ideologies in no way compatible with the Qur'an, and who have appeared in every period of history, all follow in the footsteps of Satan. They are described in the following terms in the Qur'an:\n\nAmong people there is one who argues about Allah without knowledge, and follows every rebellious Satan. It is written of him that if anyone takes him as a friend, he will mislead him and guide him to the punishment of the Searing Blaze. (Surat al-Hajj, 3-4)\n\nThose Who Imagine Satan Interfered with the Revelation of the Qur'an\n\nAlthough very few in number, these corrupt individuals have suggested, in order to spread confusion and turn the ignorant away from Islam, that the words of jinn and Satan became mixed up in the revelation of the Qur'an. Best known among such writers is Salman Rushdie, author of the book The Satanic Verses. The same perverse suggestion is to be found in the society of the ignorant at the time of our Prophet (saas). Indeed, idolaters of the time accused even our Prophet (saas) of soothsaying and madness (Surat at-Tur, 29). Because, it was believed that soothsayers received information from jinn and Satan, and that they were under their influence. Others, of similar mentality, accused the Prophet Muhammad (saas) of madness (possession by jinns). The best way to answer all such perverted insinuations is provided in the Qur'an:\n\nNor is it [the Qur'an] the word of an accursed Satan. (Surat at-Takwir, 25)\n\nThe satans did not bring it [the Qur'an] down. It does not befit them and they are not capable of it. (Surat ash-Shu`ara\u00b4, 210-211)\n\nIn that which follows these verses, it has been revealed that the satans have been prohibited and prevented from listening to the revelation of Allah:\n\nThey are debarred from hearing it. (Surat ash-Shu`ara\u00b4, 212)\n\nThe limits of the sky is protected from the satans, those who try to listen stealthily are punished by flame at that moment. (Surat al-Hijr, 17-18)\n\nAs we know, Satan is a jinn, and strict precautions have been implemented to prevent jinn from listening to the divine revelation. These measures were referred by the mouths of the jinns themselves in Surat al-Jinn:\n\n\"We tried, as usual, to travel to heaven in search of news but found it filled with fierce guards and meteors. We used to sit there on special seats to listen in. But anyone listening now finds a fiery meteor in wait for him.\" (Surat al-Jinn, 8-9)\n\nSatan Descends on Every Evil Liar\n\n\"Satan\" refers to all those on whom Satan descends and who he brings under his influence. The defining characteristic of such people has been revealed to be their propensity towards sin and deceit. Whether consciously or not, they hearken to Satan, and act in compliance to his commands. The Qur'an conveys the following on the subject:\n\nShall I tell you upon whom the satans descend? They descend on every evil liar. They give them a hearing and most of them are liars. (Surat ash-Shu`ara\u00b4, 221-223)\n\nIt is important to note that, immediately after these verses, reference was made to the poets from the period of the revelation of the Qur'an:\n\nAnd as for poets, it is the misled who follow them. Do you not see how they ramble on in every style and say things which they do not do. (Surat ash-Shu`ara\u00b4, 224-226)\n\nIn Mecca, during the period of our Prophet (saas), poets were those charged with the task of directing and influencing society, as well as formulating agendas. Since the verses they wrote were passed on orally, they served as a kind of source of traditional lore. Most of these poets, however, employed their talents against Islam, and sought to turn people from the true path. It would appear from these verses that one of the methods they used to deceive the public was to make empty promises. Remembering that making empty promises is one of the primary methods employed by Satan (Surat an-Nisa\u00b4, 120, Surah Ibrahim, 22), the link between these poets and Satan is again elucidated. Despite the passage of years, there has been no change in this situation, apart from a few minor details. The poets have been replaced by centers of power against religion. Methods such as empty promises, distracting the public, deception, and portraying the facts as other than they actually are the means most frequently employed by these circles. The facts are completely misrepresented by mendacious reports, and propaganda in the promotion of all manner of sin is being widely disseminated, to an extent never before seen in the history of the world. Efforts to slander and blacken the good name of Muslims, and to ultimately defeat Islam, are all undertaken under the influence of Satan. The Religion of Their Ancestors\n\nThe Qur'an is the primary source for learning about Islam. For that reason, Satan keeps as many away from it as he can, directing them instead towards traditional beliefs and superstition inherited from past generations. Those who fall into this trap, abide not by Allah's revelation, but according to superstitions that have been accreted to one another over the centuries. Worst of all, these people become obstinately devoted to their superstitions. Satan has so closed their minds that they persist in their ignorance even when called to the true religion revealed by Allah:\n\nWhen they are told: \"Follow what Allah has sent down,\" they say, \"No, we will follow what we found our fathers doing.\" What! Even if Satan is calling them to the punishment of the Blazing Fire? (Surah Luqman, 21)\n\nFor instance, in this religion, based on tradition and superstition, women are regarded as second-class citizens. Their adherents insist on the supremacy of men, and debase women. However, there is no gender-based supremacy in the Qur'an. It has been revealed in the Qur'an that those who are superior are those who are foremost in godliness. The persistence of such superstitions is among the most definite proofs that, though coming under the name of Islam, certain circles are still living by the traditions handed down from their ancestors. Those who abide by the religion of their ancestors are stubborn and closed-minded. No amount of reasoning can lead them abandon the religion they have inherited by way of their ancestors. According to the Qur'an, these people cannot be brought to their senses. The following verse reveals:\n\nWhen they are told, \"Follow what Allah has sent down to you,\" They say, \"We are following what we found our fathers doing.\" What, even though their fathers did not understand a thing and were not guided! The likeness of those who disbelieve is that of the beast which, call out to it as one may, can hear nothing but a shout and a cry. Deaf\u2013dumb\u2013blind. They do not use their intellect. (Surat al-Baqara, 170-171)\n\nSATAN'S FACTION: THE HYPOCRITES\n\nThe Arabic word munafiq refers to a person who is \"two-faced, always trying to find an easy way out of commitments, either spiritual or social, by adapting to a course of action which will bring him or her an advantage.\" Although they are not believers, hypocrites are people who nevertheless strive to give the impression that they are, in order to take advantage of the believers' strength and seek shelter among them. When these people, who have a sickness in their hearts, fail to find what they had hoped, or when some conflict or difficulty afflicts the believers, they depart immediately from them, only then showing what they had hidden in their hearts. Whether during or after their departure from the believers, they then strive to harm them and to impede the unity among them. Moreover, to this end, they will even cooperate with unbelievers. The character and behavior of the hypocrites is described in some detail in several verses of the Qur'an, believers being warned repeatedly against such people. One of the points these verses emphasize particularly is the nearness between the hypocrites and Satan. Therefore, many features of Satan, including his mysterious thought patterns, are also manifested in the hypocrites. A verse of the Qur'an refers to the way the hypocrites are completely within the fold of Satan and join his legions:\n\nSatan has gained mastery over them and made them forget the remembrance of Allah. Such people are the party of Satan. No indeed! It is the party of Satan who are the losers. (Surat al-Mujadala, 19)\n\nIt is for this reason that, when we look at Satan's character, we can also recognize several features also common to the hypocrites. Like Satan, the hypocrites utter inconsistent and contradictory statements, as well as behave strangely. The most significant feature they share in common is a superiority-complex. As we know, Satan refused to prostrate himself before the Prophet Adam (as), because of his errant tendency to regard himself as superior. This insolence of his is referred to in Surah Sad:\n\nSo the angels prostrated, all of them together. Except for Iblis who was arrogant and was one of the unbelievers. He said, \"Iblis, what prevented you prostrating to what I created with My own Hands? Were you overcome by arrogance or are you one of the exalted?\" He [Satan] said, \"I am better than him. You created me from fire but You created him from clay.\" (Surah Sad, 73-76)\n\nThis arrogance is also referred to in other verses. For instance, from Satan's response we can discern that he did not think it fitting for him to prostrate himself before the Prophet Adam (as) (Surat al-Isra\u00b4, 61). The words, \"... I will not prostrate to a human being whom You have created out of dried clay formed from fetid black mud...\" (Surat al-Hijr, 33), which are repeated in another verse, demonstrate this arrogance of Satan's even more clearly. This response was the fruit of Satan's inexplicable form of logic. Interestingly enough, careful examination of his statements, as referred to in these verses, shows that he was certain of Allah's existence, and that He is his Creator. He fears Allah, but, out pride, refuses to obey him. As has already been made clear, despite being cognizant of these truths, his desire for self-aggrandizement, that is, the way he regarded himself superior to man on the basis of a mere difference in physical make-up, his envy of the status afforded to man, his unwillingness to prostrate himself before him, because of that deviance, and thus, his opposition to the command of Allah, all place him in the worst ranks of created entities. His response is impudent and a show of gross ingratitude. That same false logic can be discerned in the hypocrites. Like Satan, the hypocrites regard themselves to be \"superior,\" \"different,\" and \"chosen.\" For example, when the hypocrites, according to the 13th verse of Surat al-Baqara, were called upon to have faith as other people had, they described the believers as \"fools,\" and refused to be ranked among them. The verse in question reads:\n\nWhen they are told, \"Believe in the way that the people believe,\" they say, \"What! Are we to believe in the way that fools believe?\" No indeed! They are the fools, but they do not know it. (Surat al-Baqara, 13)\n\nThe hypocrites seek to ease their consciences in this manner because they have no faith. Maintaining, or more correctly, trying to convince themselves, that they are superior while believers are inferior, they refuse to follow the path taken by believers. The real reason why they described the believers as \"fools\" was their desire not to believe as they had, in other words, not to follow the messenger. The fact is, though, that in the Hereafter superiority will belong only to Allah, His Prophet (saas), and the believers. This certainty is revealed in the Qur'an as follows:\n\nThey say, \"If we return to Madina, the mightier will drive out the inferior.\" But all might belongs to Allah and to His Messenger and the believers. But the hypocrites do not know this. (Surat al-Munafiqun, 8)\n\nThey Oppose the Messenger\n\nObedience to the prophets of Allah is one of the foremost stipulations demanded in the Qur'an. Among the worst traits of the hypocrites is their violation of this provision, and their rebellion against the messengers. Because, rebellion against the messenger is rebellion against Allah. Iblis also opposed Allah by refusing to prostrate himself before the Prophet Adam (as)\u2014or to accept his superior rank. Both the hypocrites and Satan are to be punished because they refuse to cooperate with another being they had been commanded by Allah to obey. Actually, the hypocrites are unable to even comprehend that obedience to the messenger is obedience to Allah (Surat an-Nisa\u00b4, 80). The envy they hide prevents them from following another human being. The fact is, however, that obedience to the messenger is one of the most insisted upon commandments in the Qur'an. Because, though the messenger is a human being, he has been specifically chosen to communicate the message of Allah's true religion. The responsibility of others towards him is unquestioning obedience. This Allah has revealed in the following manner:\n\nWe sent no Messenger except to be obeyed by Allah's permission. If only when they wronged themselves they had come to you and asked Allah's forgiveness and the Messenger had asked forgiveness for them they would have found Allah Ever-Returning, Most Merciful. (Surat an-Nisa\u00b4, 64)\n\nIt is revealed in the subsequent verse that those who found resistance within themselves to what the messenger had decided cannot be regarded as having faith:\n\nNo, by your Lord, they are not believers until they make you their judge in the disputes that break out between them, and then find no resistance within themselves to what you decide and submit themselves completely. (Surat an-Nisa\u00b4, 65)\n\nWe have already referred to a similarity that exists between the manner of rebellion of Satan and the hypocrites. Likewise, there is a similarity between the sincere believers and angels. Because, when the angels received the command to prostrate themselves before the Prophet Adam (as), they did so in full submission. This obedience on the part of the angels, in contradistinction to the disobedience of Satan, is referred to here in the Qur'an:\n\nWe said to the angels, \"Prostrate to Adam!\" and they prostrated, with the exception of Iblis. He refused and was arrogant and was one of the disbelievers. (Surat al-Baqara, 34)\n\nSimilarly, true believers obey the messenger of Allah unquestioningly. The words of believers in this regard are reported in Surat al-Baqara:\n\n... \"We do not differentiate between any of His Messengers.\" And they say, \"We hear and we obey.\" (Surat al-Baqara, 285)\n\nTheir Irrational Rebellion\n\nWe have already seen how Satan was surprisingly illogical when he chose to rebel. Recognizing the existence and might of Allah, though still rebelling against Him is, as we have already made clear, a most irrational act. However, this inexplicable reasoning is not peculiar to Satan alone. Satan's legions, the hypocrites, also engage in behavior that is inexplicable. As Satan rebelled knowingly, had the impudence to question the command of Allah, refused to beg forgiveness, persisted in his sin despite knowing it to be an offence, thinking nevertheless he had suffered an injustice, regarding himself as being in the right, seeking to mislead others into the same destitution... in these the hypocrites follow Satan in every regard:\n\nThey are like Satan when he says to a human being, \"Disbelieve,\" and then when he disbelieves, says, \"I wash my hands of you. Truly I fear Allah, the Lord of all the worlds.\" (Surat al-Hashr, 16)\n\nThe hypocrites possess the same knowledge as Satan. Satan knows of the might of Allah, and of Paradise and Hell. Like Satan, the hypocrites are also aware of Allah's existence, His book, His commandments, and even His messenger. There may even be those among the hypocrites who have memorized the Qur'an by heart. Nevertheless, all fall into the worst rank among all created beings in opposing the will of Allah. Indeed, the punishment they will eventually receive is even worse, for having turned away knowingly from the true path. Another extraordinary perversion found in the hypocrites is that, after recognizing Allah and His messenger, they then accuse them of deception. When the hypocrites, as described in Surat al-Ahzab, encountered the enemy, it was this sort of deviance that could be discerned among them. It must also not be forgotten that, in all other circumstances, these people behave like believers, appear on the surface to be obeying the messenger along with the other believers, and are able to conceal the sickness in their hearts, though only as long as there is opportunity to excite their base desires. As has been revealed in a verse of the Qur'an, during the period of the Prophet (saas), in the event of war, the wickedness of the hypocrites then became evident:\n\nWhen the hypocrites and people with sickness in their hearts said, \"What Allah and His Messenger promised us was mere delusion.\" (Surat al-Ahzab, 12)\n\nSatan's obstinacy in his rebellion, present despite his knowledge of the existence of Allah, can also be discovered in other actions of the hypocrites. For example, there were hypocrites who, in addition to accepting the messenger of Allah, also witnessed Allah's revelation to him. These hypocrites were certain of the truth of that revelation. Indeed, so certain of that truth were they, that they feared that the messenger would be informed of the sickness in their hearts, again by means of revelation:\n\nThe hypocrites are afraid that a sura may be sent down about them, informing them of what is in their hearts. Say: \"Go on mocking! Allah will expose everything you are afraid of.\" (Surat at-Tawba, 64)\n\nAnother example of the sickness of the hypocrites is given in Surat al-Ma\u00b4ida. The hypocrites among the people of the Prophet Musa (as) were so corrupt as to tell him \"... So you and your Lord go and fight. We will stay sitting here...\" (Surat al-Ma\u00b4ida, 24) when they received the command to go to war. Although they recognized Allah and His Prophet (saas), these people, too, shamelessly rebelled against His commandments. Similarly, another group of hypocrites, from the time of our Prophet (saas), are referred to as having been terrified by and resisting the call to wage holy war against the unbelievers:\n\n... Then when fighting is prescribed for them, a group of them fear people as Allah should be feared, or even more than that. They say, \"Our Lord, why have you prescribed fighting for us? If only You would give us just a little more time!\" Say, \"The enjoyment of this world is very brief. The Hereafter is better for those who guard against evil. You will not be wronged by so much as the smallest speck.\" (Surat an-Nisa\u00b4, 77)\n\nClearly, their reactions were improper, in questioning the commandments of Allah. The truly significant point here though is, that the hypocrites, who did not wish to go to war alongside the Prophet (saas), did not deny the existence of Allah, neither were some opposed to waging war in His cause. Outwardly, one would presume that all they wanted was for the war to be postponed. For example, in saying \"... Do not go out to fight in the heat...\" (Surat at-Tawba, 81) they might appear to want to wage war in more suitable circumstances. That wish, however, which would otherwise appear perfectly reasonable, actually revealed the sickness they concealed in their hearts. Allah revealed His judgment on these people:\n\n... \"The Fire of Hell is much hotter, if they only understood.\" (Surat at-Tawba, 81)\n\nThese may be able to gain adherents. Yet, no matter how many supporters they attract through their false-pretexts, they only convince others like themselves, who also harbor a sickness in their hearts. This group, which opposed the command of Allah's Prophet (saas), were mired in confusion. Because, irrespective of conditions, the commands of His Prophet (saas) were to be obeyed. Another group of hypocrites, also during the time of our Prophet (saas), was those who claimed their homes were not secure, as an excuse for not going to war:\n\nAnd a group of them said, \"People of Yathrib, Your position is untenable so return!\" some of them asked the Prophet to excuse them, saying, \"Our houses are exposed,\" when they were not exposed; it was merely that they wanted to run away. (Surat al-Ahzab, 13)\n\nOne who has sincerely submitted himself to Allah will certainly not seek an excuse by which to not join in striving in the way of Allah. Only one who has not fully submitted to Allah, and has not fully comprehended His might, will seek such a discharge. The reluctance displayed by the hypocrites in the time of our Prophet (saas), when the call to war was made, clearly demonstrated the cunning effects of Iblis upon their hearts. They Deceive Themselves\n\nAnother action impossible to understand from among the hypocrites, who are Satan's minions, is their tendency to imagine they have deceived Allah. This self-delusion of theirs is described as follows in the Qur'an:\n\nThey think they deceive Allah and those who believe. They deceive no one but themselves but they are not aware of it. (Surat al-Baqara, 9)\n\nHere we encounter a rather astonishing truth. It is hugely irrational for one to imagine he has deceived Allah, He Who created him. Because, Allah is He Who knows \"what the heart contains\" (Surah Fatir, 38) and \"your secrets and what is even more concealed\" (Surah Ta Ha, 7). This sort of thinking on the part of the hypocrites, though quite inexplicable, is nothing but self-deception. Hypocrites often claim to have fear of Allah. Yet, none among them exhibits harboring such fear in their actions. This is yet another feature which hypocrites share with Satan. Despite declaring that he fears Allah, Satan nevertheless commits terrible crimes, such as encouraging people to rebel. Instead of begging for Allah's forgiveness, he seeks to turn people from His path. Here is a further similarity he shares with the hypocrites: having no fear of Allah, nor showing that fear in their behavior, despite being aware of Allah's might. This irrational lack of fear at times prompts the hypocrites to try to deceive Allah. The case of the mindset of the hypocrites referred to in Surat at-Tawba is one instance of this. Under the pretense of giving to charity and spending of their wealth in His cause, it is increase in property which they seek from Allah. When Allah increases their wealth, they become miserly, thus failing in their promise to Him. Among them there were some who made an agreement with Allah: \"If He gives us of His bounty we will definitely give charity and be among the righteous.\" But when He does give them of His bounty they are tight-fisted with it and turn away. (Surat at-Tawba, 75-76)\n\nThey imagine they have deceived Allah. The fact is, however, that, in return for their misdeeds, Allah will punish severely those who seek to sow discord by making them victims themselves of that which they seek to foment. These people, while pursuing the fulfillment of their own base desires, are unaware that they are jeopardizing the life they will live in eternity, being like other hypocrites, in merely deceiving themselves. Their condition is revealed in the Qur'an:\n\nSo He has punished them by putting hypocrisy in their hearts until the day they meet Him because they failed Allah in what they promised Him and because they lied. (Surat at-Tawba, 77)\n\nThey Form False Interpretations\n\nThe Arabic word tawil means \"explanation,\" \"interpretation.\" A second meaning is a person's refusal to admit to an error out of a lack of sincerity, and then offering unfounded excuses to justify their mendacity. Careful consideration of the matter, though, will reveal that the first being ever to commit such falsehood was Satan. As we already reviewed, Satan opposed Allah's command to prostrate himself before the Prophet Adam (as). Then, when he was warned by Allah, he utterly refused to admit to his error, but attempted instead to portray his action as correct. In accordance to his deviant logic, he attempted to show that he was in the right by maintaining that fire is superior to clay. This tendency in Satan is also to be discovered in the hypocrites. They also engage in illogical arguments and inexplicable behavior. In order to protect their own interests, and portray themselves as being in the right, they pour forth Satanic type responses from the minute they open their mouths. Their efforts to defend and justify themselves are consumed with a rage. And, by way of that sentiment, they are prone to all kinds of despicable behavior, like lies and slander. They contrive responses completely removed from the truth of the situation. The constriction of the conscience of those who knowingly formulate false interpretations is easily discerned in their faces and the words they utter. They attempt to show themselves as being in the right by making use of unsound and ludicrous logic. Ultimately, no part of their utterances are valid. And, by the will of Allah, these will be identified by sincere believers for what they truly are. The insincerity of the hypocrites is referred to in several verses of the Qur'an. The hypocrites at the time of our Prophet (saas), who had claimed in time of war that their houses were exposed (Surat al-Ahzab, 13), who cited the condition of the weather as an excuse (Surat at-Tawba, 81), who wanted to postpone the war (Surat an-Nisa\u00b4, 77), and who said they would have joined in the expedition if they had been sufficiently prepared (Surat at-Tawba, 42), are just a few of the examples mentioned. No matter what the excuses, however, those who avoid embarking on the path of Allah have no faith in their hearts. Allah reveals this fact in the Qur'an as follows:\n\nThose who believe in Allah and the Last Day do not ask you to excuse them from striving with their wealth and themselves. Allah knows the people who guard against evil. Only those who do not believe in Allah and the Last Day ask you to excuse them. Their hearts are full of doubt and in their doubt they waver to and fro. (Surat at-Tawba, 44-45)\n\nThe situation mentioned in this verse is yet another indication of the manner in which the hypocrites are deficient in their understanding. Because, one who formulates false interpretations of the religion only deceives himself and others, even though he seeks through various methods to portray himself as being in the right. In truth, however, they can never deceive Allah, Who knows what the heart contains (Surat al-Ma\u00b4ida, 7). Allah revealed the following on that subject:\n\nDo you not see those who claim to be purified? No, Allah purifies whoever He wills. They will not be wronged by so much as the smallest speck. (Surat an-Nisa\u00b4, 49)\n\nThey Imagine Themselves to Have Suffered an Injustice\n\nThe reason why Satan refused to prostrate himself before the Prophet Adam (as) is that he thinks it an injustice done to him. Hypocrites offer the same claim. It is a show of exceeding ingratitude to suppose what they have of Allah, their Creator, Who has sent His messenger to lead them to the true path. This condition of theirs is revealed in Surat an-Nur:\n\nIs there a sickness in their hearts or do they have misgivings or do they fear that Allah and His Messenger will be unjust to them? No, it is simply that they are wrongdoers. (Surat an-Nur, 50)\n\nThey Suffer Physically\n\nSatan inflicts severe physical harm on the hypocrites. Because they are psychologically imbalanced, they are easily demoralized. The resulting symptoms can been seen in their eye, giving them the appearance of suffering from some sort of mental illness. Intense over-excitement, or fear, anxiety and restlessness are all conflicting feelings which then show themselves in their faces and physical selves. They will often squint, their mouths may be dry, and their cheek or lips twitch uncontrollably. Heightened wear of their skin tissue gives them an unhealthy appearance. Their mental state, resulting from the corruptive suggestions insinuated to them by Satan, weakens their bodies' immune system. The result is feeble and weary body. Their faces are sallow and unhealthy. When sometimes, they are miserable and depressed, at other times they are out of control and practically insane with exuberance. Their facial expressions vary significantly. Some wear a sly smile, while others may appear neurotic. Each is more repulsive and unpleasant than the last. Combining their distorted facial expressions with their bodily dysfunction, they can easily be recognized. This is indicated in the Qur'an:\n\nIf We wished, We would show them to you and you would know them by their mark and know them by their ambivalent speech. Allah knows your actions. (Surah Muhammad, 30)\n\nThey Believe They Are on the True Path\n\nIn addition to their corrupt thinking, as well as doubts and unsound logic, the hypocrites share still another characteristic in common, being again an incomprehensible self-delusion. Hypocrites actually believe themselves to be on the true path. The reason why hypocrites believe this of themselves is revealed in the Qur'an. Hypocrites, in actuality, are under the sway of Satan, having become his friends. One so close to Satan as to be his friend will, evidently, behave much under his influence. So effective is this influence that it makes hypocrites falsely believe that they are on the true path. This Allah has revealed in the Qur'an:\n\nIf someone shuts his eyes to the remembrance of the All-Merciful, We assign him a Satan who becomes his bosom friend. They debar them from the path, yet they still think they are guided. (Surat az-Zukhruf, 36-37)\n\nOne group He guided; but another group got the misguidance they deserved. They took the satans as friends instead of Allah and thought that they were guided. (Surat al-A`raf, 30)\n\nAs we may observe from these verses, no hypocrite will ever accept that he has committed a mistake. On the contrary, he will claim that he has acted in the name of Allah and His religion, to the point of even swearing to it by Allah. They are essentially not cognizant of their condition. Their reasoning powers are so confounded that, when they will be seized to be cast into to Hell on the Day of Judgment, they will again swear by Allah in defense of themselves:\n\nOn the Day Allah raises up all of them together they will swear to Him just as they have sworn to you and imagine they have something to stand upon. No indeed! It is they who are the liars. (Surat al-Mujadala, 18)\n\nHypocrites are unaware that Satan deceived them by making use of Allah's name. They will only realize this truth in the Hereafter. The exchange that which will take place between the believers and the hypocrites on the Day of Judgment has been revealed in the Qur'an:\n\nThat Day the men and women of the hypocrites will say to those who believe, \"Wait for us so that we can borrow some of your light.\" They will be told, \"Go back and look for light!\" And a wall will be erected between them with a gate in it, on the inside of which there will be mercy but before whose exterior lies the punishment. They [the hypocrites] will call out to them [the believers], \"Were we not with you?\" They will reply, \"Indeed you were. But you made trouble for yourselves and hung back and doubted and false hopes deluded you until Allah's command arrived. The Deluder deluded you about Allah.\" (Surat al-Hadid, 13-14)\n\nSATAN'S POWER IS WEAK\n\nThere is one truly important fact about Satan that must here be considered. Satan has no power independent from Allah. Allah created him, and holds him under His control. Satan's enmity is destined to test human beings. Those who imagine that Satan possesses some power independently from Allah are mistaken. They think that Satan is engaged in a struggle against Allah. Yet, the reason why Satan is unwilling that people live according to the religion of Allah is that he knows that it is in this way that he will wreak destruction upon them. There is no question, however, of whether or not Satan is hostile towards Allah. Ultimately, though, he is merely a being created by Allah, and pursues his objective only by His leave. When the time allotted him expires, Satan will be cast into Hell to suffer punishment, together with all those people he caused to stray from the true path. [Allah said,] \"I will fill up Hell with you and every one of them who follows you.\" (Surah Sad, 85)\n\nWhat must also not be forgotten is that Satan can exercise no power over believers. He only exercises power over those designated by Allah, in other words, those especially created by Him to be destined for Hell. Satan cannot cause any servant whom Allah has created to be a believer to go astray. All he can do is to be a means whereby a believer commits small errors during this trail that is his life in this world. Satan only has the power to cause those with sickness in their hearts to go astray. This fact is revealed in the Qur'an:\n\nHe [Satan] has no authority over those who believe and put their trust in their Lord. He only has authority over those who take him as a friend and associate others with Allah. (Surat an-Nahl, 99-100)\n\nIn another verse, it has been revealed that the believers cannot be led astray by Satan:\n\n[Allah said to Satan,] \"But as for My servants, you will not have any authority over them.\" Your Lord suffices as a guardian. (Surat al-Isra\u00b4, 65)\n\nBecause Satan is also, like man, a created being, infinite wisdom went into his creation, as in all things. For instance, the fact that a great segment of humanity will be cast into Hell, together with Satan, will heighten the gratitude of the believers on the Day of Judgment, and increase their appreciation for the Paradise prepared for them. At the same time, however, Satan brings it about that the hypocrites hidden among the believers be made known. By tempting such diseased hearts under his influence, he causes them to strive against the believers. Unable any longer to conceal themselves among the believers, they are thus discovered for who they are. Believers are also able to more easily identify this group they have been harboring within their midst. Moreover, the faith and nearness to Allah felt by the believers, who were on their guard for Satan's activities, and knew of his influence over the hypocrites, increases when they witness the realization of what had been revealed in the Qur'an:\n\n[It is] so that He can make what Satan insinuates a trial for those with sickness in their hearts and for those whose hearts are hard\u2014the wrongdoers are entrenched in hostility. And [it is] so that those who have been given knowledge will know it is the truth from their Lord and believe in it and their hearts will be humbled to Him. Allah guides those who believe to a straight path. (Surat al-Hajj, 53-54)\n\nThus the hypocrites act as a means to cleanse the community of the believers. It represents part of the wisdom in Allah allotting a period of time to Satan. Allah sets forth this truth in the Qur'an:\n\nIblis was correct in his assessment of them and they followed him, except for a group of the believers. He had no authority over them except to enable Us to know those who believe in the Hereafter from those who are in doubt about it. Your Lord is the Preserver of all things. (Surah Saba\u00b4, 20-21)\n\nAnother point on which the society of the ignorant are unaware is that Satan has no power to compel them. He can only make suggestions. If a person has a sickness in his heart then he is vulnerable to these insinuations. Other than that, Satan has no other power by which to coerce people to do anything. He knows that those who obey him, or even worship him, are actually faltering in complete ignorance. The ultimate avowal on the Day of Judgment that Satan will render onto those who followed him is revealed in the Qur'an:\n\nWhen the affair is decided Satan will say, \"Allah made you a promise, a promise of truth, and I made you a promise but broke my promise. I had no authority over you, except that I called you and you responded to me. Do not, therefore, blame me but blame yourselves. I cannot come to your aid nor you to mine. I reject the way you associated me with Allah before.\" The wrongdoers will have a painful punishment. (Surah Ibrahim, 22)\n\nTHE DECEPTION OF EVOLUTION\n\nDarwinism, in other words the theory of evolution, was put forward with the aim of denying the fact of creation, but is in truth nothing but failed, unscientific nonsense. This theory, which claims that life emerged by chance from inanimate matter, was invalidated by the scientific evidence of clear \"design\" in the universe and in living things. In this way, science confirmed the fact that Allah created the universe and the living things in it. The propaganda carried out today in order to keep the theory of evolution alive is based solely on the distortion of the scientific facts, biased interpretation, and lies and falsehoods disguised as science. Yet this propaganda cannot conceal the truth. The fact that the theory of evolution is the greatest deception in the history of science has been expressed more and more in the scientific world over the last 20-30 years. Research carried out after the 1980s in particular has revealed that the claims of Darwinism are totally unfounded, something that has been stated by a large number of scientists. In the United States in particular, many scientists from such different fields as biology, biochemistry and paleontology recognize the invalidity of Darwinism and employ the concept of intelligent design to account for the origin of life. This \"intelligent design\" is a scientific expression of the fact that Allah created all living things. We have examined the collapse of the theory of evolution and the proofs of creation in great scientific detail in many of our works, and are still continuing to do so. Given the enormous importance of this subject, it will be of great benefit to summarize it here. The Scientific Collapse of Darwinism\n\nAlthough this doctrine goes back as far as ancient Greece, the theory of evolution was advanced extensively in the nineteenth century. The most important development that made it the top topic of the world of science was Charles Darwin's The Origin of Species, published in 1859. In this book, he denied that Allah created different living species on Earth separately, for he claimed that all living beings had a common ancestor and had diversified over time through small changes. Darwin's theory was not based on any concrete scientific finding; as he also accepted, it was just an \"assumption.\" Moreover, as Darwin confessed in the long chapter of his book titled \"Difficulties of the Theory,\" the theory failed in the face of many critical questions. Darwin invested all of his hopes in new scientific discoveries, which he expected to solve these difficulties. However, contrary to his expectations, scientific findings expanded the dimensions of these difficulties. The defeat of Darwinism in the face of science can be reviewed under three basic topics:\n\n1) The theory cannot explain how life originated on Earth. 2) No scientific finding shows that the \"evolutionary mechanisms\" proposed by the theory have any evolutionary power at all. 3) The fossil record proves the exact opposite of what the theory suggests. In this section, we will examine these three basic points in general outlines:\n\nThe First Insurmountable Step: The Origin of Life\n\nThe theory of evolution posits that all living species evolved from a single living cell that emerged on the primitive Earth 3.8 billion years ago. How a single cell could generate millions of complex living species and, if such an evolution really occurred, why traces of it cannot be observed in the fossil record are some of the questions that the theory cannot answer. However, first and foremost, we need to ask: How did this \"first cell\" originate? Since the theory of evolution denies creation and any kind of supernatural intervention, it maintains that the \"first cell\" originated coincidentally within the laws of nature, without any design, plan or arrangement. According to the theory, inanimate matter must have produced a living cell as a result of coincidences. Such a claim, however, is inconsistent with the most unassailable rules of biology. \"Life Comes From Life\"\n\nIn his book, Darwin never referred to the origin of life. The primitive understanding of science in his time rested on the assumption that living beings had a very simple structure. Since medieval times, spontaneous generation, which asserts that non-living materials came together to form living organisms, had been widely accepted. It was commonly believed that insects came into being from food leftovers, and mice from wheat. Interesting experiments were conducted to prove this theory. Some wheat was placed on a dirty piece of cloth, and it was believed that mice would originate from it after a while. Similarly, maggots developing in rotting meat was assumed to be evidence of spontaneous generation. However, it was later understood that worms did not appear on meat spontaneously, but were carried there by flies in the form of larvae, invisible to the naked eye. Even when Darwin wrote The Origin of Species, the belief that bacteria could come into existence from non-living matter was widely accepted in the world of science. However, five years after the publication of Darwin's book, Louis Pasteur announced his results after long studies and experiments, that disproved spontaneous generation, a cornerstone of Darwin's theory. In his triumphal lecture at the Sorbonne in 1864, Pasteur said: \"Never will the doctrine of spontaneous generation recover from the mortal blow struck by this simple experiment. \"3\n\nFor a long time, advocates of the theory of evolution resisted these findings. However, as the development of science unraveled the complex structure of the cell of a living being, the idea that life could come into being coincidentally faced an even greater impasse. Inconclusive Efforts of the Twentieth Century\n\nThe first evolutionist who took up the subject of the origin of life in the twentieth century was the renowned Russian biologist Alexander Oparin. With various theses he advanced in the 1930s, he tried to prove that a living cell could originate by coincidence. These studies, however, were doomed to failure, and Oparin had to make the following confession:\n\nUnfortunately, however, the problem of the origin of the cell is perhaps the most obscure point in the whole study of the evolution of organisms4. Evolutionist followers of Oparin tried to carry out experiments to solve this problem. The best known experiment was carried out by the American chemist Stanley Miller in 1953. Combining the gases he alleged to have existed in the primordial Earth's atmosphere in an experiment set-up, and adding energy to the mixture, Miller synthesized several organic molecules (amino acids) present in the structure of proteins. Barely a few years had passed before it was revealed that this experiment, which was then presented as an important step in the name of evolution, was invalid, for the atmosphere used in the experiment was very different from the real Earth conditions.5\n\nAfter a long silence, Miller confessed that the atmosphere medium he used was unrealistic.6\n\nAll the evolutionists' efforts throughout the twentieth century to explain the origin of life ended in failure. The geochemist Jeffrey Bada, from the San Diego Scripps Institute accepts this fact in an article published in Earth magazine in 1998:\n\nToday as we leave the twentieth century, we still face the biggest unsolved problem that we had when we entered the twentieth century: How did life originate on Earth?7\n\nThe Complex Structure of Life\n\nThe primary reason why the theory of evolution ended up in such a great impasse regarding the origin of life is that even those living organisms deemed to be the simplest have incredibly complex structures. The cell of a living thing is more complex than all of our man-made technological products. Today, even in the most developed laboratories of the world, a living cell cannot be produced by bringing organic chemicals together. The conditions required for the formation of a cell are too great in quantity to be explained away by coincidences. The probability of proteins, the building blocks of a cell, being synthesized coincidentally, is 1 in 10950 for an average protein made up of 500 amino acids. In mathematics, a probability smaller than 1 over 1050 is considered to be impossible in practical terms. The DNA molecule, which is located in the nucleus of a cell and which stores genetic information, is an incredible databank. If the information coded in DNA were written down, it would make a giant library consisting of an estimated 900 volumes of encyclopedias consisting of 500 pages each. A very interesting dilemma emerges at this point: DNA can replicate itself only with the help of some specialized proteins (enzymes). However, the synthesis of these enzymes can be realized only by the information coded in DNA. As they both depend on each other, they have to exist at the same time for replication. This brings the scenario that life originated by itself to a deadlock. Prof. Leslie Orgel, an evolutionist of repute from the University of San Diego, California, confesses this fact in the September 1994 issue of the Scientific American magazine:\n\nIt is extremely improbable that proteins and nucleic acids, both of which are structurally complex, arose spontaneously in the same place at the same time. Yet it also seems impossible to have one without the other. And so, at first glance, one might have to conclude that life could never, in fact, have originated by chemical means8. No doubt, if it is impossible for life to have originated from natural causes, then it has to be accepted that life was \"created\" in a supernatural way. This fact explicitly invalidates the theory of evolution, whose main purpose is to deny creation. Imaginary Mechanism of Evolution\n\nThe second important point that negates Darwin's theory is that both concepts put forward by the theory as \"evolutionary mechanisms\" were understood to have, in reality, no evolutionary power. Darwin based his evolution allegation entirely on the mechanism of \"natural selection.\" The importance he placed on this mechanism was evident in the name of his book: The Origin of Species, By Means of Natural Selection...\n\nNatural selection holds that those living things that are stronger and more suited to the natural conditions of their habitats will survive in the struggle for life. For example, in a deer herd under the threat of attack by wild animals, those that can run faster will survive. Therefore, the deer herd will be comprised of faster and stronger individuals. However, unquestionably, this mechanism will not cause deer to evolve and transform themselves into another living species, for instance, horses. Therefore, the mechanism of natural selection has no evolutionary power. Darwin was also aware of this fact and had to state this in his book The Origin of Species:\n\nNatural selection can do nothing until favourable individual differences or variations occur9. Lamarck's Impact\n\nSo, how could these \"favorable variations\" occur? Darwin tried to answer this question from the standpoint of the primitive understanding of science at that time. According to the French biologist Chevalier de Lamarck (1744-1829), who lived before Darwin, living creatures passed on the traits they acquired during their lifetime to the next generation. He asserted that these traits, which accumulated from one generation to another, caused new species to be formed. For instance, he claimed that giraffes evolved from antelopes; as they struggled to eat the leaves of high trees, their necks were extended from generation to generation. Darwin also gave similar examples. In his book The Origin of Species, for instance, he said that some bears going into water to find food transformed themselves into whales over time.10\n\nHowever, the laws of inheritance discovered by Gregor Mendel (1822-84) and verified by the science of genetics, which flourished in the twentieth century, utterly demolished the legend that acquired traits were passed on to subsequent generations. Thus, natural selection fell out of favor as an evolutionary mechanism. Neo-Darwinism and Mutations\n\nIn order to find a solution, Darwinists advanced the \"Modern Synthetic Theory,\" or as it is more commonly known, Neo-Darwinism, at the end of the 1930's. Neo-Darwinism added mutations, which are distortions formed in the genes of living beings due to such external factors as radiation or replication errors, as the \"cause of favorable variations\" in addition to natural mutation. Today, the model that stands for evolution in the world is Neo-Darwinism. The theory maintains that millions of living beings formed as a result of a process whereby numerous complex organs of these organisms (e.g., ears, eyes, lungs, and wings) underwent \"mutations,\" that is, genetic disorders. Yet, there is an outright scientific fact that totally undermines this theory: Mutations do not cause living beings to develop; on the contrary, they are always harmful. The reason for this is very simple: DNA has a very complex structure, and random effects can only harm it. The American geneticist B. G. Ranganathan explains this as follows:\n\nFirst, genuine mutations are very rare in nature. Secondly, most mutations are harmful since they are random, rather than orderly changes in the structure of genes; any random change in a highly ordered system will be for the worse, not for the better. For example, if an earthquake were to shake a highly ordered structure such as a building, there would be a random change in the framework of the building which, in all probability, would not be an improvement11. Not surprisingly, no mutation example, which is useful, that is, which is observed to develop the genetic code, has been observed so far. All mutations have proved to be harmful. It was understood that mutation, which is presented as an \"evolutionary mechanism,\" is actually a genetic occurrence that harms living things, and leaves them disabled. (The most common effect of mutation on human beings is cancer.) Of course, a destructive mechanism cannot be an \"evolutionary mechanism.\" Natural selection, on the other hand, \"can do nothing by itself,\" as Darwin also accepted. This fact shows us that there is no \"evolutionary mechanism\" in nature. Since no evolutionary mechanism exists, no such any imaginary process called \"evolution\" could have taken place. The Fossil Record: No Sign of Intermediate Forms\n\nThe clearest evidence that the scenario suggested by the theory of evolution did not take place is the fossil record. According to this theory, every living species has sprung from a predecessor. A previously existing species turned into something else over time and all species have come into being in this way. In other words, this transformation proceeds gradually over millions of years. Had this been the case, numerous intermediary species should have existed and lived within this long transformation period. For instance, some half-fish/half-reptiles should have lived in the past which had acquired some reptilian traits in addition to the fish traits they already had. Or there should have existed some reptile-birds, which acquired some bird traits in addition to the reptilian traits they already had. Since these would be in a transitional phase, they should be disabled, defective, crippled living beings. Evolutionists refer to these imaginary creatures, which they believe to have lived in the past, as \"transitional forms.\" If such animals ever really existed, there should be millions and even billions of them in number and variety. More importantly, the remains of these strange creatures should be present in the fossil record. In The Origin of Species, Darwin explained:\n\nIf my theory be true, numberless intermediate varieties, linking most closely all of the species of the same group together must assuredly have existed... Consequently, evidence of their former existence could be found only amongst fossil remains12. Darwin's Hopes Shattered\n\nHowever, although evolutionists have been making strenuous efforts to find fossils since the middle of the nineteenth century all over the world, no transitional forms have yet been uncovered. All of the fossils, contrary to the evolutionists' expectations, show that life appeared on Earth all of a sudden and fully-formed. One famous British paleontologist, Derek V. Ager, admits this fact, even though he is an evolutionist:\n\nThe point emerges that if we examine the fossil record in detail, whether at the level of orders or of species, we find\u2014over and over again\u2014not gradual evolution, but the sudden explosion of one group at the expense of another13. This means that in the fossil record, all living species suddenly emerge as fully formed, without any intermediate forms in between. This is just the opposite of Darwin's assumptions. Also, this is very strong evidence that all living things are created. The only explanation of a living species emerging suddenly and complete in every detail without any evolutionary ancestor is that it was created. This fact is admitted also by the widely known evolutionist biologist Douglas Futuyma:\n\nCreation and evolution, between them, exhaust the possible explanations for the origin of living things. Organisms either appeared on the earth fully developed or they did not. If they did not, they must have developed from pre-existing species by some process of modification. If they did appear in a fully developed state, they must indeed have been created by some omnipotent intelligence14. Fossils show that living beings emerged fully developed and in a perfect state on the Earth. That means that \"the origin of species,\" contrary to Darwin's supposition, is not evolution, but creation. The Tale of Human Evolution\n\nThe subject most often brought up by advocates of the theory of evolution is the subject of the origin of man. The Darwinist claim holds that modern man evolved from ape-like creatures. During this alleged evolutionary process, which is supposed to have started 4-5 million years ago, some \"transitional forms\" between modern man and his ancestors are supposed to have existed. According to this completely imaginary scenario, four basic \"categories\" are listed:\n\n1. Australopithecus\n\n2. Homo habilis\n\n3. Homo erectus\n\n4. Homo sapiens\n\nEvolutionists call man's so-called first ape-like ancestors Australopithecus, which means \"South African ape.\" These living beings are actually nothing but an old ape species that has become extinct. Extensive research done on various Australopithecus specimens by two world famous anatomists from England and the USA, namely, Lord Solly Zuckerman and Prof. Charles Oxnard, shows that these apes belonged to an ordinary ape species that became extinct and bore no resemblance to humans.15\n\nEvolutionists classify the next stage of human evolution as \"homo,\" that is \"man.\" According to their claim, the living beings in the Homo series are more developed than Australopithecus. Evolutionists devise a fanciful evolution scheme by arranging different fossils of these creatures in a particular order. This scheme is imaginary because it has never been proved that there is an evolutionary relation between these different classes. Ernst Mayr, one of the twentieth century's most important evolutionists, contends in his book One Long Argument that \"particularly historical [puzzles] such as the origin of life or of Homo sapiens, are extremely difficult and may even resist a final, satisfying explanation. \"16\n\nBy outlining the link chain as Australopithecus > Homo habilis > Homo erectus > Homo sapiens, evolutionists imply that each of these species is one another's ancestor. However, recent findings of paleoanthropologists have revealed that Australopithecus, Homo habilis, and Homo erectus lived at different parts of the world at the same time.17\n\nMoreover, a certain segment of humans classified as Homo erectus have lived up until very modern times. Homo sapiens neandarthalensis and Homo sapiens sapiens (modern man) co-existed in the same region.18\n\nThis situation apparently indicates the invalidity of the claim that they are ancestors of one another. A paleontologist from Harvard University, Stephen Jay Gould, explains this deadlock of the theory of evolution, although he is an evolutionist himself:\n\nWhat has become of our ladder if there are three coexisting lineages of hominids (A. africanus, the robust australopithecines, and H. habilis), none clearly derived from another? Moreover, none of the three display any evolutionary trends during their tenure on earth19. Put briefly, the scenario of human evolution, which is \"upheld\" with the help of various drawings of some \"half ape, half human\" creatures appearing in the media and course books, that is, frankly, by means of propaganda, is nothing but a tale with no scientific foundation. Lord Solly Zuckerman, one of the most famous and respected scientists in the U.K., who carried out research on this subject for years and studied Australopithecus fossils for 15 years, finally concluded, despite being an evolutionist himself, that there is, in fact, no such family tree branching out from ape-like creatures to man. Zuckerman also made an interesting \"spectrum of science\" ranging from those he considered scientific to those he considered unscientific. According to Zuckerman's spectrum, the most \"scientific\"\u2014that is, depending on concrete data\u2014fields of science are chemistry and physics. After them come the biological sciences and then the social sciences. At the far end of the spectrum, which is the part considered to be most \"unscientific,\" are \"extra-sensory perception\"\u2014concepts such as telepathy and sixth sense\u2014and finally \"human evolution.\" Zuckerman explains his reasoning:\n\nWe then move right off the register of objective truth into those fields of presumed biological science, like extrasensory perception or the interpretation of man's fossil history, where to the faithful [evolutionist] anything is possible\u2014and where the ardent believer [in evolution] is sometimes able to believe several contradictory things at the same time20. The tale of human evolution boils down to nothing but the prejudiced interpretations of some fossils unearthed by certain people, who blindly adhere to their theory. Darwinian Formula! Besides all the technical evidence we have dealt with so far, let us now for once, examine what kind of a superstition the evolutionists have with an example so simple as to be understood even by children:\n\nThe theory of evolution asserts that life is formed by chance. According to this claim, lifeless and unconscious atoms came together to form the cell and then they somehow formed other living things, including man. Let us think about that. When we bring together the elements that are the building-blocks of life such as carbon, phosphorus, nitrogen and potassium, only a heap is formed. No matter what treatments it undergoes, this atomic heap cannot form even a single living being. If you like, let us formulate an \"experiment\" on this subject and let us examine on the behalf of evolutionists what they really claim without pronouncing loudly under the name \"Darwinian formula\":\n\nLet evolutionists put plenty of materials present in the composition of living things such as phosphorus, nitrogen, carbon, oxygen, iron, and magnesium into big barrels. Moreover, let them add in these barrels any material that does not exist under normal conditions, but they think as necessary. Let them add in this mixture as many amino acids\u2014which have no possibility of forming under natural conditions\u2014and as many proteins\u2014a single one of which has a formation probability of 10-950\u2014as they like. Let them expose these mixtures to as much heat and moisture as they like. Let them stir these with whatever technologically developed device they like. Let them put the foremost scientists beside these barrels. Let these experts wait in turn beside these barrels for billions, and even trillions of years. Let them be free to use all kinds of conditions they believe to be necessary for a human's formation. No matter what they do, they cannot produce from these barrels a human, say a professor that examines his cell structure under the electron microscope. They cannot produce giraffes, lions, bees, canaries, horses, dolphins, roses, orchids, lilies, carnations, bananas, oranges, apples, dates, tomatoes, melons, watermelons, figs, olives, grapes, peaches, peafowls, pheasants, multicoloured butterflies, or millions of other living beings such as these. Indeed, they could not obtain even a single cell of any one of them. Briefly, unconscious atoms cannot form the cell by coming together. They cannot take a new decision and divide this cell into two, then take other decisions and create the professors who first invent the electron microscope and then examine their own cell structure under that microscope. Matter is an unconscious, lifeless heap, and it comes to life with Allah's superior creation. The theory of evolution, which claims the opposite, is a total fallacy completely contrary to reason. Thinking even a little bit on the claims of tevolutionists discloses this reality, just as in the above example. Technology in the Eye and the Ear\n\nAnother subject that remains unanswered by evolutionary theory is the excellent quality of perception in the eye and the ear. Before passing on to the subject of the eye, let us briefly answer the question of how we see. Light rays coming from an object fall oppositely on the eye's retina. Here, these light rays are transmitted into electric signals by cells and reach a tiny spot at the back of the brain, the \"center of vision.\" These electric signals are perceived in this center as an image after a series of processes. With this technical background, let us do some thinking. The brain is insulated from light. That means that its inside is completely dark, and that no light reaches the place where it is located. Thus, the \"center of vision\" is never touched by light and may even be the darkest place you have ever known. However, you observe a luminous, bright world in this pitch darkness. The image formed in the eye is so sharp and distinct that even the technology of the twentieth century has not been able to attain it. For instance, look at the book you are reading, your hands with which you are holding it, and then lift your head and look around you. Have you ever seen such a sharp and distinct image as this one at any other place? Even the most developed television screen produced by the greatest television producer in the world cannot provide such a sharp image for you. This is a three-dimensional, colored, and extremely sharp image. For more than 100 years, thousands of engineers have been trying to achieve this sharpness. Factories, huge premises were established, much research has been done, plans and designs have been made for this purpose. Again, look at a TV screen and the book you hold in your hands. You will see that there is a big difference in sharpness and distinction. Moreover, the TV screen shows you a two-dimensional image, whereas with your eyes, you watch a three-dimensional perspective with depth. For many years, tens of thousands of engineers have tried to make a three-dimensional TV and achieve the vision quality of the eye. Yes, they have made a three-dimensional television system, but it is not possible to watch it without putting on special 3-D glasses; moreover, it is only an artificial three-dimension. The background is more blurred, the foreground appears like a paper setting. Never has it been possible to produce a sharp and distinct vision like that of the eye. In both the camera and the television, there is a loss of image quality. Evolutionists claim that the mechanism producing this sharp and distinct image has been formed by chance. Now, if somebody told you that the television in your room was formed as a result of chance, that all of its atoms just happened to come together and make up this device that produces an image, what would you think? How can atoms do what thousands of people cannot? If a device producing a more primitive image than the eye could not have been formed by chance, then it is very evident that the eye and the image seen by the eye could not have been formed by chance. The same situation applies to the ear. The outer ear picks up the available sounds by the auricle and directs them to the middle ear, the middle ear transmits the sound vibrations by intensifying them, and the inner ear sends these vibrations to the brain by translating them into electric signals. Just as with the eye, the act of hearing finalizes in the center of hearing in the brain. The situation in the eye is also true for the ear. That is, the brain is insulated from sound just as it is from light. It does not let any sound in. Therefore, no matter how noisy is the outside, the inside of the brain is completely silent. Nevertheless, the sharpest sounds are perceived in the brain. In your completely silent brain, you listen to symphonies, and hear all of the noises in a crowded place. However, were the sound level in your brain was measured by a precise device at that moment, complete silence would be found to be prevailing there. As is the case with imagery, decades of effort have been spent in trying to generate and reproduce sound that is faithful to the original. The results of these efforts are sound recorders, high-fidelity systems, and systems for sensing sound. Despite all of this technology and the thousands of engineers and experts who have been working on this endeavor, no sound has yet been obtained that has the same sharpness and clarity as the sound perceived by the ear. Think of the highest-quality hi-fi systems produced by the largest company in the music industry. Even in these devices, when sound is recorded some of it is lost; or when you turn on a hi-fi you always hear a hissing sound before the music starts. However, the sounds that are the products of the human body's technology are extremely sharp and clear. A human ear never perceives a sound accompanied by a hissing sound or with atmospherics as does a hi-fi; rather, it perceives sound exactly as it is, sharp and clear. This is the way it has been since the creation of man. So far, no man-made visual or recording apparatus has been as sensitive and successful in perceiving sensory data as are the eye and the ear. However, as far as seeing and hearing are concerned, a far greater truth lies beyond all this. To Whom Does the Consciousness That Sees and Hears Within the Brain Belong? Who watches an alluring world in the brain, listens to symphonies and the twittering of birds, and smells the rose? The stimulations coming from a person's eyes, ears, and nose travel to the brain as electro-chemical nerve impulses. In biology, physiology, and biochemistry books, you can find many details about how this image forms in the brain. However, you will never come across the most important fact: Who perceives these electro-chemical nerve impulses as images, sounds, odors, and sensory events in the brain? There is a consciousness in the brain that perceives all this without feeling any need for an eye, an ear, and a nose. To whom does this consciousness belong? Of course it does not belong to the nerves, the fat layer, and neurons comprising the brain. This is why Darwinist-materialists, who believe that everything is comprised of matter, cannot answer these questions. For this consciousness is the spirit created by Allah, which needs neither the eye to watch the images nor the ear to hear the sounds. Furthermore, it does not need the brain to think. Everyone who reads this explicit and scientific fact should ponder on Almighty Allah, and fear and seek refuge in Him, for He squeezes the entire universe in a pitch-dark place of a few cubic centimeters in a three-dimensional, colored, shadowy, and luminous form. A Materialist Faith\n\nThe information we have presented so far shows us that the theory of evolution is a incompatible with scientific findings. The theory's claim regarding the origin of life is inconsistent with science, the evolutionary mechanisms it proposes have no evolutionary power, and fossils demonstrate that the required intermediate forms have never existed. So, it certainly follows that the theory of evolution should be pushed aside as an unscientific idea. This is how many ideas, such as the Earth-centered universe model, have been taken out of the agenda of science throughout history. However, the theory of evolution is kept on the agenda of science. Some people even try to represent criticisms directed against it as an \"attack on science.\" Why? The reason is that this theory is an indispensable dogmatic belief for some circles. These circles are blindly devoted to materialist philosophy and adopt Darwinism because it is the only materialist explanation that can be put forward to explain the workings of nature. Interestingly enough, they also confess this fact from time to time. A well-known geneticist and an outspoken evolutionist, Richard C. Lewontin from Harvard University, confesses that he is \"first and foremost a materialist and then a scientist\":\n\nIt is not that the methods and institutions of science somehow compel us accept a material explanation of the phenomenal world, but, on the contrary, that we are forced by our a priori adherence to material causes to create an apparatus of investigation and a set of concepts that produce material explanations, no matter how counter-intuitive, no matter how mystifying to the uninitiated. Moreover, that materialism is absolute, so we cannot allow a Divine Foot in the door21. These are explicit statements that Darwinism is a dogma kept alive just for the sake of adherence to materialism. This dogma maintains that there is no being save matter. Therefore, it argues that inanimate, unconscious matter created life. It insists that millions of different living species (e.g., birds, fish, giraffes, tigers, insects, trees, flowers, whales, and human beings) originated as a result of the interactions between matter such as pouring rain, lightning flashes, and so on, out of inanimate matter. This is a precept contrary both to reason and science. Yet Darwinists continue to defend it just so as \"not to allow a Divine Foot in the door.\" Anyone who does not look at the origin of living beings with a materialist prejudice will see this evident truth: All living beings are works of a Creator, Who is All-Powerful, All-Wise, and All-Knowing. This Creator is Allah, Who created the whole universe from non-existence, designed it in the most perfect form, and fashioned all living beings. The Theory of Evolution: The Most Potent Spell in the World\n\nAnyone free of prejudice and the influence of any particular ideology, who uses only his or her reason and logic, will clearly understand that belief in the theory of evolution, which brings to mind the superstitions of societies with no knowledge of science or civilization, is quite impossible. As explained above, those who believe in the theory of evolution think that a few atoms and molecules thrown into a huge vat could produce thinking, reasoning professors and university students; such scientists as Einstein and Galileo; such artists as Humphrey Bogart, Frank Sinatra and Luciano Pavarotti; as well as antelopes, lemon trees, and carnations. Moreover, as the scientists and professors who believe in this nonsense are educated people, it is quite justifiable to speak of this theory as \"the most potent spell in history.\" Never before has any other belief or idea so taken away peoples' powers of reason, refused to allow them to think intelligently and logically and hidden the truth from them as if they had been blindfolded. This is an even worse and unbelievable blindness than the Egyptians worshipping the Sun God Ra, totem worship in some parts of Africa, the people of Saba worshipping the Sun, the tribe of Prophet Ibrahim (as) worshipping idols they had made with their own hands, or the people of the Prophet Musa (as) worshipping the Golden Calf. In fact, Allah has pointed to this lack of reason in the Qur'an. In many verse, He reveals in many verses that some peoples' minds will be closed and that they will be powerless to see the truth. Some of these verses are as follows:\n\nAs for those who do not believe, it makes no difference to them whether you warn them or do not warn them, they will not believe. Allah has sealed up their hearts and hearing and over their eyes is a blindfold. They will have a terrible punishment. (Surat al-Baqara, 6-7)\n\n... They have hearts with which they do not understand. They have eyes with which they do not see. They have ears with which they do not hear. Such people are like cattle. No, they are even further astray! They are the unaware. (Surat al-A`raf: 179)\n\nEven if We opened up to them a door into heaven, and they spent the day ascending through it, they would only say: \"Our eyesight is befuddled! Or rather we have been put under a spell!\" (Surat al-Hijr, 14-15)\n\nWords cannot express just how astonishing it is that this spell should hold such a wide community in thrall, keep people from the truth, and not be broken for 150 years. It is understandable that one or a few people might believe in impossible scenarios and claims full of stupidity and illogicality. However, \"magic\" is the only possible explanation for people from all over the world believing that unconscious and lifeless atoms suddenly decided to come together and form a universe that functions with a flawless system of organization, discipline, reason, and consciousness; a planet named Earth with all of its features so perfectly suited to life; and living things full of countless complex systems. In fact, the Qur'an relates the incident of Prophet Musa and Pharaoh to show that some people who support atheistic philosophies actually influence others by magic. When Pharaoh was told about the true religion, he told Prophet Musa to meet with his own magicians. When Musa did so, he told them to demonstrate their abilities first. The verses continue:\n\nHe said: \"You throw.\" And when they threw, they cast a spell on the people's eyes and caused them to feel great fear of them. They produced an extremely powerful magic. (Surat al-A`raf, 116)\n\nAs we have seen, Pharaoh's magicians were able to deceive everyone, apart from Musa and those who believed in him. However, his evidence broke the spell, or \"swallowed up what they had forged,\" as the verse puts it. We revealed to Musa, \"Throw down your staff.\" And it immediately swallowed up what they had forged. So the Truth took place and what they did was shown to be false. (Surat al-A`raf, 117-118)\n\nAs we can see, when people realized that a spell had been cast upon them and that what they saw was just an illusion, Pharaoh's magicians lost all credibility. In the present day too, unless those who, under the influence of a similar spell, believe in these ridiculous claims under their scientific disguise and spend their lives defending them, abandon their superstitious beliefs, they also will be humiliated when the full truth emerges and the spell is broken. In fact, world-renowned British writer and philosopher Malcolm Muggeridge also stated this:\n\nI myself am convinced that the theory of evolution, especially the extent to which it's been applied, will be one of the great jokes in the history books in the future. Posterity will marvel that so very flimsy and dubious an hypothesis could be accepted with the incredible credulity that it has22. That future is not far off: On the contrary, people will soon see that \"chance\" is not a deity, and will look back on the theory of evolution as the worst deceit and the most terrible spell in the world. That spell is already rapidly beginning to be lifted from the shoulders of people all over the world. Many people who see its true face are wondering with amazement how they could ever have been taken in by it. They said, \"Glory be to You! We have no knowledge except\n\nwhat You have taught us. You are\n\nthe All-Knowing, the All-Wise.\" (Surat al-Baqara, 32)\n\n1 It is stated in the account that angels and jinn were created before man. There are two important details here which are usually misunderstood. The first is that the Prophet Adam (as), the first human being, was formed in a single act of creation, which was witnessed by the angels and Iblis. This is an important point to consider, because, certain circles, who concede to the theory of evolution, originally put forward in opposition to the idea of creation, make the mistake of maintaining that the Prophet Adam (as) emerged as the result of an evolutionary process. The second is that, contrary to what some people would have us believe, Iblis was not an angel, but a jinn, abiding in the same realm as the angels. That Iblis was a jinn was revealed in the 50th verse of Surat al-Kahf. Some have claimed that the jinns are actually angels. The fact is, however, as we learn from the Qur'an, that there is a distinction between the angels and the jinn. This distinction was referred to by angels themselves, as related in the Qur'an, in the 40th and 41st verse of Surah Saba'. There, it is stated that the father of the jinn was created from \"smokeless fire.\" For that reason, Iblis is evidently a jinn, not an angel. 2 The Arabic original of this expression is jahiliyyah, which refers to the \"time of ignorance\" before the coming of Islam. The word jahiliyyah also refers to the state of affairs characterized by a lack of moral perception. 3 Sidney Fox, Klaus Dose, Molecular Evolution and The Origin of Life, W.H. Freeman and Company, San Francisco, 1972, p. 4. 4 Alexander I. Oparin, Origin of Life, Dover Publications, NewYork, 1936, 1953 (reprint), p. 196. 5 \"New Evidence on Evolution of Early Atmosphere and Life\", Bulletin of the American Meteorological Society, vol 63, November 1982, p. 1328-1330. 6 Stanley Miller, Molecular Evolution of Life: Current Status of the Prebiotic Synthesis of Small Molecules, 1986, p. 7\n\n7 Jeffrey Bada, Earth, February 1998, p. 40. 8 Leslie E. Orgel, \"The Origin of Life on Earth\", Scientific American, vol. 271, October 1994, p. 78. 9 Charles Darwin, The Origin of Species by Means of Natural Selection, The Modern Library,NewYork,p. 127. 10 Charles Darwin, The Origin of Species: A Facsimile of the First Edition, Harvard University Press, 1964, p. 184. 11 B. G. Ranganathan, Origins?, Pennsylvania: The Banner Of Truth Trust, 1988, p. 7. 12 Charles Darwin, The Origin of Species: A Facsimile of the First Edition, Harvard University Press, 1964, p. 179. 13 Derek A. Ager, \"The Nature of the Fossil Record\", Proceedings of the British Geological Association, vol 87, 1976, p. 133. 14 Douglas J. Futuyma, Science on Trial, Pantheon Books, New York, 1983. p. 197. 15 Solly Zuckerman, Beyond The Ivory Tower, Toplinger Publications, New York, 1970, pp. 75-14; Charles E. Oxnard, \"The Place of Australopithecines in Human Evolution: Grounds for Doubt\", Nature, vol 258, p. 389. 16 \"Could science be brought to an end by scientists' belief that they have final answers or by society's reluctance to pay the bills?\" Scientific American, December 1992, p. 20. 17 Alan Walker, Science, vol. 207, 7 March 1980, p. 1103; A. J. Kelso, Physical Antropology, 1st ed., J. B. Lipincott Co., New York, 1970, p. 221; M. D. Leakey, Olduvai Gorge, vol. 3, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 1971, p. 272. 18 Jeffrey Kluger, \"Not So Extinct After All: The Primitive Homo Erectus May Have Survived Long Enough To Coexist With Modern Humans\", Time, 23 December 1996. 19 S. J. Gould, Natural History, vol. 85, 1976, p. 30. 20 Solly Zuckerman, Beyond The Ivory Tower, p. 19. 21 Richard Lewontin, \"The Demon-Haunted World,\" The New York Review of Books, January 9, 1997, p. 28. 22 Malcolm Muggeridge, The End of Christendom, Grand Rapids:Eerdmans, 1980, p. 43.",
-        "I discovered that he and I had qualifications in psychology": "I discovered that he and I had qualifications in psychology in common. What interested me is that, _in spite of 17 years of meditation in an ashram, he had not had any 'transcendental experiences' (his words)._\n\nWhen I returned to the ashram a couple of years later, we talked about his experience at an ashram in India in the interim period. It was comparable to his Australian experience. Now, he was to be sent to yet another ashram. The dedication of these sunyasins is impressive. His experience, however, confirmed my feeling that, _no matter the path followed in the search for spiritual enlightenment, one could realistically expect to spend considerable periods on 'treadmills' going nowhere fast._\n\nYet, **on this visit, which was a silent retreat over a long Easter weekend, I had a most inspiring psychic exposure, during meditation, to one of the deities of Hinduism. ** I know that these deities are only representations of the one and only Creator God of all that is, an 'unknowable' God accepted as omnipresent, omniscient and omnipotent. _I have been writing prodigiously ever since \u2013 over 20 years!_\n\nThe message? Go, with faith, wherever the currents in the ocean of existence take you. ###  A Seeker wanders and wonders \u2013 cremation and compassion\n\n**A sofrologist friend (a medico who uses hypnotherapy to treat his patients) sought to help me with my stress. ** _Under hypnosis, I learnt to deal with an unhappy memory thus. I was to place this memory on a stage, and close the curtains, saying 'The show is over.' That process did help._\n\nFollowing the logic of that useful approach, **I subsequently decided to conduct a mental cremation ceremony for each bothersome memory. ** Having participated in cremation ceremonies, I believed that anything cremated could not possibly gather itself and re-appear (as might anything buried). _That approach was indeed successful._\n\n**I then joined a meditation group,** which included 2 Dutch people, one of whom was Jewish by faith. _I was able to still my ever-roving mind for short periods._ To my surprise, however, one of those present (an Irish Catholic) reported travelling all over the world during meditation! That was confusing. Years later, a young relative told me that _she travelled through space during meditation._ She too was comfortable with that experience. Yet, was this really a form of stilling the mind? When that group collapsed (through the untimely death of its organiser), **I joined a Buddhist meditation group**. The atmosphere there, which included the effects of incense and candles, was most conducive to meditation. _What did I expect to find from the meditation process, asked the instructor/guide._ I could possibly answer that question after the next 20,000 lifetimes, I suggested. As one crucially interested in the place of Mankind in the Cosmos, I do not expect any insight or enlightenment to be placed on a plate before any Seeker like myself. **The focus on the path to spirituality should surely be on the journey, not the destination. **\n\nYet, I remember reading about a colloquium held in Burma in the 18th or 19th century of the leaders of Buddhism from all over Asia. Apparently, they decided that nirvana could be achieved within a single lifetime! This meditation group collapsed when our guide, an Anglo-Australian lady, joined a Buddhist monastery. _The philosophy of Buddhism is known to attract many a Westerner. Compassion for one's fellow-humans (and other sentient beings) may be seen to be more attractive than calling out to God exclusively._\n\n###  A Seeker wanders and wonders \u2013 The destination\n\n_As a little boy, I would look to the sky and wonder where God is located._ Where else could He be? As I grew up, the then Stationary State cosmology did not put a dent in this belief. He was there somewhere. However, the Big Bang Theory 'upset the apple cart.' **God had now to be outside the physical Cosmos. Where? **\n\nWhen I then read that God is 'unknowable,' and lacking both form and substance, I wondered whether He is located in another dimension. Luckily, my cultural heritage did not promise everlasting bliss, or the possibility of sitting on God's knee, when I died. _But where would I be located before each re-birth? In the same or another dimension? Would I meet God there?_ The more one learns, the less one knows! The following conundrum applied when I contemplated the objective of meditation. Is there any point in seeking to still the mind when it is already at peace? Yet, I did hope to understand Reality (which must include both the material and the immaterial) through some process of awareness. However, Maya now clouds this objective. **Will whatever I perceive be real? **\n\nI then read that it is not the external, impermanent, even ephemeral sphere which is pertinent in the search for an awareness of Reality. _I noted that I should be seeking awareness within me \u2013 to reach that part of God, that amorphous essence pervading all of Creation, which is within me._ Is that the soul \u2013 the real me (who is in an existential transit through a spectrum of Earthly lives)? _When my mind, which is said to be only an instrument of Consciousness (that Ocean of Existence), finds my soul, would that be what is meant by 'Realisation'?_ When I still my mind to reach my soul \u2013 the presumed extension of God within me \u2013 would that be the ultimate destination of my peregrination through Existence? If this view is correct, would I not need to be adequately 'polished' before Mind meets Soul? **Or, is it the case that my soul is separate from that part of my Creator said to be within me? I now so believe! ** Perhaps I should cease being a Seeker, and sail my frail sampan on my personal river of destiny in calm contemplation, until its currents take me to where I must go \u2013 in due time! It is the journey, not the destination, which must be crucial to learning about ultimate Reality. _Isn't learning an enrichment of the soul?_\n\n###  A Seeker wanders and wonders \u2013 The pathway\n\nWhen one considers the long spans of time built into Hindu cosmology, and the reality (yes, the reality) that we humans will be reincarnated on Earth until we are adequately 'polished' to be able to return Home (the birthplace of our souls), **I wonder about any need to seek an understanding of Reality within a single lifetime, or even within a span of a number of lifetimes. ** _Yet, Hinduism offers a pathway for this search for Reality, while Ultimate Reality will surely await your return home._\n\n**But then, no matter how ready the boat you have acquired, you also need the tide to come in,** to take you to the Ocean of Consciousness. We are said to have arisen from that Ocean. After quite a number of Earthly lives, we could hope to return to that Ocean. _According to the spirit of a Native American named White Feather, the objective of life on Earth is moral cleansing (my interpretation of 'polishing')._ White Feather's message was channelled to an investigative group in England years ago. _While on Earth, it is apparently possible to apprehend Reality through deep meditation._ Described as 'Realisation,' it seems to require great preparation. Presumably, one's mind and soul would need to be cleansed of any psychological detritus in preparation. _What does one do with this awareness of Reality?_ It would seem that, as this process of becoming aware is beyond words (I can understand that), those who have come to 'know' cannot tell us \u2013 not in words anyway. Therefore, those who seek to explain to us about this awareness could not possibly know (so I have read). What then? _Would those with this awareness be required to remain on Earth as enlightened persons to guide the rest of us?_ I hope so. However, how would a Seeker of understanding find such an enlightened soul? When the time has come, would a guru subtly call the Seeker? ###  Advanced concepts found in Hindu writings\n\nI offer the following extracts from 'Advanced concepts in Hinduism' from the Internet. _It is incredible that, way back in time, unknown people in Asia had speculated successfully, or had been told by extra-terrestrials, about matters we consider scientific; and that modern discoveries confirm some of these speculations._\n\nThe following is an extract from the same site as the material below on the Vedas. **\"Advanced Scientific Concepts in Hindu Literature:**  \nSphericity of Earth, Earth as Flat at poles, Sun the center of the Solar System, Atoms, Universal Time Scale, The Expanding Egg, Concept of Trinity, Hundred thousandths of a second, Airplanes, Description of Tides, Botany and Biology, Electricity and others.\" The material below offers **a commentary on the Vedas,** ancient writings. \"The Vedas have guided Indian civilization for thousands of years. They are the pillars of Hinduism. 'Veda is the source of all Dharma' declares Manusmirti (2.6.) T _here is no major religion on the planet, which has not been influenced by the Vedas. The creation stories of all major religions are based on Vedas._\n\nThough all other religions have forgotten their Vedic root or have been forgotten, there is one religion, Hinduism, that has kept the flame of the Vedic wisdom burning continuously. _Vedas which means 'knowledge' contain a good deal of scientific knowledge that was lost over millennia,_ which needs to be recovered. The Vedic sages had discovered the subtle nature of reality, and had coded it in the form of the Vedas.\" \"According to Raja Ram Mohan Roy, author of Vedic Physics, \"The knowledge contained in the Vedas is very abstruse, and is well beyond the comprehension of ordinary human beings. Therefore, Vedic sages coded the knowledge in a simple form in which it could be understood by everyone. _The Rig Veda itself testifies that it has a hidden meaning in verse 4.3.16._ Sage Bharata in his Natyasastra 2.23 refers to the sages who knew the hidden meaning of the Vedas. This coding of knowledge proved to be very successful in disseminating the knowledge to common folk. This would also explain why extraordinary steps were taken to preserve the Vedas, and the honour given to the Vedas by Hindus, even though its meaning is little understood today. \"On the eve of the \"Mahabharata War\" our ancestors believed that their knowledge was in danger of being lost. They could have written it down, but writings could be destroyed. Therefore, it was memorized and passed on orally. Today, the Avesta, religious scripture of ancient Iranians, contains only a fraction of it. _Alexander captured Iran in 326 B.C. and after a bloody war, destroyed each copy of the Avesta available. \"_\n\n\"As in modern physics, Hindu cosmology envisaged the universe as having a cyclical nature. The end of each kalpa brought about by Shiva's dance is also the beginning of the next. Rebirth follows destruction.\" Author Dick Teresi says \"Indian cosmologists, the first to estimate the age of the earth at more than 4 billion years. They came closest to modern ideas of atomism, quantum physics, and other current theories. India developed very early, enduring atomist theories of matter. Possibly Greek atomistic thought was influenced by India, via the Persian civilization.\" ###  A theory of consciousness (Part 1)\n\nNot an easy concept to define, consciousness has been described as _the state of being awake and aware of what is happening around you, and of having a sense of self._ [Top 10 Mysteries of the Mind]\n\nThe 17th century French philosopher Ren\u00e9 Descartes proposed the notion of **\"cogito ergo sum\" (\"I think, therefore I am\")** , the idea that _the mere act of thinking about one's existence proves there is someone there to do the thinking._\n\n**Descartes also believed the mind was separate from the material body** \u2014 a concept known as mind-body duality \u2014 and that these realms interact in the brain's pineal gland. _Scientists now reject the latter idea, but some thinkers still support the notion that the mind is somehow removed from the physical world._\n\nBut while philosophical approaches can be useful, they do not constitute testable theories of consciousness, scientists say. \"The only thing you know is, 'I am conscious.' Any theory has to start with that,\" said Christof Koch, a neuroscientist and the chief scientific officer at the Allen Institute for Neuroscience in Seattle.\" _Comment:_  \nThe above is an extract from an article by Tanya Lewis titled 'Scientists closing in on science of Consciousness' dated 30 July 2014 on the www.livescience.com website. My interest was evoked when the insubstantial spirit of my uncle communicated with my clairvoyant, and also responded to something I had said. ###  A theory of consciousness (Part 2)\n\nMore from Tanya Lewis in Livescience.com (\"Scientists closing in on theory of Consciousness\")\n\n\" **Correlates of consciousness**  \nIn the last few decades, neuroscientists have begun to attack the problem of _understanding consciousness from an evidence-based perspective._ Many researchers have sought to discover specific neurons or behaviors that are linked to conscious experiences. _Recently, researchers discovered a brain area that acts as a kind of on-off switch for the brain. When they electrically stimulated this region, called the claustrum, the patient became unconscious instantly._ In fact, Koch and Francis Crick, the molecular biologist who famously helped discover the double-helix structure of DNA, had previously hypothesized that this region might integrate information across different parts of the brain, like the conductor of a symphony. But looking for neural or behavioral connections to consciousness isn't enough, Koch said. For example, such connections don't explain _why the cerebellum, the part of the brain at the back of the skull that coordinates muscle activity, doesn't give rise to consciousness, while the cerebral cortex (the brain's outermost layer) does._ This is the case even though the cerebellum contains more neurons than the cerebral cortex. Nor **do these studies explain how to tell whether consciousness is present,** such as in brain-damaged patients, other animals or even computers. Neuroscience needs a theory of consciousness that explains what the phenomenon is and what kinds of entities possess it, Koch said. And _currently, only two theories exist that the neuroscience community takes seriously,_ he said.\" ###  A theory of consciousness (Part 3)\n\n\" **Integrated information**  \nNeuroscientist Giulio Tononi of the University of Wisconsin-Madison developed one of the most promising theories for consciousness, known as integrated information theory. Understanding how the material brain produces subjective experiences, such as the color green or the sound of ocean waves, is what Australian philosopher David Chalmers calls the \"hard problem\" of consciousness. Traditionally, scientists have tried to solve this problem with a bottom-up approach. As Koch put it, \"You take a piece of the brain and try to press the juice of consciousness out of [it].\" But this is almost impossible, he said. In contrast, _integrated information theory starts with consciousness itself, and tries to work backward to understand the physical processes that give rise to the phenomenon,_ said Koch, who has worked with Tononi on the theory. **The basic idea is that conscious experience represents the integration of a wide variety of information, and that this experience is irreducible. ** This means that when you open your eyes (assuming you have normal vision), you can't simply choose to see everything in black and white, or to see only the left side of your field of view. _Instead, your brain seamlessly weaves together a complex web of information from sensory systems and cognitive processes._ Several studies have shown that you can measure the extent of integration using brain stimulation and recording techniques. The integrated information theory assigns a numerical value, \"phi,\" to the degree of irreducibility. If phi is zero, the system is reducible to its individual parts, but if phi is large, the system is more than just the sum of its parts. ( _Comment: Like a gestalt. )_\n\nThis system explains how consciousness can exist to varying degrees among humans and other animals. The theory incorporates some elements of panpsychism, the philosophy that the mind is not only present in humans, but in all things. ( _Comment: The human mind may be part of Consciousness, which pervades all existence. )_\n\nAn interesting corollary of integrated information theory is that no computer simulation, no matter how faithfully it replicates a human mind, could ever become conscious. Koch put it this way: \"You can simulate weather in a computer, but it will never be 'wet.'\" ( _Comment: Hear! Hear! )_\n\nThe above is also from Tanya Lewis on \"Scientists closing in on theory of consciousness\" (livescience.com)\n\n###  A theory of Consciousness (Part 4)\n\nMore from Tanya Lewis in 'livescience.com' (\"Scholars closing in on theory of Consciousness\")\n\n\" **Global workspace**  \n_Another promising theory suggests that consciousness works a bit like computer memory, which can call up and retain an experience even after it has passed._\n\nBernard Baars, a neuroscientist at the Neurosciences Institute in La Jolla, California, developed the theory, which is known as the _global workspace theory. This idea is based on an old concept from artificial intelligence called the_ _blackboard,_ _a memory bank_ _that different computer programs could access._\n\nAnything from the appearance of a person's face to a memory of childhood can be loaded into the brain's blackboard, where it can be sent to other brain areas that will process it. _According to Baars' theory, the act of broadcasting information around the brain from this memory bank is what represents consciousness._\n\nThe global workspace theory and integrated information theories are not mutually exclusive, Koch said. The first tries to explain in practical terms whether something is conscious or not, while the latter seeks to explain how consciousness works more broadly. 'At this point, both could be true,' Koch said.\" ( _Comment: As long as researchers limit themselves to the mechanistic material paradigm \u2013 reflected in the scientific method \u2013 and expect human consciousness to be explained by processes operating exclusively within the human brain, what are the chances of explaining my personal experience, facilitated and witnessed by a most reliable clairvoyant, of the spirit of my uncle displaying memories from his immediate past Earthly life?_\n\nI suggest that Cosmic Consciousness, all-pervasive and facilitative as both record and communication, wherein human memories are contained (as in the cloudland of computers), while yet linked to the relevant human brain while its holder is alive on Earth, explains the manifest memory of my uncle's spirit. That is, human memories are held outside the brain, while yet associated with brain during life. Proof? Only after we are able to explain the links between the 3 realms of human existence, the physical, the mental and the spiritual. ###  An alternative view of reality\n\nDavid Bohm, physicist, offers another view of Reality from that of current scientific thinking. (Refer David Lewis).\n\n\" _Reality, Bohm's work suggests, has a more subtle nature than that which can be defined by linear human thinking... Within the fabric of reality, Bohm found not just the wave/particle duality phenomenon... but also an interconnectedness, a Non-Space or Non-Local reality where only the appearance of waves also being particles exists. He saw, perhaps intuitively, that it is ultimately meaningless to see the universe as composed of parts, or disconnected, as everything is joined, space and time being composed of the same essence as matter. \"_\n\nSemantically, at this high level of abstraction \u2013 so it seems to me \u2013 I admit to being adrift. A 'Non-Space' or a 'Non-Local' reality? _As David Lewis says in this article from which I am quoting, 'The physicist as mystic' (in 'Forbidden history' edited by Douglas Kenyon),_ \"Reality, then, is not material... it is something far more ineffable... Mystics call it 'oneness.'\" More from Lewis: \" **Bohm evolved a yet more profound understanding, that of an interconnected whole with a conscious essence, where all matter and events interact with one another, because time, space, and distance are an illusion relative to perspective. ** He developed, in fact, a holographic model of the universe, in which the whole can be found in the most minute part \u2013 in a blade of grass or an atom \u2013 and where matter, circumstance, and dimension result from holographic projections of subtle but powerful conscious energy.\" _I think that I need 2 things. First, someone to translate the above in operational terms; then an explanation as to how I, and everything else of substance like me, exist in space._ Having once seen a holographic image of a tiny human performing on the stage in space (that is, he was there and yet not there), I can only remain in conceptual wonderment. I also remember reading that my elbow contains more space than substance; yet my 'tennis elbow' was most painful for months. That is, I (assuming I am a projection) did hurt. Perhaps I should just follow Hinduism's Upanishads and seek to apprehend Reality through deep meditation (even if I cannot talk about that experience). But, by what path would a follower of Bohm perceive Reality? This is a serious question. (Comment: **My belief \u2013 a statement which can be neither proven nor disproven \u2013 is that we humans are connected through co-creation, and through the ephemeral essence of our Creator being within each of us \u2013 as suggested by the metaphysics of Hinduism. ** Bohm's intuition should warrant further investigation, but not through the mechanistic-mechanical paradigm which now prevails. How then?) ###  An ethereal life in the 'Hereafter'\n\nSome relevant questions relating to the asserted ethereal existence after Earthly death arise. _Do the ethereal entities existing in an insubstantial universe meet and relate to one another? What would bring them together? Do they form collectives? How do they spend their time? Is time relevant for them? How long, in Earth times, would an entity spend in this environment? Most importantly, if there are opportunities for learning, how is that learning made possible?_ Are not these issues relevant for those who are not afraid to die? And who accept the probability of an existence without form or substance, as we know it on Earth. In this context, _the claim by the New Agers of the Western world about accessing what they refer to as the Akashic Record is not persuasive._ This claim reflects the ethos of individualism of the modern Westerner; that one can do, and be, whatever one wants. It also seems to be an optimistic extrapolation from the core beliefs of Hinduism. _Instead of accepting Karma or Destiny or Fate (each reflecting in diverse degrees the Law of Cause and Effect), this perspective encourages individuals to pull up their hiking or snow-field socks, and to march out of any marsh in which they might find themselves towards the light they seek. Admirable, but possibly unreal experientially._ But, why not indeed? After all, a substantial degree of free will is not denied by those who accept the karma of Hinduism as influential in their lives. However, the 'forest' faith of Hinduism and its associated or derivative forms do not have the authority of a Good Book akin to the Bible or Koran. Instead, a very wide raft of beliefs, and commentaries on epics offering moral guidance (such as the Bhagavadgita), with a core of mysticism surrounded by an armoury of rituals, permits most flexible interpretations of the reality underlying Earthly life. Ultimately, an understanding of the unity of all existence, of all things created, is said to be beyond words, to be 'Realised' only through a deep meditative process. Thus, _as said pithily by a recent commentator, those who come to know ultimate reality in this manner obviously cannot tell us about it._ The corollary is that those who seek to tell us about it could not possibly know. Putting aside for the moment the unclear concepts of 'reality' and spiritual 'Realisation,' there does seem to be plenty of scope here for learning, achievable through an individualistic path. **The objective of learning whilst in the hereafter? Apparently to bring the learning back to Earth for the benefit of self and others during one's next life. To what ultimate end? To be progressively purified spiritually (thereby morally as well), and thus to eventually qualify to rejoin that Ocean of Consciousness from which we are alleged to have arisen. ** So it has been claimed. The proof? Ah, the mystery of a transmogrification of a material existence on solid Earth to an ethereal entity with a potential to progress spiritually whilst 'existing' in a domain lacking substance! Fascinating! ###  An image of God\n\nIf Man had been created in the image of God \u2013 see Genesis 1.27 in the Bible \u2013 would God necessarily have both substance and form, as mankind does? If not (obviously), what other attributes would be relevant in conceiving an image of our Creator? **On the other hand, Zachariah Sitchin tells us that the Anunnaki from planet Nibiru had created 'the Adam' about 300,000 years ago. ** He said that 'the Anunnaki had jumped the gun on Evolution through genetic engineering.' _'By mixing genes extracted from the blood of a_ _god_ _with the 'essence' of an existing earthy being, \"The Adam\" was genetically engineered. '_\n\nThis 'god' was an Anunnaki, a giant. _Sitchin describes an assembled Great Anunnaki ('who administer destinies') as the Elohim, the 'Lofty Ones. '_ He quotes Genesis 1.26 thus. _'And Elohim said \"let us make an Adam in our image and after our likeness. \"'_\n\nLater, he refers to God as the 'Hebrew Yahweh Elohim.' This is confusing. Surely, God of the Bible would not have been related in any way to the Anunnaki 'gods'. Yet, the Bible seems to have drawn upon Sumerian writings to a large extent, while probably borrowing (as suggested by some writers) the mythology and other religio-cultural concepts of a few earlier tribal cultures in neighbouring terrain. This would be normal practice for all societies \u2013 like fusion cuisine, the borrowing of clothing styles, and adopting useful words from contiguous tribes. **Do those who are devoted to prayer or contemplation need an image, even a mental (possibly third-eye) image of God? ** Hinduism has images of deities who are only manifestations of an 'unknowable' God; while Buddhism has images (as I have read) of human attributes. Islam rejects images. _As a metaphysical Hindu, I do not need an image of God; I do not believe in an interventionist God._ I do not ask for anything; and I can offer thanks without focusing on any image. **Since God has neither form nor substance (in my view),** in order to aid my efforts to meditate, I use an image of Ganesha (from my boyhood temple-attending years) or Shiva (the dancing Nadaraja). All that I seek is an eventual merging with the Divine, soul to Soul! ###  An interventionist God? Having produced a 'bright' boy, who topped his class (bar once) every term, the young Hindu mother (like mothers in almost every culture) decided that her son would become a doctor. **To that end, he was despatched to the Pilleyar (Ganesh) temple once a week. He also accompanied his parents frequently to that, and another temple. ** The family also prayed each night at home before dinner. Their faith was total. **The son failed in his studies, as foretold (although indirectly) by a yogi. ** The reasons for that failure are both complex and incomprehensible. After all, _this boy, who had completed only primary school before the Japanese military occupation, had completed high school within 15 months after the end of WW2. He had, during that occupation, held his own in a technical college, against boys older by at least 2 years!_\n\nThe upshot? The total demolition of the young man's prospects of any sort of career, and almost total damage to his self-confidence; the family's financial future was doomed. With an only son seen as a pariah (social outcast), the mother suffered. The son gave up God. The mother persisted in her faith \u2013 to no avail. What was the use of all that faith and prayers? How could they now believe in an interventionist God? _In the light of Hinduism's concept of God (Brahman), there should be surely no scope for direct intervention._ Where then would intervention come from? From that part of God said to lie within the individual? Or, more likely, from the spirit world? Or, **is it the case that there can never be any intervention of any kind,** because the destined (self-created in part) river of each personal life must continue on its course, with (possibly) a degree of individual free will available to influence actions (and responses) offering some (marginal) positive outcomes, either in the present life or the next one? _One might conclude that the son's future prospects had to be destroyed, together with his mother's hopes, for reasons beyond rationale._ The Cosmos does what it does, and we will adapt \u2013 or not! ###  Analysing religions\n\n**There is a simple framework which defines religions. ** _At the simplest level, each faith can have its own path of prayer._ It can be structured, as in Christianity, or unstructured. Hindu prayer is free-form. _The objective of prayer is uniform across all faiths, ranging from seeking succour, to expressing gratitude, to hope for communion: variable in form, but united in intent._\n\n**At the highest of 3 levels is the metaphysical face of religion. ** The theology can be open-ended, permitting a plethora of interpretations, or be highly structured, even rigid. _The objective is explanation._ The belief systems are gloriously variable, reflecting the place and time of their origin, their passage through history, and the influences of the variable cultural conditions prevailing, the competition within and without each religion and, in some instances, the personal ambitions of the religious leaders. In some religions, the explanatory systems can be highly defensive, or even aggressive. Institutions do engender power; and power is persuasively pervasive, and can be intransigent. The brotherhood of Man is often lost in any expression of relative power. _The middle level, between the physical expression of faith and the attempted explanatory level, is the ethical._ It should enjoin proper conduct towards fellow-humans, in recognition of the evidence of co-creation of all humans. **In reality, the expression of fellowship can tend to be restricted to those who share the same sect, with some (perhaps concealed) disdain towards outsiders. **\n\nThose who are imbued with that innate tendency to reach out to fellow humans, irrespective of religious allegiance, have to cross the barrier set up by some of the controllers of the explanatory systems, the metaphysics. This framework for analysis is useful for studying religions. Any judgement about their relative value in our urge to merge with Divine surely rests with the Divine. ###  Do religions have to compete? _One of 2 strands relating to humanity I developed in my book 'Hidden Footprints of Unity' looks at the various paths to God taken by ethno-cultural communities in Australia._ **The Religious Affairs Editor of 'The Australian' newspaper, James Murray, SSC endorsed (pre-publication) Chapter 4 'Which Way to the Cosmos' in 'Hidden Footprints of Unity' thus:**  \n**\"I find the concepts in 'Hidden Footprints of Unity' most appealing, coming as they do from an agile mind which has managed to embrace cultures usually seen as competitive, or even enemies. This book should prove a precious contribution to mutual understanding. \"**\n\nWhat triggered my interest in the competitive aspects of institutional religions was the contrast between the mutual tolerance displayed by the adherents of a variety of religions in British Malaya, and the strangely bitter sectoral religious prejudice within Australian Christians (and their shared disdain of other religions) when I arrived in Australia in the late 1940s. I had also noted the futile attempts by so many ordinary people to convert non-Christian Asians to their faith. Worse still, recently I overheard a senior citizen say to another 'I have the better faith.' Really? _Obviously, for the leaders of some religious sects, control of the 'flock' and the exercise of power is satisfying._ While on Earth, they can enjoy the privilege of some influence over governments, seeking to have their theology over-ride all others. To what ultimate end? These guys remind me of the behavior of roosters at the crack of dawn. How long does that dominance last? As power-hungry religious leaders leave their bodies, do they ever review their lives, in order to assess whether they had enhanced humanity by stressing the core teaching of their Great Teacher during their time on Earth? The essence of that would be 'Do unto others as you would have done to you,' would it not? ###  Do religious dogmas have to be divisive? **The short answer to this seemingly simple question is 'No, they do not have to be divisive. '** _But, are religious dogmas divisive, or have they been divisive \u2013 as between peoples sharing a geographical location or living in close proximity to one another? For the most part \u2013 throughout known history \u2013 would the answer be a decisive 'No'._\n\nHowever, having regard to the colonial experience, when the buccaneering trader was accompanied by a soldier on one side and a priest on the other side, the invader's religion was divisive (if not deadly)! Look at what happened when the conquistadores arrived in the Americas. _Yet, colonial subject peoples were, as least_ _within my experience in a multi-ethnic environment,_ _tolerant of one another's religion and associated culture. Religion was lived and not talked about; there was mutual acceptance. Is that a feature of non-combative Asian cultures (which then included Muslim Malay culture)?_\n\nIn reality, from a global point of view, an ambitious ruler (or a greedy tribal chief) could have used a perceived difference (self-chosen) between his people's god and the god of those whose lands and other assets he covets, in order to 'smite' those others. When he is not a priest-king, injunctions from a powerful priesthood, or any authority deemed to emanate from a 'Good Book,' would provide necessary authority to act. Highlighted cultural differences as between these peoples could also provide the necessary excuse for the intended butchery. A chosen cultural difference may be a difference in theology or dogma. _One has only to note what is happening in the Middle East. Is not religious dogma associated with the combatants to a substantial degree, while the primary aim is obviously control of asset-rich lands?_ Since religious beliefs are not divorced from other motives by aggressors, **how much 'collateral damage' is tolerable? How many innocents have to be killed, maimed, or starved in the name of religion, 'guided democracy', or protecting the acquisitive aims of certain Western interests? **\n\n###  Divisive institutional schisms serving a sole Creator\n\n**The divisive role of many institutional religions,** while ultimately acknowledging that there can be only one Creator or God is touched upon in the _following extracts from the chapter 'On religion' from my book 'Musings at Death's Door. '_\n\n\" **Were fragments of the faithful, the fearful, then hived off by the cleverer, the more power-hungry, priests through their creation of theological schisms? ** Did then come the schismatic wars, some overt by fighting and killing in the name of some god, or by forced conversion? Did the priests insidiously and persistently proselytise in order to claim a relative strength of their faith through numerical size? _Even today, there are ordinary Christians continuing to collect souls for Christ in Africa and Asia. To what end?_\n\nLater, did not many gods, most local or regional, give way to one god, resulting in supremacy sought by priesthoods on a wider geographical front? _Did some priesthoods subsequently develop into a hierarchy, a tower of authority composed entirely of men, enabling a lifestyle of considerable quality, while their flocks survived as best they could?_ What grandeur these priests must have portrayed, with a pageantry normally associated with god-kings! Indeed, some of them still do. **Yet, there were other priesthoods which displayed a simpler lifestyle. **\n\n_Is this not how religious institutions achieved control and began to mislead the people, even while purporting to guide, lead and comfort?_ Is this not why the more independent-minded people withdraw from participatory religious events and practices, to the extent that some go to the extreme stance of atheism? Atheists do not believe in a creator god, but obviously cannot prove (much as they would like to) that such an entity does not exist. _How could one prove the non-existence of something?_ On the other hand, the believers in a creator god cannot prove that such an entity exists (no matter how many of them cavort on the head of a thumb tack). _What reliable, objective evidence can be adduced for such an existence? It is belief against belief._ There can therefore be no solution to this conundrum, no matter how much and how long each side blathers on!\" (Not all religions are combative. Yet, in spite of much agreement by some well-meaning religious leaders, division remains \u2013 based on doctrinal differences. Authority and control may never be traded for unity in the search for communion with the Divine. Yet, there are other religions which are happily porous in their theology.) ###  Human rights constrained by religious sects\n\n_A minority religious community (a Christian one) has allegedly denied freedom of choice in certain key areas of Australian social policy to fellow citizens not sharing their dogma._ With an exaggerated emphasis on the procreative aspects of women, this community's preferred restrictions in these areas of social policy impinge upon all residents, irrespective of their divergent religious beliefs and associated social values. How had this minority been able to have its religious dogma-based values over-ride the clear boundary between faith and politics which should apply in a modern democratic Western nation? Is Western democracy, as practised in Australia, the allegedly superior version of accountable government, now being sold with much vigour to non-Western cultures in Asia and the Pacific, responsible for this unrepresentative and unbalanced outcome? _Isn't Western democracy secular, with diverse communities of believers free to practice, or not, their faith (with all or some of the associated dogma)?_\n\nWhat is the rationale, ethical or legal, for denying members of other Christian sects, or of other religions, or non-believers in institutional religion, or even atheists and agnostics, freedom of choice as to how they live their personal lives, and without interference in the lives of others? _Why should a right or practice unacceptable to a religious minority be taboo for all citizens?_ What can one say about a political process which enables this inequitable outcome? **In a secular society displaying a variety of religio-cultural value systems, should not freedom of choice according to personal conscience be granted to all residents by legislation, and indeed captured by a national bill of rights? ** How does a Western democracy based upon representative government permit the oppression of alternative values as recently applied in the former Soviet Empire? ###  Are authoritarian religions intolerant? In mid-2017, one of the Australian States was reportedly about to legislate the availability of physician-assisted death, with necessary safeguards to avoid anyone being killed, and preventing an avalanche of deaths rushing down a slippery slope. Up pops someone protesting against this availability. _He does not want this right, but I do. He has no right to speak for me or to represent the whole population._ No one has, not even a bioethicist or a theologian representing a church of choice. In fact, over many decades, more than 80% of the Australian populace has sought what was once described as voluntary euthanasia, now defined more specifically as physician-assisted death under the most stringent conditions. _His defence_ in seeking to interfere with my right is that _his God,_ through the medium of his priesthood, _denies such a right_ \u2013 **which is based on compassion. ** Since his God is surely the universal god of all mankind, how could he claim that his priesthood has sole right to interpret God's wishes? In the absence of revelation, has not his priesthood made an arbitrary judgement \u2013 an assumption \u2013 on this matter? This church, whose spokesmen have persistently opposed voluntary euthanasia (as well as certain processes related to the nether-regions of women), is based on a claimed authority, and had exercised strong control (as evident to me during my residence \u2013 as an adult \u2013 for nearly 70 years in Australia). Those who belong to this church are entitled to live by the codes of conduct set by its priesthood. The rest of us should not be required to do so. Thus, no more than 20% of the Australian population can be claimed by their church to oppose **the right to voluntary euthanasia or physician-assisted death** _sought by more than 80% of the population over decades._\n\nThe 30% of the population who stated in the last Census that they had no religion can surely demand that religious institutions (or their spokespersons) do not interfere in their lives by claiming to speak for a God they deny. These people are atheists, with a right to be so. **Australia is officially a secular nation,** in spite of the apparent control of national policies by Roman Catholic politicians currently. Hopefully, State Governments will allow compassion as a human right, by challenging any church-determined policies to the contrary. We do need choice, not rule by religious bullies! On the sea of life, let us all paddle according to our respective rhythms. Do respect my right as I respect yours. (Comment: _Is it not the case that the 'forest' religions of the Indian subcontinent and lands further east do not interfere in the lives of non-believers, except for the rulers in a couple of minor nations?_ )\n\n###  Special circuits in human brains for spiritual experiences? I had a spiritual experience in a Yoga Ashram. It was an incredibly emotional experience when I was in deep meditation. It was personal. On the contrary, Paramahansa Yogananda's spiritual exposure was about the underlying processes of the Universe. His description of the event \u2013 in a dream? \u2013 was inspiring, possibly unbelievable. It cannot, however, be discounted. A real experience cannot be sneered away by professional sceptics. We know very little about ourselves and our Earthly home. Is there a facility in the human brain (and psyche) which enables some of us to have religious or spiritual experiences? Many years ago, I read that some scientist had made the following discovery. When an electrical probe touched a particular part of the brain, the patient reported sensations which seemed to be, or were interpreted as, of a religious nature. What staggered me was the suggestion that the origin of religious experiences had now been found. As I wrote in one of my books, this is akin to saying that the music, scenes, etc. we experience through radio or television actually originate in these machines! However, I realised that a specific area of the human brain may be 'programmed' (by evolution?) to receive signals which we interpret as religious or spiritual. Surely, we have all been emotionally influenced by beautiful sights, inspiring music, religious chants, and suchlike \u2013 up to a level akin to ecstasy. Neuroscientist Prof. V.S. Ramachandran said \"... _with the lie detector we were able to show that the human brain apparently responds particularly strongly to religious ideas...... we concluded that evolution might have equipped the human brain with special circuits for spiritual experiences. That would explain why all people have a religion.... these are highly speculative ideas...\"_ (Refer Ramachandran's article on Consciousness 'In the Hall of Illusions' in Stefan Klein's 'We are all stardust,' \u2013 a most interesting book.) In my view, it pays to have an open mind to achieve a glimpse of reality. ###  The mystery of death\n\nAt age 90, I look forward eagerly to death. I know where I am going. However, those of my Christian friends who are willing to talk about their death seem unsure about what will happen at their death. Indeed, I have been made aware by others that they actually fear death; that is very sad. Were they influenced by their priests? Here are some notable quotes on death:\n\n_There are more dead people than living. And their numbers are increasing. The living are getting rarer._ EUGENE IONESCO, _Rhinoceros_\n\n_To die will be an awfully big adventure._ J.M. BARRIE, _Peter Pan_\n\n_A man dies... only a few circles in the water prove that he was ever there. And even they quickly disappear. And when they're gone, he's forgotten, without a trace, as if he'd never even existed. And that's all._ WOLFGANG BORCHERT, _The Outsider_\n\n_Dying is like getting audited by the IRS\u2013something that only happens to other people... until it happens to you._ JEROME P. CRABB, _Death Quotes and Quibbles_\n\n_The human animal is a beast that dies but the fact that he's dying don't give him pity for others, no sir._ TENNESSEE WILLIAMS, _Cat on a Hot Tin Roof_\n\n_Cowards die many times before their deaths_  \n_The valiant never taste of death but once._ WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, _Julius Caesar_\n\n###  Wisdom on death\n\nDeath is a matter of considerable interest to me now, as I cannot live forever. Here are some thoughts from Swami Vivekhananda, a great commentator on Hinduism. (1) Be true unto death. (2) Birth is re-composition, death is de-composition. (3) Death comes to all forms of bodies in this and other lives. (4) Death is better than a vegetating ignorant life; it is better to die on the battle-field than to live a life of defeat. (5) Death is but a change. (6) Death is but a change of condition. We remain in the same universe, and are subject to the same laws as before. Those who have passed beyond and have attained high planes of development in beauty and wisdom are but the advance-guard of a universal army who are following after them. ###  Death: quotes from Buddhism\n\nWith mind far off, not thinking of death's coming,  \nPerforming these meaningless activities,  \nReturning empty-handed now would be complete confusion;  \nThe need is recognition, the spiritual teachings,  \nSo why not practice the path of wisdom at this very moment? From the mouths of the saints come these words:  \nIf you do not keep your master's teaching in your heart  \nWill you not become your own deceiver? _Tibetan Book of the Dead_\n\nFrom a Buddhist point of view, the actual experience of death is very important. Although how or where we will be reborn is generally dependent on karmic forces, our state of mind at the time of death can influence the quality of our next rebirth. So at the moment of death, in spite of the great variety of karmas we have accumulated, if we make a special effort to generate a virtuous state of mind, we may strengthen and activate a virtuous karma, and so bring about a happy rebirth _. The Dalai Lama_\n\nLife is uncertain; death is certain. Death carries off a man busy picking flowers with a besotted mind, like a great flood does a sleeping village. There are those who do not realise that one day we all must die. But those who do realise this settle their quarrels. Here will I live in the rainy season, here in the autumn and in the summer: thus muses the fool. He realizes not the danger (of death). _The Buddha_\n\nMy delight in death is far, far greater than  \nThe delight of traders at making vast fortunes at sea,  \nOr the lords of the gods who vaunt their victory in battle;  \nOr of those sages who have entered the rapture of perfect absorption. So just as a traveler who sets out on the road when the time has come to go,  \nI will not remain in this world any longer,  \nBut will go to dwell in the stronghold of the great bliss of deathlessness. _The Last Testament of Longchenpa_\n\n###  Death \u2013 more notable quotes\n\nBetter to flee from death than feel its grip. _HOMER, The Iliad_\n\nWe all labour against our own cure, for death is the cure of all diseases. _SIR THOMAS BROWNE, Religio Medici_\n\nDeath, in itself, is nothing; but we fear,  \nTo be we know not what, we know not where. _JOHN DRYDEN, Aureng-Zebe_\n\nOur life dreams the Utopia. Our death achieves the Ideal. _VICTOR HUGO, Intellectual Autobiography_\n\nYou only live twice. Once when you are born and once when you look death in the face. _IAN FLEMING, You Only Live Twice_\n\nMorn after morn dispels the dark,  \nBearing our lives away;  \nAbsorbed in cares we fail to mark  \nHow swift our years decay;  \nSome maddening draught hath drugged our souls,  \nIn love with vital breath,  \nWhich still the same sad chart unrolls,  \nBirth, disease, and death. _BHARTRHARI, \"Against the Desire of Worldly Things\"_\n\n(Ha! My death will take me to a better place. It will enable me to gird my loins \u2013 so to imagine \u2013 before I undergo my next phase of moral cleansing on Earth. So I have been told!) ###  Death \u2013 yet more notable quotes\n\nOf all the events which constitute a person's biography, there is scarcely one... to which the world so easily reconciles itself as to his death. NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE, _The House of the Seven Gables_\n\nDeath is a natural part of life. Rejoice for those around you who transform into the Force. YODA, _Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith_\n\nThe grave itself is but a covered bridge,  \nLeading from light to light, through a brief darkness! HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW, _The Golden Legend_\n\nDeath will be a great relief. No more interviews. KATHARINE HEPBURN, _The Mammoth Book of Zingers, Quips, and One-Liners_\n\nThe world's an inn, and death the journey's end. JOHN DRYDEN, _Palamon and Arcite_\n\nAs soon as one is born, one starts dying. LUIGI PIRANDELLO, _Henry IV_\n\n(Each day on Earth takes us closer to becoming stardust again \u2013 the glory of death. Yet, I have met people who have said that they fear death - why? I also know ardent church-goers who are not certain as to what can happen after death.) ###  Do institutional religions benefit mankind? **Did God create us in his image? ** _I hope not!_ I do not want the Creator's visage to resemble the composite face of mankind. **Did God create 'the Adam' (a human being)? ** _Seemingly, the Sumerians_ , a 'black-haired' people allegedly from the East (the drowned Sundaland of south-east Asia?) _had made that claim about 6,000 years ago._\n\nZachariah Sitchin, yet another scholar seeking to provide a provenance for the religious writings of his people, has claimed that the Anunnaki from the planet Nibiru created Man while they were on Earth. Drawing upon Sumerian inscriptions, he asserts that **the Anunnaki introduced 223 genes not found on Earth into their creation of 'the Adam'** (who was to be a miner on their behalf). _So, are we only part-animal?_ Yet, collectively, as tribes and nations, often driven by damaging divisive religious beliefs pertaining to the same God, we seek power, and display tremendous greed. Those characteristics are not found with fellow-members of the animal kingdom. The explanation? Faulty processing? Or genes donated by greedy aggressive extraterrestrials? On the other hand, offsetting the butchery and slavery which continues to prevail throughout the globe, _there is a rising ground swell of care for fellow humans._ While the distribution of charity has also been a manifestation of religious faith, _an enduring care for the less viable in society seems to have its roots now outside mainstream religion._\n\nAgainst the reality of officially-provided evidence of dastardly behaviour by some employees of institutional religions in Australia; and the reality that a very substantial proportion of people in nations identifiable by their official religion live in abject poverty; **could one ask whether organised religions are beneficial to mankind as a species? **\n\n###  A true measure of the value of a religion\n\n\" **What of those who quite impertinently suggested that my soul would remain doomed if I did not convert to their sect? ** _My riposte to such soul gatherers is as follows: 'When you ascend to the Celestial Abode of the Heavenly Father, you will find yourself shaking hands with Caluthumpians and members of all the other religions. '_ Regrettably, some 'wannabe' saviours seemed discomfited by such a vision; I have watched a few dash down the road with displeasure after receiving my good news! I wonder how the atheists react on entry to this Abode. _Is it not true that institutional religion has pitted followers of one religion against another, and sect against sect within many religions, butchering fellow humans and defiling them in every way in the name of their faith?_ Under the pap propagated by their spin-doctors, it is carnivore-eat-carnivore, that is, dog-eat-dog! This situation continues. I found it interesting to read about Judaism recruiting converts from North Africa to counter the growth of Christianity in its foundation years; about early Christianity challenging Judaism regarding the coming of the Messiah (that He has already been); and about the Thiering thesis that Jesus had recovered and had gone on to travel extensively (in the East). Since religion purports to help mankind in its travails, I do wonder whether any of the theological wars within and between the 'desert' religions had benefited their followers. **A true measure of the quality of a civilisation is the way the least viable of the people are treated. This criterion, in my view, also applies to religions. ** _On this test, the major religions, if not all of them, fail. The evidence is clear. The life chances and the quality of life of those at the bottom of the socio-economic pile are generally ignored by their co-religionists in power in government._ It is a great pity that it was the communist nations which provided some uplift to their peasants, lifting them from their squalor. Our only hope is the secular nation, which subordinates saving the soul to filling an empty belly. Would it not be wonderful if individual humans were able to seek succour from their god or spirits or whatever, without being caught up within an institutional religion with all its divisive binding rules, regulations and practices, as well as its priesthood; that is, without an intermediary? ... However, how could they accept that their prayers, their entreaties, are in vain; and that they need to work through their personal destinies in each life? ... Yet, I will make it clear that I am not denigrating the kindness of most of those I refer to as middlemen. I continue to deal with them. They are worthy of respect. They have chosen to help their church-attending flocks as best they can, but within the closed framework of their dogma, and the well-trodden paths of tradition. Any possibly well-meant deviation would seem to be a threat to one's career. That is the price for working within a bureaucracy, which will always have its own ends in clear perspective.\" (The above extracts are from one of my books.) **(Comment:** It is a truism that millions of people need hope of some kind that life will be better. When their priests and their rulers fail to alleviate their predicament, **will they accept that they may need to work out their destinies by themselves? ** Can they realistically expect divine intervention? Will their priests do no more than offer ritualistic balm, even if this balm offers some mental peace attached to hope? _Is this the best institutional religion can do?_\n\nWhen consideration is given to the probability of wars between civilisations, but carried out by sectarian religious warriors, what hope is there for mankind? _Consider the carnage being caused to children, women, and their homes, livelihoods, and menfolk by regime, or national and religious boundary changers \u2013 of diverse faiths today._ And there are some who claim that humans are a chosen species!) ###  Evolved and modified uncreated humans\n\n_Mankind may not have been created by God._ Although inter-species evolution has not been proven (while intra-species evolution is supported by evidence), _the genetic difference between humans and chimpanzees (our nearest relatives) is said to be only about 4%. In view of the vast differences in conceptual capacity, intelligent functioning, and manipulative and artistic skills between the two species, one may accept the probability that extraterrestrial intervention had occurred._\n\n**Yet, the 223 genes not found in any other motile form on Earth has not been identified** (refer my earlier post about Sitchin). This is not to deny the likelihood of officialdom keeping silent on this contentious issue, because it is likely to be seen as threatening. Likewise, cosmic catastrophes and their impacts on human societies and civilisations, or the Roswell Incident's implication that, _in spite of SETI, spacemen may choose to arrive unannounced. But we may be seen as somewhat immature, too influenced by our animal nature._\n\n**More probable as the trigger for the apparently sudden appearance of artistic skills displayed in caves in Australia and in Western Europe (and probably elsewhere) is cosmic radiation from a supernova explosion. ** It has been claimed that about 40,000 years ago, Earth was bathed in a sudden blast of radiation from space. In the event, about 72 generations (2,000 years) later, the survivors on Earth could have displayed significant changes in both appearance and functional capacity \u2013 through massive genetic mutations. Early Man may have been made 'human' through such incidental interventions. ###  Does cosmic radiation mutate humans? In spite of the 'gazillions' of allegedly burning balls of helium filling space (as suns), darkness prevails everywhere. (The alternative view of an 'electric universe' does not affect the rest of this post). Into this darkness may suddenly appear a spark of light caused by a supernova explosion. Such an explosion may bathe Earth with new radiation. These cosmic rays produce radioactive isotopes. These isotopes will rain down on Earth, and accumulate in sediment, tree rings, and the ice of glaciers (the sources sought for evidence of these isotopes). **Ice-core research confirmed the presence of increased cosmic radiation about 40,000 years ago. ** The cause was seen as a supernova explosion about 200 light years (60 parsecs) from Earth. _Major consequences include: human creativity in the form of art and advanced tool-making; the human brain became larger, but may not have been responsible for the sophisticated speech and more complex thinking which also apparently appeared then; Cro-Magnon humans (much like modern people) appeared suddenly; and the extinction of the mega-fauna of Australia (the Aborigines could not possibly have eaten them all)._\n\nGenetic evidence also suggests that Caucasian and East Asian peoples split off from each other about 40,000 years ago, through a mutation which led to the variation in skin colour between these two peoples. Cosmic radiation may account for this mutation. (Refer Freestone, West and Warwick-Smith). What other mutations have been (or are being) wrought by cosmic radiation? ###  A Seeker's approach to understanding Reality\n\n**All my life, beginning at about age 8, I have wanted to know about many aspects of my life. ** At about that age, according to school teachers and child psychologists, a child wants to learn. In Australia, it would be in school-year 3. _The first question I recall asking my parents was 'What caused the Universe? '_\n\nAfter completing a comprehensive British colonial education, I began to read widely. My initial forays covered educational psychology, the Patriarch Abraham, and race relations in the USA (I cannot explain this selection). Then followed Darwin's Theory of Evolution, the nature and practice of religion (and religions), and some pre-history and anthropology. _I qualified as a research psychologist, with a solid foundation in the scientific method and, later, as an economist. My aim was to become an academic in sociology, specialising in ethnicity and multiculturalism._\n\nQuaintly, my personal destiny led me, through my employment as a public official, to acquire necessary knowledge about the process of migrant integration into their chosen new nation (and its implication). This led, _following the intervention of the spirit of my favourite uncle_ , to my 6 books, sundry articles, and Internet posts. **Now I seek understanding \u2013 rather than material knowledge** \u2013 about the nature of mankind, and our possible place in the Cosmos. I now realise that our Reality encompasses the physical, mental, and spirit realms; and that **the only realm of relevance to understanding any significance attached to our existence is that of spirituality. ** In the light of my significant exposures to this realm, I raise questions (like 'How is it so? '), and offer some tentative thoughts. However, I am not prepared to 'die in the ditch' over any of my tentative beliefs. Of course, the nature of a belief is that it can be neither proven nor disproven. True understanding may need to be intuitive (a 'third eye' facility?). Any understanding I achieve will naturally be somewhat ephemeral. Yet, I offer some of my tentative understandings, through this blog, for consideration by those who offer open minds. ###  The soul and Consciousness\n\nHere are extracts from \"50 years of near-death experience research suggests that **the 'soul' is real\"** by Arjun Walia\n\n\"The research shows that consciousness, or the soul, or something continues _to have awareness after \"death. \"_\n\n\"Fast forward to today, and we now have hundreds of notable world-renowned scientists studying \"non-material\" science. Since the birth of quantum mechanics, the mysteries of consciousness have been at the forefront of scientific study, and _we now know today that consciousness plays a crucial part, in several different ways, when it comes to perceiving what we call our physical material world. \"_\n\n\"Most of our founding fathers of science, especially physics, were all spiritual mystics. _Max Plank,_ a physicist who originated quantum theory, regarded consciousness as \"fundamental,\" and matter as \"derivative from consciousness.\" He said that \"we cannot get behind consciousness. Everything that we talk about, _everything that we regard as existing, postulates consciousness. \"_\n\n_Eugene Wigner_ , a physicist and mathematician told the world that \"it was _not possible to formulate the laws of quantum mechanics in a fully consistent way without reference to consciousness. \"_\n\n\" _Near Death Experiences (NDE's) are one area of study under parapsychology and non-material science._ What happens when we die? Does some aspect of us survive death? Some non-material aspect, like consciousness, for example? _Does consciousness originate in the brain, or is it a receiver of it? \"_\n\n\" _Large studies have shown that a significant amount of people who have been clinically dead, experience some type of 'awareness' during that time._ For example, one patient \u2013 a 57-year-old man at the time, despite being pronounced \"dead\" and completely unconscious, with no detectable biological activity going on, recalled watching the entire process of his resuscitation.\" \"On a side note, _Certified Master Hypnotherapist Michael Newton_ developed a technique to regress his clients back in time to recall memories from their past lives. During this process he stumbled upon a discovery of enormous proportions. **He was able to bring the souls back to the place where they go before their next life** \u2014 a life between lives. _Out of 7,000 regressions, a large majority had eerily similar recollections of a place that many of them called \"home. \"_\n\n(Comment: as a nonagenarian Hindu, I look forward to returning soon to humanity's home-base (the 'Afterlife'), from which each soul is projected into successive lives on Earth. As well, I suspect that consciousness pervades all existence, and that human minds are based in this ocean of consciousness.) ###  On suffering \u2013 and its containment\n\n**Suffering, like evil, exists only in the human mind. ** How so? _Anxiety is the basal emotion of all motile beings._ It is aroused by an awareness of (mostly hidden) threats to existence. Uncontrollable and incredibly powerful forces of Nature, ferocious carnivores, and evil-inclined humans will naturally progress anxiety to fear. _Fear is the historically primary cause of emotional suffering._\n\nIn reality, pain is the main cause of _physical_ suffering. Yet (as I learnt through 3 years of a 'slipped disc' spinal problem), such pain can be moderated. That is an issue of mind-over-matter. _Psychological_ suffering will arise from deprivation \u2013 of a loved one; of necessary sustenance; of a loss of freedom (both physical and mental). Other causes would include threatening chance events; or an inability to cope with, or accept, reality (which needs to be avoided or moderated). My exposure to chance events involved \"the wheels of my life-chances cart falling off\" unpredictably a few times; and my \"falling into holes which were not there\" \u2013 these refer to _inexplicable_ chance events. Refer to my second memoir _'The Dance of Destiny'._\n\n**Yet, psychological suffering can be controlled or moderated; or even denied. ** Think how the millions of terribly poor people living all over the globe survive the most desperate circumstances. It seems as if they simply _accept their plight (as I accepted my many tribulations in my adopted land), and live as peacefully as they can with fortitude and resilience._\n\n###  Only 3 issues matter to human Seekers\n\n**The only 3 questions of relevance for mankind are:**  \n(1) Where did we come from? (2) Why are we here? (3) Where will we be going? **My tentative answers follow. ** But I do hasten to add that my answers to these questions, as with other issues pertaining to Earthly life, are tentative. Indeed _, I hold a raft of beliefs, to none of which am I able to commit myself!_ Like Socrates, I know nothing, but do not wish to experience his fate. After all, **a belief is only a statement of value, which can be neither proven nor disproven. ** My answers to the 3 core questions for mankind are beliefs based upon an intuitive understanding gleaned from a lifetime of reading and pondering. (1) Where did we come from? From an unbounded etheric Ocean of ever-existing Consciousness. (2) Why are we here (on Earth)? We were seemingly sent to be purified morally. (3) Where will we be going (at the end of our Earthly lives)? Probably back to that Ocean, thereby progressively improving its quality (and, probably, its complexity and cosmic capability). **It may be that mankind is on a trajectory of existence on Earth** , and elsewhere in the Cosmos; and subject to exceedingly slow moral growth (because of our evolutionary heritage). _This trajectory may allow sudden partial destruction; and subsequent revival_ (this seems to have happened at least once). **Or, following total destruction, to be 'suspended' within Consciousness,** and _subsequently re-located_ to another planet or universe. Refer Hindu cosmology, claimed to have been learnt from guiding extra-terrestrials! ###  A Hindu Tamil in White Australia\n\n**In the early post-war years, when a small number of well-educated Asian students, adequately acculturated in their tribal cultures, arrived in Australia, the bicultural shocks were strong. ** Because of our pride (as I can attest) in our respective civilisational heritages, _those of us from India, Ceylon, and Malaya were not affected emotionally at all._ However, many (if not most) of the upholders of the racist Christian White Australia policy were severely discomfited. **At my university (Melbourne), the majority of the fee-paying, well-dressed, well-spoken, and courteous students from these 3 countries were Hindus. ** Sustained efforts to convert us to Christianity, for our 'salvation,' failed. On occasions, _I had to point out that my religion in my current life had the longest history of all, that we were not controlled by our priests and, like the other 'forest' religions of the Indian sub-continent, we were tolerant and accepting of the diversity of pathways to the one and only God of mankind!_ To no avail!! **Individually, we ignored the many UTTERANCES OF PREJUDICE in public spaces, and the ACTS OF OVERT DISCRIMINATION in a few areas of social and occupational transactions. ** I put up with the ignominy of being denied employment as a psychologist. That was in spite of my training as a research psychologist, and my professor's advice to seek a career in academe. Why was I rejected? Because I was \"too black\". When I then qualified as an economist, the Head of the university's Graduate Employment Unit was told that \"the Australian worker was not yet ready for a foreign executive, much less a coloured one.\" **The ignorance-based and greed-driven mindset of an innately-superior colonising white species had been acquired by even the Australian hoi polloi,** through about 160 years of treating the Australian indigene as fauna to be cleared from the land; and destroying their ancient cultures, economic viability, and self-respect (just as happened in North America). _Of course, this mindset did pass by the end of the next half-century._ The feared 'yellow hordes from the north' have been replaced by Chinese corporations buying up Australian land and infrastructures (including a port adjacent to a US military transit station). However, **I claim that we Hindus began the process of civilising the white supremacist. **\n\n###  The value of individual souls\n\n**My soul is extremely important to me. It is the essential ME! ** It travels through space and time through re-births. It will obviously retain memories of significant events and experiences from each of my Earthly lives. _I do suggest, intuitively, that some of these memories influence some of my feelings, thoughts and actions._\n\n_How so? Probably through a 'leakage' (intended?) from the souls' memory bank._ Did not the spirit of my uncle demonstrate his memories of his immediate-past Earthly life? **Soul memories may also affect my MIND in my current life. ** This may happen by me somehow becoming aware of a substantially fragmentary and fleeting 'gut feeling' (akin to the flicker of luminescence of a firefly) which reflects an ephemeral 'memory' of significance from a past life. _Repeated subliminal 'felt glimpses' may occur in spite of that deep, deep fog camouflaging our sojourns in the 'Afterlife'_ (where we charge our 'batteries' for the next Earthly life). Is there not globe-wide and undeniable research evidence of young children between age 3 and about 6 remembering their immediate past lives? As well, is there not evidence (on the Internet) of children from about age 4 displaying very high musical skills which normally takes years and years to acquire? _Our souls carry humankind into the future._ Why then are babies born to suffer, either briefly or through to old age, before death through starvation, bombing, or other forms of human brutality? Are they just unavoidable 'roadkill'? However, let us not blame our Creator (God). Chance causes aside, are not adult humans at fault? What does that say about the souls of those responsible? ###  Aether-like Brahman as Consciousness\n\nHere are a few thought-provoking approaches about the Hindu version of the aether. _Though One, Brahman is the cause of the many. Brahman is the unborn (aja) in whom all existing things abide. The One manifests as the many, the formless putting on forms. (_ _Rig Veda_ _)_\n\n_The word Brahman means growth and is suggestive of life, motion, progress._ **(Radhakrishnan)**. _The Universe is Brahman, the One that underlies and make possible all the multiplicity; the universal consciousness that is the soul of all existence. It is the primordial no-thingness from which all things arise, the one reality whose oneness is all-inclusive; and includes all that is, or shall be. It is Brahman; the source of the entire cosmos and all cosmic activities relating to the emergence, existence and dissolution of the terrestrial phenomena that form the cosmic rhythm. And this ultimate reality is One- absolute and indeterminable._ **(Sudhakar S.D. I am All, 1998** )\n\n... _the problem of the one and the many in metaphysics and theology is insoluble: 'The history of philosophy in India as well as in Europe has been one long illustration of the inability of the human mind to solve the mystery of the relation of God to the world. We have the universe of individuals which is not self-sufficient and in some sense rests on Brahman, but the exact nature of the relation between them is a mystery._ ( **Radhakrishnan)**\n\n(From the website 'On Truth and Reality'; 'Hinduism \u2013 Hindu religion')\n\n(Comment: I believe that Consciousness surrounds us; and that the human mind, while linked to the brain, yet exists outside the body in Consciousness.) ###  RAJA ARASA RATNAM \u2013 the man\n\nHe is a nonagenarian Asian-Australian immigrant, with a residence in Australia of just over 70 years. A qualified psychologist and economist; a former Director of Policy (with almost 2 years of experience in the senior executive service) in the federal public service; a substantial contributor to civil service throughout his life, including holding leadership positions; a writer of books and essays; and a blogger. He has been described as \"an intellectual who cannot be categorised.\" His writing has been defined as \"challenging and provocative\" by senior academics (why else bother to write, he says). His book on Australian society received this assessment \u2013 \"There is wisdom here.\" \"His experience as an Asian in Australia from the time of White Australia to that of multiculturalism is unique. This book is a final distillation of the wisdom he has gained over that time.\" He remains a communitarian in a land whose ethos is individualism. He is a swinging voter; a tolerant freethinker about religion; and pursues a spiritual path. ###  \"You people are always......\"\n\n**Wow! I remain 'you people'** after more than half a century of having lived, as an adult, a highly-interactive and contributory life in Australia \u2013 which is becoming increasingly colour and culture-blind.\n\n\" _You people are always having riots over there\"_ (Malaysia/Singapore, my birthplace). The only riot in Malaysia was in 1969; the skirmish in Singapore at about that time was a minor one. Then, a retired war-horse, a Vietnam War veteran, claimed that _\"You people are always fighting one another over there. \"_ 'Over there' was now south-east Asia. Both men were within my social circles. These 2 instances stand out in my memory. **What was their problem? ** They represented a people which had 'lorded it' over the Australian indigene; and did not like 'uppity' blacks (Aborigines) and other coloured people (Asians). _The traditional 'tall poppy' syndrome, manifest in a tendency to cut down any achievers who had risen above their class (in an allegedly classless nation), had now to put down any coloured high-flyers._ The underpinning psychological demons rattling the comfort zones of those who did not want 'them' to become 'one of us' is pretty obvious. Get over it, Guys! More interestingly, some Vietnam War veterans (incredibly) want to commemorate, on Vietnamese soil, a battle which the Vietnamese lost to the Aussies. While this story always refers to the small number of Aussie out-numbered troops involved, little is written about the heavy artillery bombardment which was responsible for the many Vietnamese killed. As well _, it is a fact that the USA and Australia were driven out of Vietnam by the Viets._ These 2 white nations had no business being there. _The domino theory was a furphy. South-east Asia was in no danger of being over-run by non-existent communists._ There is seemingly an urge by some Aussies now to celebrate a sole victory in a series of lost (and losing) wars since the successes of the war in the Pacific during WW2. But \u2013 to commemorate this win in the land they unsuccessfully invaded? How sensitive! _The arrogance of the colonial-minded Westerner will not, of course, endure. I say this as a known anti-colonial and anti-communist. As my father repeatedly advised, freedom heads the list of human needs._\n\n###  From exile to fruition (Part 1)\n\n**When a seemingly authentic yogi told my widowed mother that he saw me travel south to study, I was surprised; why Australia? ** His further comment that I would be spending much of my time overseas after my obviously premature return did not alert my mother and me that _I would be an academic failure, and be 'exiled' to Australia shortly thereafter;_ that I would thereby effectively become an outcast to my elders (but not my mother) \u2013 and even to the Ceylon Tamil expatriate community in Malaya; and that while I was denied the social ambience of my kith and kin, _I was to contribute to the dissipation of the bicultural culture shocks which had arisen in Australia when educated communitarian Asian youth met the many Christian white-supremacist racists of Australia._ The latter did not want foreigners (viz. non-British people), especially coloured ones, in their land (which had been stolen from the Australian indigene). As foretold by that yogi, I failed my studies. I must have had a mental breakdown, unnoticed in my isolation. My destined failure predicated a consequential total destruction of my life-chances. As subsequently foretold by a reliable 'fortune-teller,' I was to be poor all my life. In Australia, for the first quarter of a century after my return, I had repeated _nightmares: I could not find my way home!_ My terrible guilt about letting down my widowed mother and my (younger) sisters was relentless! What sins had I committed in my past life? I then experienced a serious of vicissitudes and setbacks throughout my life in Australia, even as I enjoyed my family and community life. I do not know whether I am stoic by nature but, with resilience and fortitude, _I kept acquiring beneficial skills and knowledge; while also making significant contributions to civil society._\n\nStrangely and significantly, when (after my retirement) I consulted a reliable clairvoyant (purely out of curiosity) the _spirit of my favourite uncle_ (whose advice that day changed my subsequent life-path) _said this_ : **\"We had difficulty getting him to Australia\"! **\n\nI was intrigued. Why was I born gifted scholastically (and musically and artistically), then destroyed materially? Why, throughout the rest of my life, was I to be subject to all manner of denials and deprivations? **Why would the spirit realm involve itself in my destiny-path? **\n\nRefer my second memoir _'The Dance of Destiny'_ (ebook available at about $US 3). It is biographical, historical and sociological; and most favourably reviewed and endorsed. ###  From exile to fruition (Part 2)\n\nFrom the deep dark to sunlight\n\nWhen I withdrew from my studies, and my mother (rightly) cut me off financially, I was left in a country to which I had no claim, and had to return to a country where I would be despised. I would be seen as one who had **chosen** to fail. No one would be aware that I had to return prematurely (as foretold by a yogi). _What role did the spirit realm play in this dastardly outcome?_\n\nUntil my personal destiny lifted me from the figuratively deep, deep dry well, at the bottom of which I was like a slug crawling around with no hope of ever wriggling up into the sunlight, _I had no thoughts or feeling \u2013 only the instinct of survival!_\n\n**Then, through a confluence of destiny paths, I was lifted out of my 'dungeon' and aided into the burning tropical sunlight of Singapore** by a recent Australian friend (and subsequent wife). For a year, we survived financially \u2013 but barely. We were, however, supported socially by a wealthy Indian couple, who virtually adopted us. **When my in-laws obtained Ministerial approval for me to join my wife** (who had returned to her family while I was to be trained as an Inspector of Police), I withdrew from this program. _The morning I arrived at her parental home, my wife (standing at the kerb) said that she did not want me!_ I booked into the YMCA, wondering \"What now?\" Although I had inherited my father's 'fire-in-the-belly,' _I remained emotionally controlled and, strangely, without any thought about alternative scenarios as to my likely future._ (The normally intuitive analyst had also tamped down his normal searchlight-like mind.) This, I had already learnt, was an effective method for coping with disasters. **Part 1 of my second memoir 'The Dance of Destiny,' titled 'The wheels fell off'** covers my life under colonial Britain, the Japanese Occupation of Malaya, and the most interesting inter-cultural relationships my wife and I had during our time in British Singapore. _What seemed to have interested one and all was the calm, coloured Asian lad of unknown provenance with a chatty, equally young white wife, who projected no superior airs._ That we were poor was no secret. Those portly wealthy men hoping to cuckold me were highly visible, as was my muscular physique. 'Twice on Sunday' was our theme song! _My life in Singapore with a loving wife was my first period of psychological peace since I lost my boyhood at age 13,_ when the Japanese arrived. I had been lonely (and half-starved) during the Occupation when I had been left with a 'guardian.' Soon after the return of the British, my father's health dominated our lives (he died, aged 47, two years after the departure of the Japanese). With hindsight, I came to understand that this transitional happy episode was akin to enjoying the Afterlife \u2013 the Cosmic home enabling R&R (rest and recovery) between stressful Earthly lives. ###  From exile to fruition (Part 3)\n\nThe crevasse-ridden road to recovery\n\nAs clearly indicated in my first memoir _'Destiny Will Out: the experiences of a multicultural Malayan in White Australia',_ in spite of the prevailing religiously brain-washed and culturally-biased white racists, _I became enamoured by the 'fair-go' ethos of the nation._\n\n_This was reflected essentially in the behaviour and social status of even the lowest-level workers._ They stood tall, were never subservient, and were equitably paid. Equal opportunity and social mobility were available, even to the newly-arrived Europeans. However, _Australia's indigenes_ _had no place on the national stage._ _Asian Australians then stood at the very back, with no role in white businesses, government administration, or politics._ That did not bother me. I presented myself as I am, not being aware that the spirit realm had exiled me to an unwelcoming milieu for some inexplicable reason. However, subconsciously, I may have decided to claim my place in Australian society once I became aware that my brain and mind had not been adversely affected by my tragic experience. I have always been a voracious reader. During the Japanese Occupation, I had read some of the English classics. Immediately after finishing school, I had also read about educational psychology, the Patriarch Abraham, and race relations in the USA. Reconciling with my wife (also a great reader) on the evening of my rejection, I found work, and enrolled for a full-time degree course in psychology and economics; but studying only part-time (after each day's work). I had to obtain prior approval from the university each year. Sleeping only 2 to 5 hours per night for 5 nights (the other nights belonged to my wife), after 4 years I had qualified as a research psychologist (with the faculty head suggesting that I seek an academic career); and then as an economist. Unable to be employed as a psychologist (\"too black\") or as an economist in the private sector (the Australian worker was apparently not ready for a coloured foreign executive), I joined the federal public service in the national capital. Although I was then the only coloured graduate federal employee in the national capital, my questioning and problem-solving approach was constantly rewarded; and I reached the rank of Section Head (or Director) in 9 years (then considered a speedy rise). **Promotion into the Senior Executive Service was denied, even after being on higher duties successfully for about a year in each of 2 agencies. ** _In the second agency, I had carried out (supported by a knowledgeable team) the first review of the Australian Citizenship Act; my recommendations were adopted almost intact by the government (so I was told)._ I would have been the first foreigner promoted to Assistant Secretary. **Regrettably, the means of rejection were not honourable! **\n\nDuring my first year in the Service, my wife decided to divorce me; an unexpected and tragic development. Yet, during my boyhood, sundry palm-readers had said that I would be married twice! Obviously, my personal destiny, like my shadow, follows me everywhere. A dozen years later, _I fell into a great hole which was not there._ That is also the title of _Part 2 of 'The Dance of Destiny,_ ' which covers my life-path in Australia, even as I sought a firm footing in society. I have also woven throughout Part 2 my thoughts on Asian spirituality, especially the formation of a personal destiny-path. Born in a (Chinese) Year of the Dragon, I could do no less. We dragons soar into the sky of solitude, and simultaneously sink into the sea of humanity, even as we sing the songs of significance about our true home \u2013 that Ocean of Consciousness which unites all existence and non-existence. ###  From exile to fruition (Part 4)\n\nMy destiny-path unfolds\n\n_Was there a destiny-path involving the spirit realm laid out for me?_ Each time I fell into a hole 'which was not there,' I was able to climb out. Through this process, I acquired new skills, some knowledge, and increased understanding about relevant matters. How? By moving laterally into yet another sector of civil society, another community organisation. I would then make substantial contributions to that sector, usually in a leadership position. **I did feel that I was being progressively developed** (or, I am a lot smarter than I look). _Was it not the spirit realm which was guiding me? If so, why me?_\n\nIn relation to my exile, my 'third-eye' explanation (necessarily tentative) is that the spirit realm 'inveigled' a number of Asian youth, who were proud of their civilisational heritage and comfortable within their skins, to settle in Australia through marriage to Anglo-Australians; _and osmotically condition the nation to seek to join the Family of Man._\n\nRefer my book _'Hidden Footprints of Unity: Beyond tribalism and towards a new Australian identity. '_\n\nCuriously, a well-known Anglo-Celt academic historian became somewhat irritated by **my claim in this book that we New Australians, representing non-Anglo ethnicities, and who had changed the nation for the better, now had a right to select new national icons. ** I am not enamoured, for example, by a highway man being one of my national icons. As with my two memoirs, this book was most favourably reviewed. In relation to Chapter 5, titled _'Peering into the Void,'_ which deals with mankind's innate yearning for communing with the Divine (expressed in diverse ways), the Religious Affairs Editor of 'The Australian' newspaper responded thus: **\"I find the concepts in 'Hidden Footprints of Unity' most appealing, coming as they do from an agile mind which has managed to embrace cultures usually seen as competitive, or even enemies. This book should prove a precious contribution to mutual understanding. \"**\n\nBy contributing (usually through leadership positions \u2013 which I have never, ever, sought), especially in these sectors \u2013 education, career protection (through my trade union \u2013 resulting in a Meritorious Service Award), official health services, student organisations, and social clubs \u2013 my communities and I both benefited. _My integration into Australian seemed complete. It was not!_\n\nI wrote about immigrant integration in _'The Karma of Culture. '_ **Three senior academics in diverse disciplines were most appreciative. ** My books, being based to a substantial extent on personal experience, drew upon my own settlement path, and my work as Director of Policy in every area of the then Department of Immigration & Ethnic Affairs responsible for aiding, or involved with, societal integration. _The recent invasion of Europe by Middle Easterners and Africans highlights the relevance of my analysis._\n\nEffective barriers to the integration in Australia of immigrants with host-nation peoples (already divided subliminally by institutional religion) are **acts of discrimination. ** Utterances reflecting prejudice by silly people are of no substantive consequence. _Those immigrant communities seeking to set themselves up as 'campers' rather than as 'joiners', while benefiting from benefits and rights, are minor exceptions._\n\nThe unfolding of my destiny-path identified significant tribal-based religious discrimination and racial discrimination, the former being truly damaging. ###  From exile to fruition (Part 5)\n\nThe strange convolutions of my destiny-path\n\nMy understanding of Hinduism is that current destiny paths are shaped, to an unknowable extent, by past lives. Since the river of a human personality is fed by a diversity of causal tributaries, the reaction-potential of each personality cannot readily be identified. DNA is not adequately persuasive. Chance impacts complicate matters. **Yet, is it significant that my immediate past life seems to have been as a scimitar-wielding Muslim warrior? And that, since age 30, I have been on a spiritual path as a metaphysical Hindu? In spite of having denied God a decade earlier, I had come to realise,** _through logic,_ **that there has to be a Creator of our Universe. **\n\nFor the next 3 decades or so, I compared the major religions to see which provides the most comprehensive explanation of mankind's place in the Universe. Until I discovered the Upanishads! _The involvement of the spirit realm, as has occurred in my life, would result in a destiny-path being initially unreadable._ As a Seeker of understanding attempting to perceive (or even to create) patterns of significant relationships, **I was challenged to explain the convolutions of my own destiny-path. ** This is especially so, as the repeated denials and rejections of my entitlements or other opportunities came to represent the template for my progressive life experiences. _I began to feel \u2013 long after the events, of course \u2013 that any fulfilment of my potential had had to pass more stages of acquiring understanding (not just knowledge) of reality._ What was encouraging was that my birth-gifts were not only intact, but also in good working order. When, responding to the suggestion by the spirit of my uncle that I seek to contribute to building a bridge from where I came to where I am, I found myself able to write (in a manner supported by academics and policy 'wallahs') about the issues involved in the successful societal integration of immigrants. When I opened my memory bank, repeated reflection and analysis finally led me to realise that there is a strikingly clear pattern in the flow of events of my life, beginning with the most improbable arrival of that yogi (a long way from his meditative cave in the Himalayas). He had effectively said \"Go South! And stay there!\" (presumably on behalf of higher beings in the spirit realm). I obviously had to be where I am, and to acquire through experience (some of it being very painful) a smidgen of _understanding of the complexity of the gossamer connections between the material and ethereal realms in an unknowable Cosmos._\n\n###  From exile to fruition (Part 6)\n\nIncredibly timely interventions\n\nWhen I was about 85 years old, I realised that _I had incredibly survived my 'use-by' date._ My second clairvoyant had, a long time back, accurately described my past, my then present, and foretold key events in my future. I would die at age 82/83. That was highly improbable. My father had died at age 47. My mother and her elder brothers did not even reach age 70. At 82, when I had survived my second heart attack, my (Catholic) doctor suggested that **I had not finished my work on Earth. Implication? Intervention from 'on-high'! **\n\nI was reminded then of _the most significant spirit intervention in my life. I had been pulled out of that metaphoric deep well_ (where I had no thought, no feeling, and no future) into the sunlit realm of normal existence by a young, chatty, attractive, and kind girl. We had eloped and married. We lived in Singapore for a year. _When we returned to Australia, the higher beings in the spirit realm should have been pleased, should they not?_\n\nWhen I had completed my qualifications and obtained employment in the national capital (which was set in a desert), my wife remained in her State-capital metropolitan home-city. **My palm-readers had been right all along! ** I then wondered: when would I enjoy a normal stable life? _Through a chance meeting (or, was it? ), I met a young woman who shared all my values!_ I could not believe my good fortune. We married; we produced 2 children (but lost others), while experiencing what seemed to be a normal barrage of life-problems. _We enjoyed a happy family life for a quarter of a century._\n\nIn the meanwhile, to provide a stable life for my family, I gave up my plans to become an academic. My first clairvoyant did remind me, after my retirement, that _I had indeed been meant to be an academic!_ My thought then was: **how could I have altered my destiny-path? **\n\nMy wife then gradually moved into dementia, and subsequently to death. Since one would expect one's children and their offspring to go where their destiny-paths take them, _was I to be isolated in the manner of those Hindus who, when freed of their family and social responsibilities, voluntarily isolated themselves to live a contemplative life?_ When I was 'sent' to this distant village, I named my cheap home my retirement cave. I now live a contemplative life writing, while continuing with my learning. The intervention by the spirit of my uncle has changed my life, giving it purpose and direction. His performance raised _major issues about human existence \u2013 which I have discussed in previous posts._\n\n_The most recent intervention was by my (then unknown) Spirit Guide._ He must have engineered my meeting with yet another clairvoyant, the one who had shouted at me (refer earlier post). **I know that he is guiding me. ** He may also have influenced my 'gut' feeling 25 years ago to have a colonoscopy. A pre-cancerous polyp was discovered; to date, 5 such polyps have been dealt with over 17 colonoscopies. I am obviously being kept alive and healthy (in spite of a most painful spine). As a total recluse, with my soul reaching out to the Divine, and my mind doing what it does best, **I am presumably adhering to the destiny-path set by my past lives and my higher beings. ** So mought it be! ###  From exile to fruition (Part 7)\n\nNecessary agents affecting my life-path\n\nThe _trigger-agent_ who had alienated me from my people was the yogi who had travelled a long way to influence my widowed mother to send me to join an unwelcoming racist people. As the _facilitating-agent_ , she paid a heavy price, presumably reflecting her own destiny-path. While I was floating \u2013 unaware \u2013 in the doldrums of societal isolation, on route to crashing onto a rocky shore, _a middle-aged immigrant lady in my guest-house befriended me_ (when no one else offered any conversation). In the same period, _a young fellow-student and I went out together for a short while_ (when no Anglo-Australian girl would be seen in public with me). **Both were Jewish; the girl and her family bore numbers on their forearms. **\n\n_My rear-vision mirror highlights this incredible scenario._ I was born into the land of a friendly Muslim-Malay people in south-east Asia, my immediate past life having been as a Muslim warrior in Central Asia. In a racist white Christian nation, I was initially supported by immigrant Jewish friends. My second wife had an Italian Christian mother. I attended Anglican Church services twice a year. _To complete my multi-ethno-cultural links:_ before World War 2, an uncle married a Chinese. After the war, another uncle acquired a Malay wife. A nephew then married a Chinese; another married a Burmese. A niece married a part-Indian, part-Chinese. **I expect to be re-born a Han in China! I seem to have lived everywhere else, including Europe and West Asia (just a 'gut-feeling'). **\n\nThen there were the _WASPS and Papal-zealots_ who ensured that I did not get promoted into a senior executive position in the public sector. _They were most probably agents of those 'higher beings' ensuring that I continued to progress to where I could respond positively to my spirit uncle's advice._\n\nThrough responding to implement my uncle's suggestion about building a socio-cultural bridge, _I realised that the spirit realm had put me through a necessary learning program._ I began to write when I became aware that I was truly able to contribute to building that bridge. So, I published my 6 books, and wrote 44 intellectual essays for ezinearticles.com. For 6 years I have been writing posts on WordPress.com and Facebook. I have also had a few other articles published. I do hope that I am making the sort of contribution which our higher beings had expected of me. But I must be time-limited in this endeavour. ###  From exile to fruition (Part 8)\n\nWhen I write about being exiled, I do so in a sardonic manner. **Since my fragile personal-destiny sampan, steered by higher spirit beings (perhaps only at times) took me from the communitarian family-oriented ethos of Asia to the ethos of individualism of immigrant-created Australia, I have adapted successfully. **\n\nThrough an unyielding adherence to the civilisational spiritual values of my heritage, while contributing substantially to my 'adopted' nation's civil society in a highly interactive style (leadership being a natural propensity for me), I have been able to march to the drumbeats of a materialistic Western society. By and large, I have been accepted by a population which is now becoming ethno-culturally diverse, and socially colour-blind. Whether non-Christian immigrant-descended coloured citizens, and Australian Aborigines, will be able to ascend to positions of political and societal authority is a moot point. Both religion and skin colour have been, and can be, detrimental to equal opportunity. The terms 'multicultural' and 'diversity', prominently espoused by some politicians and media, obfuscate the need for equal treatment. Tribalism continues to be subliminally pervasive. In the host-nation population, I detect an overt search (but only by some) for spiritual paths to the Divine. _I have influenced a number of people in this search; indeed, 4 middle-aged persons did tell me once that their respective clairvoyants had foretold my influence._\n\nYoga and Buddhism are the preferred paths for these Seekers. While many Australians are caught in the grasping grip of Mammon, or are attracted by the treacherous tug of transient power, mature souls seem to be aware (as I believe I am) of where to seek a keener understanding of the universe of human existence; and of our place as a species in the Cosmos. Spiritual insight is what I seek. I read widely, analyse deeply, and endeavour to develop my 'third eye' capacity for intuition. **I have done what my uncle's spirit suggested, enabled by the protracted learning I had to (unconsciously) undergo. ** My contribution to that 'bridge' is now in cloudland. _Higher spirit beings may choose to disseminate my observations and thoughts._ The recent invasion of Europe and Australia by Middle Easterners and Africans make my first 4 books highly relevant. Am I close to completing what the spirit realm expected of me when I was directed to, and kept in, Australia? My next Earthly life will let me know. How? Hopefully, through a 'leakage' from my soul, the essential me who has traversed space and time through many reincarnations. **I have reason to believe that my soul is (and has been) in subtle communication with my temporary Earthly bodies (or personalities?). ** Insubstantial souls must surely influence their associated (linked) Earth-entities of form and substance. _While our souls have to be located in Consciousness, Consciousness must necessarily infuse our Earth-bound bodies._ So mought it be! ###  Linking the past to the future\n\nWhen a manifesting spirit (a former human being) displays \u2013 through a clairvoyant \u2013 memories of his immediate past life (as did my uncle), the unavoidable conclusion is that his mind, together with the memories it contained, had been transported (in association with his soul) to the 'Afterlife' (the spirit realm) at the demise of his Earthly life. For this transfer to be enabled, the human mind (while obviously linked to the brain) must be located outside the body. I proposed, in an earlier post, that the human mind would have to be 'embedded' in Consciousness, that etheric essence which seemingly encompasses all of cosmic existence. The departing soul, which would need to take the mind with it, would thereby need to have been also 'embedded' in Consciousness. **Could soul and mind not be linked subliminally (perhaps in a gossamer web) throughout a human life on Earth? ** Intuitively, I seem to have become aware of such a link in my life recently. Could not this link be expected to continue in the Afterlife (the spirit realm) until re-birth of the soul? _Support for the belief that Consciousness_ (indefinable as it may be) _envelops_ _all cosmic existence_ can be found (to a degree) from these sources: current neuroscience research (refer the redoubtable V.S. Ramachandran); sub-atomic research (refer the free-thinking speculative theorist David Bohm); and age-old mainstream Hindu belief (viz. the unbounded 'Ocean' of Consciousness). Modern research by non-traditional scientists on the aether (ignoring the 'non-finding' of the Michaelson-Morley experiment of yore) suggests that it may be (at minimum) an ever-existing all-pervasive medium enabling the transmission of all manner of forces (including etheric ones?). Could it be a substitute for Consciousness \u2013 or, is it another name for it? _Then there is Hinduism's Brahman,_ the uncreated essence, said to be the source of all that is in the Cosmos, and which permeates all creation. The complex cosmology associated with Brahman represents the only complete cosmology (typically cyclical) offered by the leading religions of mankind. _Brahman seems to be the alter-ego of Consciousness._\n\nConsciousness also offers the advantage of self-awareness, an attribute seemingly accessible only to the highest being in the animal kingdom, the human being. Is it not probable that, in the Afterlife, the soul (representing the past) and the (temporarily) linked mind (the residue of the recently-expired human being representing the present) together contribute to the contours of the to-be-reincarnated human entity? Is it not also possible then that the soul (as the 'Watcher' of Yoga) may allow its current associated mind to perceive a relevant fragment of the past as a fine-tuning endeavour? This endeavour may reflect the soul's own need to progress towards moral maturation. That is, through the ambience of Consciousness, the soul may also be able to participate in shaping its future direction! At a subconscious level, I do feel that my soul has enabled my mind to link my immediate past life (and a couple of others) to my current Earth life. ###  In retrospect (Part 1): Where resides my soul? As a metaphysical Hindu (that is, one beyond rituals), **I accept that the Cosmic Creator (not necessarily a physical entity), as both transcendent and immanent, may have a presence in all that is created. A fragmentary essence of this Creator could thus be within me. ** I have read that this presence is located in a walnut-sized space within my heart (a Hindu view). Is this essence the real me, that traveller through time, through repeated re-births? That cannot be. That is because _each soul is held to be a single human entity and believed to have been sent on its trajectory_ to be polished (improved morally or spiritually) through the reincarnation process, and _then returned to the boundless Ocean of Consciousness from which it is said to have risen._ A fragment or essence of the Creator will surely not need to be polished. **Rather, the role of the essence of the Creator within me may be to remind me** that, in times of travail, _I need only look within me for succour and spiritual (and mental) peace._ The lessons of Destiny \u2013 both personal and communal \u2013 do need to be accepted with stoic equanimity, and some humility. _My soul is clearly a unique insubstantial entity, the essential me,_ carrying the compound lessons acquired through a series of past lives. Does it remain a passive record keeper, uninvolved in the normal turbulence of life? Or, _does it, in its own interest, influence me by allowing me intimations (on occasions) of my immediate past life?_\n\n_I have become somewhat sensitised to this influence_ through: some instinctive responses to events; visions of a past life through auto-hypnosis; information offered by a psychic healer whose Spirit Healer can apparently read my past life traumas; and my 'casual' clairvoyant who saw me as I apparently appeared in my immediate past life. I await, with hope, further illumination. Developing my 'third-eye' vision may enable me to become more intuitive about such matters. **I doubt, however, whether the embodied-I will ever know what the essential-I (my soul) is doing. **\n\nWhat I would like to know is whether my soul surrounds me as an ethereal (or cloud) entity (like the Internet). When I die, will my soul gather my mind and its memories on its way, because they too exist in a 'cloud' around my brain? Could I now explain how I recovered the memory which I had lost when I had a heart attack? _Perhaps my memory exists at 2 levels; at an operational level, which can be damaged, and at a holistic ethereal level beyond bodily weakness._\n\nFascinating! Pity that I will be denied an answer. As my soul soon takes off to the Afterlife, it will not (I guess) be concerned by such Earth-based ruminations. The caravan must (and will) move on! (Note: **While I cannot prove the existence of a Cosmic Creator and the ways this all-pervasive, ever-existing essence may influence human existence, no sceptic can disprove such a belief. As for the reality of souls and the reincarnation process about which I have written, my experiences and reliable research findings by eminent scholars over decades being very, very real, cannot be denied. **\n\nDoctrinal religion does not offer needed illumination. Regrettably, some scholars cannot step out from their religion-imbued castles.) ###  In retrospect (Part 2) \u2013 How do souls retain mind and memories? **This question arises from my real experience** when I began to investigate e.s.p. (extra-sensory perception), otherwise known as psychic phenomena. My initial exposure to a clairvoyant, and his extra-ordinary and quite inexplicable skills, involved the manifestation of my favourite uncle's spirit. Incredibly, my uncle communicated psychically with the clairvoyant, obviously heard a comment I had made to the clairvoyant (by responding to it), and displayed his memory of a relevant segment of his recent Earthly life, and referred to his knowledge of the tragedy I had experienced long after his demise. **It was obvious that this insubstantial entity, while thus lacking a brain, ears and eyes, had retained \u2013** more than 4 decades after the cremation of his body \u2013 **his Earthly mind and its memories** ; and was able to offer advice to me about my spiritual advancement (implying an awareness of my potential future). How could a spirit, presumably residing in what I refer to as the Afterlife, also retain capabilities normally associated with an efficiently operating human on Earth \u2013 to hear, think, speak (mentally in his situation), and probably see as well? _Here is evidence that, at death, the soul of a human being continues as a spirit in another dimension, retaining both mind (with its memories) and sense-and-brain related facilities._ Unthinkable! As for our physical organs of sense \u2013 the known 5 \u2013 what is seen, heard, tasted, touched and smelt \u2013 need to be processed and stored in the brain. **The mind, clearly associated with the brain, may not be resident in the brain. ** Indeed, I use my mind to search the brain for recorded memories. Yet, the brain can also project information even before I begin the search. I have had this experience doing crossword puzzles. Sometimes, my brain also projects relevant information before I ask my mind to go search. _Here I am proposing that my ego (my personality) is indeed separate from my mind; the latter being a facility._\n\n**Thus, memory, associated with the brain as a storage facility, seems to exist outside the brain? ** How else could the soul of a human being take both mind and the memories contained therein into the Afterlife? (Denying the existence of souls, the Afterlife, and the capabilities of spirits is not now an option for me. _Experienced reality cannot be denied by closing one's mind. )_\n\nIn this or any other context, I do not accept the concept of an Akashic Record which registers every action of every human being on Earth. What would be the objective of such a massive record of inconsequence? Confusingly, I lost the memory of quite a few faces through my heart attack. A few years later, progressively, this memory was recovered. Did changes take place in my brain enabling recovery of memory? Or, **was relevant memory reinstated from outside my brain? ** Is this not a relevant question? _While the recall of memory reportedly involves the whole brain, the impetus of such a memory search would have to be the mind. In my case, it was a conscious search for memory._\n\nFood for thought? (Refer my previous post \"Where resides the soul?\") ###  In retrospect (Part 3) \u2013 Where resides the Creator within me? **I believe, tentatively, that my soul arose originally from the Ocean of Consciousness. (Was I not born conscious? )** I say 'tentatively' because _all my beliefs are tentative; I am in no position to know about such matters._ Being tentative does not equate to being uncertain. It is not like holding on to the horns of a vibrant bull as it carries me onward, while wondering whether I am really holding on to its tail. **I have read that my soul resides in a walnut-sized space within my heart. ** This seems credible in the light of reliable reports about some heart-transplanted persons. The reports were of significant changes in their personality, including likes and dislikes, tastes, interests, and, surprisingly, the subtle impact of some vague foreign memories! **Where then is the Creator claimed to be within me to be found? ** Good question. It is, after all, a big shift in perspective, from believing a God of substance to be up there, or out there, to contemplating an ethereal God within me \u2013 and everybody else (while out there too). **It would seem that our Creator, an essence, occupies all space, and all things created. ** That is, my Creator should be found within me ephemerally infusing my existence. _Is it the Creator, then, which provides me and my fellow-humans with the energy to live?_\n\nIn the light of the pettiness, greed, and evil manifested by humans at all levels of responsibility, it is very difficult to accept that we are co-created, and that we all share a Creator. Yet, such a belief offers hope for the future of mankind. This ethereal essence, perhaps a flux of vital energy, or Consciousness \u2013 totally pervasive in all existence (and non-existence?) \u2013 may be waiting for us to become mature; that is, to grow up. In the meanwhile, as I await to hear the soft beat of the wings sent to take me to my next abode (for rest and refreshment), **is it for the Creator within me to say 'Time to go'? ** _The essential me, my soul, will then vacate that little space within my heart or, more likely, take off to the Afterlife from its connection to Consciousness, leaving the shell of my body to be returned to star-dust through cremation._\n\n###  In retrospect (Part 4) \u2013 Does Consciousness explain Reality? **My experience of Reality is three-fold: physical, mental, and ephemeral. ** Relatively few humans are likely to have had exposure to the ephemeral (spiritual) realm. This realm is both exciting and confusing. Among the multiple facets of the inter-connections between these 3 realms is this issue: **Is there an over-arching, all-encompassing, dimension into which all these 3 realms fit? ** Notwithstanding the apparently challengeable conclusion from the Michelson-Morley experiment (a very long time ago), is there something referred to as the aether which could provide an operational basis for illuminating these 3 realms operating in unison? Interestingly, there are a number of scientists researching the aether. They are obviously working beyond the prevailing explanatory paradigms of science. I hasten to add that _I accept the usefulness and reliability of the scientific method. However, it is necessarily limited to the mechanistic material realm of experience._ It may, however, be useful in illuminating the mental realm \u2013 or parts thereof. _It could not, under any circumstances, assist in perusing the mysteries of the spiritual realm._ Beware (as someone wrote) vivisecting the songbird to identify the source of its trill. My question about an over-arching dimension arose from my reading of Easwaran's translation of the core Upanishads. **Hinduism's Upanishads offer a view of Reality through spirituality** \u2013 not available at an equivalent depth from other religions. This is not surprising in view of its distant origins in time. The Vedas, their precursor, seemingly originated about 7,000 years ago (dated by tracing a unique planetary configuration). Hindu cosmology is complex, and allegedly inherited from extraterrestrials (but that is a separate issue). Human history before the Universal Flood (of about 11,000 BC) is uncertain \u2013 possibly covered in mud. **The relevance here of Hindu cosmology is the concept of Consciousness,** and its role. Consciousness is posited as ever-existing, all-embracing, all-pervasive \u2013 like the aether. It is an un-caused First Cause. In relation to my posts about the mind and the human soul, **were our minds and souls to exist outside our bodies in some ephemeral (cloud) form (like information on the Internet), could they not be associated with (linked to, or part of) an all-pervasive Consciousness? **\n\nFurthermore, since everything in the Cosmos appears to be inter-connected, could that be explained by an all-embracing Consciousness (like a gossamer blanket which covers everything)? Thus, the physical, mental and ephemeral realms of my experience may represent my awareness of a 3-tiered Reality reflecting an ever-existing Consciousness. That is, could Consciousness create and sustain all that is, in spite of not being adequately explicable to humans? (Disclaimer: In this life I am a Hindu. In my previous life it appears that I have been a Muslim in Central Asia. Way deep in me is a memory of being a Jew in the Middle East. I have also been a Christian. As a free-thinker, I merely seek understanding of the place of humanity in the Universe. I have no axe to grind. My tentative beliefs and speculations are just what they are.) ###  In retrospect (Part 5) \u2013 Life after Earthly death\n\nWhy not? Yet, there are those who say, with great certitude, that at death the body and everything associated with it \u2013 such as _the mind and its memories \u2013 come to an end._ Of course, they have no basis for that claim. How could they know? Then, some church-attending friends told me that _they do not accept that they have a soul,_ and which represents the core or essence of their existence. Indeed, in spite of their Bible offering eternal bliss in Heaven (by being with Christ), these genuinely _good people do not know where they will go after death._ A couple have said that an 'essence' of what they are may remain \u2013 possibly in the memories of their loved ones. _Those who have indicated that they fear death_ belong to a church which has threatened a location named hell for non-compliance with its teachings. Interestingly, it is decades since I heard reference by that Church to babies born in, or conceived in, sin; or to that location named 'limbo.' **Yet, there are others whose religious beliefs offer \u2013 not damnation or bliss \u2013 but a continuity of existence after Earthly death; and which allows re-birth. ** The Western version of this belief \u2013 which I think of as 'New Age' \u2013 offers 'guides' in a location generally known as the Afterlife who \u2013 with or without any judgement about one's past \u2013 either set a pathway for the next life or assist in choosing a pathway (always on Earth). I have also been told of a faith _whose members may move to another planet after life on Earth._ Whether this offers a richer life than available after death through one of the 'desert' religions is not clear to me. This latter religion seems to offer pleasant surroundings and a pleasurable life. _The principal proponent of a sequence of re-births is Hinduism._ Unlike some Western psychotherapists and 'New Agers' who refer to life between lives as something known, and who offer descriptions of the Afterlife as an abode (with some such abodes offering scope for self-assessment), Hinduism's Afterlife offers (as told to me by a Western spiritualist) an opportunity to continue with my learning. This may overlap another Western perspective of the Afterlife. Here one can purportedly have _access to the 'Akashic Record. '_ This record allegedly covers every action ever taken on Earth by humans. Would this Record enable self-tuning of one's next path on Earth? So, we go nowhere after Earthly death. Or, we can, or do, go somewhere. That somewhere may offer pain or pleasure; or nothing specific. If 'somewhere' is a neutral place, the dead may choose their next life on Earth; or be guided to such a choice; or acquire learning; or just have a rest (slumber?) while waiting to commence the next life. For this process to be meaningful, through the principle of cause-and-effect, the next life would have, implicitly and autonomously, been shaped by one's past lives (especially the most recent one), would it not? _How credible are those who provide descriptions of the Afterlife in both physical and sociological terms?_ As well, are modern-day descriptions more accurate than those going back 2,000 years or more? How would any of these writers know? If through revelation, how could one separate this from hallucinations or imagination? The veil around Earthly life seems impenetrable. Yet, **my life-experiences, as well as reliable research of past-life memories by young children, have convinced me that an Earthly life is like island-hopping by a swimmer ploughing through rough seas on his way to shore and safety. **\n\n###  In retrospect (Part 6) \u2013 What of the Afterlife? (1)\n\n**First, what is the Afterlife? It is an assumed locale for the departing souls (spirits) from Earth. ** It may be the Heaven mentioned in certain religious documents. It would certainly not be the hell(s) imagined by those who seek to induce better moral behaviour on Earth by frightening their religious followers. _My first clairvoyant surprised me by saying of what he referred to as the 'Other Side', \"It is not that different from here; and you will not meet God. \"_ As a metaphysical Hindu believing in the reality of the reincarnation process (for the existence of which there is plenty of evidence), **I view the Afterlife as an R & R Depot or a Way Station. ** It would give me a break from the hell of Earthly lives \u2013 like walking on a bed of hot coals to get to a grassy patch; and then repeating the process again and again. Were one to be lucky to have a broadly programmed path of a personal destiny (as I am able to claim), then one may seek to learn (and understand), while in the Afterlife, the significance of human life on Earth, of Man's place in the Cosmos, and what the Cosmos might be all about. _I have been promised that I can continue my learning in the Afterlife. I do like that._\n\nI must admit to having been pre-occupied in recent years (with Death patiently awaiting) with thoughts such as: Where is this Afterlife located? Insubstantial entities will not need an environment of substance. I do not want to be involved with other spirits in the way humans interact on Earth. And how will I be able to acquire the learning I seek? And so on. I do want to know; yet, I am apparently not qualified to know. But, there has to be a way for this knowledge to become available. ###  In retrospect (Part 7) \u2013 What of the Afterlife (2)\n\n**Then, I had a strange dream recently. I was in a physical environment of my liking (the details do not matter here) in what I felt is the Afterlife. I heard human voices in the distance, but no one came into view. Peace prevailed. ** As in my present reclusive life. This life was imposed upon me, but it is acceptable as consistent with the guidance offered by Hinduism. _Hinduism recommends that, once one has completed one's commitments to family and society, one could withdraw from society to live a life of contemplation and meditation._\n\nFor example, a cave in the Himalayan mountains had been the meditation home for 3 years of the yogi who had come down to Malaya to guide my widowed mother and I about our respective futures. _Years later, when I detected a coherent pattern in my life, I knew that he had been sent to us_. I remember that he was clearly at peace, and apparently unaffected by the cold of the mountain. In my more comfortable retirement 'cave' I too have achieved peace (after a turbulent life). While the dogs do bark (and snap), this caravan will move on, ignoring those who foolishly insist that only their beliefs must prevail. Certainty is, in my experience, not a human condition. The message I received through my dream about the Afterlife is that spirits create their own environment in the Afterlife; and that any contact with other spirits can only be on a mutually-agreed basis. My spirit guide may have been responsible for this message. Strangely, I read about a similar perception at about that time. This coincides with scientist Rupert Sheldrake's concept of 'morphic resonance' \u2013 \"a process that involves action at a distance in both space and time.\" For example, a discovery by one person can be followed by comparable or similar discoveries by others, without any contact between them. I instance the way birds began to open the tops of milk bottles all over the world near-simultaneously. _I know from my real experiences with spirits that the Afterlife is nearby (therefore in an intersecting dimension), and that it is the residence of spirits such as my uncle and those he referred to as 'higher beings. '_ I look forward to an interesting sojourn. ###  Flying home \u2013 temporarily! **I am most seriously looking forward to the arrival of my 'wings'. These would allow me to 'fly' to that spiritual realm which I term the Afterlife. ** Where is it? Probably in another dimension \u2013 but which intersects with ours \u2013 and is thereby very close. I feel that, after 8 decades of questioning, and speculating about the Cosmos and the place of mankind in it in the last 3 decades, _I have completed my Earthly responsibility (in this life)._ I am bodily depleted; my brain is tired. Through circumstances beyond my control (a normal human condition), when I had completed my family and self-imposed community responsibilities, _I was required to adopt a reclusive life in an isolated home in a small coastal village._ My expressed wish as a schoolboy that I hope to live and die by the sea has achieved part-fruition. I have had most challenging spirit realm experiences; formulated some questions and thoughts reflecting these exposures; and sent into cloudland (together with my books, essays, etc.) my most recent speculations. **I have written in a clear and concise manner \u2013 to enable thoughtful and sensitive challenge by fellow Seekers! ** Professional sceptical debunkers \u2013 please await some evidence of your maturation! I am looking forward to my next sojourn in the Afterlife, where I hope to extend my learning. _I seek understanding rather than knowledge_ \u2013 for, knowledge is a variable feast. It would be obvious that I have been indulging in speculations which, unlike my exposure to the spirit realm, have no basis in experience. My out-of-body experience at age 18 was probably a demonstration that higher spirit beings had decided not to allow my impending death through dengue fever, that bone-breaking disease. My speculations will be laid out in future posts. ###  The 'Afterlife' \u2013 My ponderings (1)\n\n_This is probably the first Earthly life during the end of which I have given serious thought to my next (temporary) home._ Ten years ago, I consulted my second clairvoyant \u2013 for the second time. During the intervening 17 years, every event she had foretold had turned to be true! So, **at age 80, I sought to have her confirm that I would die at age 82 to 83. I did not want to live any longer. **\n\nHer response was not encouraging \u2013 again. Since my family history implied my death before age 70, in the light of my record of lifetime tribulations, I had been dismayed at age 63 at the prospect of living for another 20 years, and being increasingly isolated from family and society. The societal ethos of Australia is, of course, individualism, not the communalism of non-Western cultures, especially Asian cultures. **At age 82, I had my second heart attack. It stopped midstream when I began to vomit. Significantly, I never, ever, vomit; I have a cast-iron gut! ** _The spirit realm, which wanted me in Australia, and which reportedly (refer comment by the spirit of my uncle) had difficulty in getting me to Australia, had to be responsible._ My Spirit Guide, as agent for unidentified higher beings, is now influencing my writing \u2013 for which I am grateful. **My physical condition and the associated pain-level are such that I want release now. ** I have said so. I hope my message got through. As well, _my suffering is affecting my thoughts, and thereby my writing._\n\n\" **When your brain dies, you will die\" \u2013 said by this clairvoyant 10 years ago \u2013 had better come true. ** _In preparation, I ponder about my new home: Where is it? What will it be like? How will I 'live' there?_\n\n###  The 'Afterlife' \u2013 My ponderings (2)\n\nPersonal attention is due (especially when one may be time-limited) only to issues of significance. **I thus do not consider the comment by my second clairvoyant 10 years ago \"When your brain dies, you will die\" as an indictment. ** I am adequately aware that, for me to die, my heart must stop. What will happen when my heart stops? _I expect my soul, the substantive me, to sing 'Hallelujah' (sotto voce, of course); then detach the gossamer links which (I believe) bind it and the associated conglomeration of the more significant memories from my current Earthly life to that all-pervasive cosmic Consciousness which also surrounds all existence; and take off into the 'blue yonder' with increasing joy._\n\nMy soul should (would) have done this innumerable times \u2013 judging by the **increasing number of intuitive 'flashbacks' of cultures I seem to have experienced in past lives. ** They now flick in and out of my spiritual awareness. These subliminal flashings may be comparable to those sub-atomic particles which flick into existence, and almost immediately disappear (so I have read) during scientific studies of particle physics. **These spiritual flashbacks of mine are a recent development. ** Through considerable periods of contemplation and some meditation (enabled by being a recluse), _I may be triggering my soul to be reminiscent of fragments of my past lives which have (perhaps obtusely) a bearing on my current Earthly life._ The connection between the distant past and the present may be stronger than we could normally know. Indeed, why couldn't my soul 'enlighten' me now about any aspects of my past lives which may be pertinent in my future life? Much of the latter may already be laid out! ###  The 'Afterlife' \u2013 My ponderings (3)\n\nLeaving my Earthly life to be (rightly) converted into stardust through cremation, in the form of soul, I should 'wing' my way 'home' once more. Once arrived, I (as soul) should have some of the answers I (as a human) now seek. So, **why ponder now about matters which will probably be clear after my arrival? **\n\nBecause, all my life, I have been a Seeker of knowledge, and (now) of understanding; because I am a pragmatic problem-silver; and because I am also a communicator, who wants to share with fellow-humans what knowledge and understanding he has. **Since souls as spirits are insubstantial, why should they need a place to gather** (assuming they do come together)? If such a location exists, would they need any structures? It is indeed difficult to imagine a structure-less residence or meeting place. _Or, do they communicate with one another, wherever they may be, through their 'cloudland' equivalent \u2013 as we internet users all over the globe on Earth do?_\n\nDo they communicate with one another only psychically? They need to, don't they? They also need a shared language \u2013 or a facility which enables instant translation into many tongues. In this context, I reject the comment by my first clairvoyant that \"the Other Side is little different from here.\" Just consider the over-population of Earth, and the overwhelming prevalence of exorbitant greed for power and possessions. We outdo all the other members of the animal kingdom in this regard. _As the Afterlife is said to be a 'location' offering rest and recuperation from the stresses of Earthly life, those who arrive there should have the opportunity to divest themselves of any past evil (which arises only in human minds); and to benefit from the learning which is said to be available there._ **What am I looking forward to? **\n\n###  The 'Afterlife' \u2013 My hopes\n\nThrough my real-life exposures to the spirit realm, I am of the opinion that my R&R (rest and recuperation) home is in a different dimension from the dimension which includes planet Earth, but which it 'crosses'; that is, it is close-by. To offer R&R, as well as learning (which I have been promised), the Afterlife has to be an environment of peace and quiet, free from human emotions and ambitions. I expect to be a microscopic gossamer-equivalent wisp of non-substance (an interesting image! ), quite separate from all other wisps of insubstantial entities originating from Earth; to be left to my own devices; and communicating with others psychically only through necessity. I also expect to create my own imagined physical environment which reflects, possibly, my past lives; or, more probably, my preferred environment. If the latter, I would be located on a luscious mountain-side, with a fast-flowing river, both visible and audible; yet to be able to see a beach and the sea. What I find mysteriously fascinating is that I have already had a dream of such an environment, after months of pondering what my next temporary home would be like. During this dream, I heard human voices, but they did not come near me \u2013 for which I was grateful. This dream offered me a true R&R environment. It is also consistent with my recent life as a recluse in an isolating environment, with absolutely minimal human contact. **My contemplative life, seeking communion with the Divine (my Creator) needs continuity** \u2013 while I discard the detritus of a difficult life (which yet had a built-in destiny-path). The stress today is on-going harassment by the only neighbour I have, but whom I do not wish to harm. _I need to retain my mental and spiritual peace in the Afterlife, in preparation for my next Earthly life._ So mought it be! Raja Arasa Ratnam\n\nAfter 70 years of a highly interactive and contributory life in Australia as an adult, including holding leadership positions in civil society, and now living as a recluse in a beach-side village, I continue my life-long search for understanding of matters both material and ethereal, with a spiritual intent. My reality covers the physical, the mental, and the spiritual domains \u2013 through experience. Significantly, twice in primary school, I wrote in my essays that I wished to live and die by the sea.",
-        "Releasing their grip on Paul's jeans, my fingers": "Releasing their grip on Paul's jeans, my fingers delved into the bag. I tried to tell myself that it was just a little scrap of foil; it couldn't possibly be what it looked like; what I thought it was. Grasping it with my forefinger and thumb, I slowly pulled it free from its hiding place. It wasn't just the tiny edge I had been able to see. It was a full square with a clear circular indent. The shiny, blue wrapper had been ripped at the top and its contents removed. The hand holding the condom wrapper began to tremble, as the implications of it settled painfully in my chest. My mouth and throat went instantly dry, while palpitations caused my eardrums to throb with each deep, pound of my heart. Paul and I hadn't used condoms since our engagement; he'd never liked them, we both wanted a family anyway and, shortly after Lizzie was born, I'd started taking the pill. There was no need for any other form of contraception. The object in my hand could mean only one thing. God knows I tried to find other explanations. Most of them were wild, nonsensical excuses; anything to avoid the truth that was staring me in the face. But there was no way to avoid it. Paul had an affair while he'd been away. Dropping the wrapper and swiveling toward the tub, bile suddenly rose in my throat. I dry heaved, nothing more than saliva dribbling from my bottom lip while my throat burned. I remained that way for several minutes, my empty stomach continuing to retch. Eventually, my insides stopped trying to turn themselves inside out, but my heart still raced and my fingers tingled with a lack of circulation. My knees beginning to feel numb, I forced myself up, regretting it almost instantly when my head pounded and I felt a wave of dizziness. Nevertheless, I pulled myself around to the sink and turned the cold faucet on full. I let the stream flow noisily for a second, while I looked at myself in the mirror. My usually bright complexion was deathly pale and my blue eyes gazed blankly ahead. Unable to bear the sight of myself, I stuck my head beneath the water's stream, vigorously rinsing my face before filling my mouth with several large gulps. When the feeling of nausea returned with a vengeance, I quickly turned off the water and slipped down onto the cold tiles, my legs collapsing beneath me. My back propped up against the edge of the tub was the only thing keeping me sitting upright. Never, either before or since, have I experienced such a sudden and debilitating sense of loss and disorientation. It was an hour or more before I was finally able to drag myself up from the bathroom floor. By that point, I was still trembling, but it was no longer with fear. The victim mentality had been replaced with anger; a seething rage. Questions swirled around my frenzied brain, and I was determined to get answers. # Chapter Five\n\nProof\n\nThrough an enraged red mist, I wasn't thinking clearly. I flew back into the bedroom and started tearing the room apart. I began by ripping out the drawers of Paul's bedside table, and tipping the contents of them on the floor. His collection of cufflinks scattered over the carpet and an old cell phone battery clunked to the ground followed by an ipod with tangled earphones. The lower, deeper drawer was heavier and full of notebooks and photo albums. I flicked through these, quickly dismissing them when I found nothing relevant within the pages. Using the bed to push myself up, I moved over to Paul's wardrobe. My movements were frenzied, as I tugged suit jackets off hangers and rifled through the pockets. When I found nothing, I tossed the clothes over my shoulder. I continued this way, until I'd gone through every item of clothing he owned. I had to wade through an ankle deep puddle of fabric as I turned away from the closet and glanced desperately around the room. He had taken everything else with him; his phone, tablet and laptop were all in his possession. \"Shit,\" I hissed, my breath coming hard as the desperate need to get to the truth became an almost physical pain. I couldn't call him, he'd only come up with a convenient excuse for the condom, and not being able to see him when he lied put me at a disadvantage. No, I wanted to have irrefutable proof of what he'd done before I confronted him with it. In the corner of the room was a desktop computer, which I focused on intently. It was my only route into his life. I'd only ever used the thing infrequently, but I'd worked with computers before Lizzie came into the world, and knew my way around them. Without a second thought, I turned it on and tugged the antique chair toward the desk. Sitting, I grasped the mouse and clicked on the shortcut for Paul's email. Then, I was forced to pause. I had no idea what his password was. It wasn't something he'd shared with me. Until that moment, I'd never questioned it; hadn't believed for one second that I needed access to his cell or his computers. I'd stupidly believed that Paul loved me the same way I loved him, and that no matter what problems we faced, we'd work through them together. Not only did I feel betrayed and sick with the knowledge that he'd been with someone else, but I also felt stupid. I was gullible and na\u00efve not to see what had been going on. The signs were there; his distance, his unwillingness to have sex (the exception being our strange encounter the night before), that gnawing sense that something just wasn't right. It was a feeling I'd had for weeks, and yet I'd ignored it, buried it, pretended that everything was just peachy and perfect. With no trace of humor, I laughed bitterly at my own stupidity. Fresh anger welling inside me, I turned my attention back to the computer screen. I began typing words that floated into my head. I started with the name of Paul's family business: 'Hayes&Son', then moved onto the license plate number of his new BMW, the name of his childhood dog, our children's names and dates of birth, the date of our wedding. Denied, denied, denied. \"Argh,\" I groaned loudly, slamming my hand down on the surface of the desk. In the silence that followed, I waited to discover that I'd woken one, or possibly all three, of the kids. However, the moment's ticked by and still silence met my ears. Drawing in a calming breath, I resolved to control my outburst. The last thing I needed was a sleepily toddler wandering in and asking what was going on. I would never be able to explain Mom's teary, haunted face or the wreckage she'd made of the bedroom. With a sigh of resignation, I threw myself back into the solid wooden-backed chair, jarring my spine as I did so. I didn't care about the discomfort. Instead, my eyes crawled up the wall before me and landed on a framed picture of Paul with three of his high school football teammates. \"Tigers,\" I whispered under my breath. Moving without my conscious request, I typed, 'Tigers' into the empty password box. However, I hovered over the enter key for some time, before deciding to add '32', Paul's jersey number. The screen suddenly changed and I was looking at Paul's inbox. Quickly scanning through the first page of recent messages, all seemed normal, boring and businesslike. However, three quarters of the way down the page, I noticed something that seemed out of place. The sender's name was Jennifer, in of itself nothing to be suspicious about, but the subject line of her email read, 'Last Night'. Terrified, but unable to simply turn away, I slowly directed the mouse to that message and clicked to open it. I don't think I breathed as I read, and my heart seemed to sink lower and lower in my chest. Hi Paul,\n\nJust wanted to say thanks for a very interesting evening. Someone told me that you admire people who go after what they want, so I assume you won't think any less of me for doing exactly that. Like I told you, I'd been thinking about it for months and the temptation of being in a strange city and a luxurious hotel with you was just too great to resist. And I think you should know that you definitely didn't disappoint! Anyway, I look forward to working with you. I'm pretty sure it's going to be a lot of fun for both of us. There was nothing overt, but the subtext of her email left little to the imagination. My eyes flicked to the date, it had been sent almost three months ago. Paul had been on another three, maybe four trips since then. The tears that had been pricking my eyes spilled silently onto my cheek and traced a hot trail to my chin. This hadn't just been a one-time thing; a moment of weakness. In all likelihood, he'd been having a full-blown affair with this woman. Desperate to know more, I typed Jennifer in the search box and pulled up all messages sent to and from her. There were only two more that she'd sent to Paul, both were completely professional and written some time earlier. The other was written by Paul in reply to the first email I'd read. Jen,\n\nThe pleasure was mine! You're absolutely right, this could be the start of a long and successful association. Will be in Dallas again in a couple of weeks. If interested in another meeting, let me know. I'll e-mail you the details when they're set in stone. Again, the pretext of business hid something that caused my stomach to lurch. Blinking back the water that was blurring my vision, I slumped in the chair. There were still so many unanswered questions. Who was this woman? How long had it been going on? Was it just a fling or was Paul considering leaving me for her? It seemed as though I'd struck a dead end. Paul and this Jennifer hadn't corresponded in ten weeks, at least not via email. However, as I was about to give up, I noticed that Paul had placed those two emails, which seemed to skirt around the subject of a night spent together, in a folder entitled, 'business trips'. I'm not sure why it occurred to me to check it, but I did so on instinct. Moving the mouse to the right hand side of the screen, I clicked on the folder, which opened a new window. 'Business trips' contained dozens of messages and as I scanned down the list, I quickly noticed the pattern. Every single one was from a woman. Four names featured heavily; Abby, Rachel, Joann and Krista. Emails from each of them were predominantly in dated chunks. Abby's were all sent just before and around the time Paul was in New York. Rachel's centered around the week he was in Tampa. Joann wrote to him during his trip to San Francisco, and Krista's emails were dated on and just after Paul's visit to San Diego. \"Jesus,\" I mumbled, my eyes widening with disbelief. It all seemed so surreal. Shaking my head, I felt that I must be dreaming. This had to be some horrible nightmare that I was about to wake up from. However, no matter how many times I blinked, the image on the screen stayed the same. Although a part of me didn't want the pain of knowing what was inside those emails, the urge to get to the truth was overwhelming. So, regardless of the sensible voice that told me to just turn the computer off and walk away, my fingers gripped the mouse tightly and directed the cursor to the last email on the list \u2013 the oldest. It was from Krista and the subject line read, 'Discrete'. Paul,\n\nI'm sure you feel the same, but I wanted to ask if we can keep what happened yesterday between us. Some of the guys on my team were asking where I disappeared to last night and I made up an excuse about not feeling well. I just hope nobody saw us going upstairs to your room. I don't want people thinking that I'm trying to sleep my way to a promotion. Working with a large group of men is difficult enough without them thinking I'm a slut. And as drunk as we both were, I don't want you to think I regret what happened. In fact, if you're in town for a few more days, perhaps we can meet up again? Her next message made it clear that Paul had reassured her and responded in the affirmative to her final question. She simply confirmed that she would meet him at his hotel room at 9pm that evening. There followed a couple more messages, stating that she'd had a good time and requested more meetings with him. The content of her final email suggested that Paul had given her the brush off. However, she didn't seem too distressed by that news. Next came Joann, her messages were similar in tone. She obviously also worked for the company, in one of the smaller branches. She alluded to having given Paul a blowjob in the bathroom of a restaurant, before signing off with a crass remark about her jaw still being sore from the experience. With a disgusted grunt, I shut that email and opened the next. It was immediately apparent that Rachel from Tampa was direct in expressing her desires. Mr. Hayes,\n\nThis is probably totally inappropriate, but I know you're here for the weekend and I was hoping you might like a little company. I feel that there's been some chemistry between us and I've caught you glancing at me in a way that tells me you've felt it too. I know that you're married, and I'm not looking for anything serious. I just want you to fuck me. There were several very short messages, confirming a time and place to meet. Then, a day later, a long message praising Paul's prowess. However, she, unlike the two other women, seemed content with just one night. She made no mention of meeting him again, and continued to address him as Mr. Hayes. The final clutch of emails was the most recent, concerning Paul's trip to New York. There, he'd been supposed to be meeting with potential new clients. The Abby from his mailbox seemed to be an employee of that business. Hello, Paul. I'm Abby, Frank Welby's personal assistant. I tried to call you this afternoon, but couldn't get through. Mr. Welby was impressed with your presentation, but he'd like some further questions answered before you leave town. However, he's heading to Napa tomorrow, so would it be possible for you to get down to the offices tonight? Thanks in advance. I read this message again, searching for some innuendo or hint of over familiarity that I might have missed the first time around. There was none, so why had Paul kept this message? The fact that there was another email from Abby indicated there was more to this seemingly professional exchange. With a sense of dread, I clicked on the subsequent message. Paul,\n\nI forgot that there was a security camera in the conference room! Had to do some quick thinking to remove this footage from the files. I really enjoyed watching this, though. Hope you will, too. Beneath the text was a video file. In so deep, I felt sure things could get no worse. I was wrong. A new window quickly opened and a grainy image appeared. The picture was soundless and quality awful, but there was no mistaking my husband. He was standing behind a blonde-haired woman, with her shoulder length hair masking most of her face. She was bent forward over a massive circular table with some ten chairs around it. Her large breasts were threatening to spill out of the low cut blouse she wore. Paul had her tight, very short skirt tugged into his hands and yanked up around her waist. I then watched his left hand, the one bearing his solid gold wedding band, slide down to his pants and unzip his fly. His fingers disappeared within and quickly returned, easing his hard shaft through the opening. Suddenly, he was inside her. With no thought for contraception, he'd rammed his unprotected member into a woman he'd met just that morning. The knowledge that less than a week later, that same cock was inside me made me feel that I'd been defiled. Her head bucked up and she arched her back, her mouth open as she screamed something. Paul instantly took advantage of her elevated upper half, grasping both of her breasts in rough hands. After a few seconds of frenzied groping, she turned her face to his and said something I couldn't lipread. It spurred him into action, pushing her back to the desk and slamming his erection into her with a force that rocked the huge table. All of the blood left my head, as I watched him repeatedly enter her from behind. She was writhing beneath him, squealing in what looked like delight at the violent treatment. Paul abruptly pulled free from her, using his right hand to slap her hard on the buttock before clasping his penis. With hurried, brutal strokes, he stimulated himself. Climaxing with a sudden jet of creamy white fluid that splattered over the hand print that was reddening on her ass. Jumping to my feet, I dashed to the bathroom, making it to the sink just in time to lose the small amount of water I'd managed to force into my stomach just minutes before. # Chapter Six\n\nWhat Friends Are For\n\nUnable to think clearly, I dashed back into the bedroom and flung open my closet. Yanking out a suitcase that was laid on the bottom, I flipped it open and began throwing clothes into it. I couldn't say what I chose to take and what I chose to leave, there was no logical sense to what I was doing, no thought for practicalities. The only thing I was aware of was a desperate need to get out of that house. A claustrophobia had gripped me and was frantic to break free. Enclosing the hurriedly bundled clothes within the case, I grabbed a pair of sweatpants with my free hand. Rushing to the bed, I sat down and slipped the sweats over my legs. Keeping the robe fastened and draped over the top, I pulled the pants up to my waist and jumped up from the mattress. It was only as I returned to my closet and grasped an oversized sweater that I silently asked, what was I doing? Where would I go? I didn't have any money, no family nearby and, after I'd left Paul, he was sure to do everything he could to take the children away from me. He could afford a team of the best family law attorneys. I could afford...nothing. As all the furious energy drained from me, I slumped to the floor of my closet and leaned back against the firm wall. I was trapped. Staring blankly ahead, I wrestled with that concept; questioning how I'd found myself in such a situation. It had never entered my head, not even for a second, that by agreeing to Paul's parents' demands over the prenuptial agreement, I'd been backed into an inescapable corner. The balance of power in our marriage was hideously weighted in his favor. And I was out of options. In a state of utter despondency and still reeling from what I'd just discovered, I did what I have always done when I didn't know what to do. I picked up the phone, after plugging it back in, and called Grace. She was my best friend, had been since we were in second grade. Although life had sent us in different directions, quite literally placing us on opposite sides of the country, and things often got so busy that it would be months between conversations, we remained close. Every time we talked, even when it was almost a year since the last time, it was as though we'd just seen each other yesterday. We both understood that life got frantic, so there was no sense that the other wasn't making 'enough effort' to stay in touch. Waiting anxiously for her to answer, I clutched the phone tightly to my ear as if it were a lifeline. \"Hello,\" she eventually said, a slight question in the word which made it obvious she hadn't looked at the caller ID before picking up. \"Hey,\" I replied, my voice sounding hoarse and scratchy. \"It's me.\" \"Julia?\" she responded quickly. \"What's up? You sound terrible.\" Despite the intense misery I felt, I couldn't help but smile. Grace always had a way of cutting right to the heart of the matter. She didn't worry about a veneer of politeness, she never said anything she didn't mean and expected everybody to treat her with the same level of brutal honesty. \"Jesus,\" she added. \"It must be three in the morning there. What the hell's happened?\" \"Is it?\" I mumbled absently glancing at the digital clock. \"I lost track of time.\" \"Jules,\" she sighed soothingly. \"What's going on?\" \"I umm,\" I began, not knowing exactly what to say. After a brief pause, I decided perhaps Grace's approach was the best, if not the only, way to deal with things. \"Paul's been cheating on me.\" \"What?\" she shouted, her shock sounding no less than my own had been. I was past the point of crying, all of my tears had dried out long before. So, it was with a sort of detached, emotionless voice that I recounted what I'd discovered over the previous few hours. \"You've got to be kidding me?\" she muttered quietly. I could tell she was talking to herself and didn't actually think it was my idea of a practical joke. \"Who does that bastard think he is?\" \"Rico Suave, apparently,\" I murmured bitterly. \"Jesus Christ,\" she sighed, clearly having a hard time taking the news in. \"What an ass!\" she suddenly shouted. \"Where the fuck does he get off? You're stuck at home raising his children and he goes around sticking his dick into everything with a pair of breast.\" I was grateful that she was so angry on my behalf, but her rant brought back images that caused my throat to tighten. \"I'd chop his cock off!\" she added vehemently. That brought a reluctant laugh to my lips, but it tapered off far too quickly to provide any real relief. \"Oh, Jules,\" she breathed. \"Honey, what are you going to do?\" \"I really don't know,\" I admitted with a whisper. \"I just...\" I sighed wearily. \"I don't know.\" \"But you are going to leave him, right?\" she asked, leaving no doubt that she felt the answer should be a resounding 'yes'. \"I want to,\" I replied weakly. \"I mean, our marriage is over. If it had just been once, I might have been able to forgive him, but after this, I'll never be able to trust him again.\" \"But?\" Grace coaxed, noting that there was one coming. \"But what can I do?\" I said, shaking my head dispiritedly. \"I haven't got a penny to my name. I can't even afford to rent a tiny one bedroom apartment, let alone a place big enough for three kids.\" \"Okay,\" she conceded, her practical tone coming to the fore. \"So, you get a job and save some money.\" It was a viable suggestion, but there were problems. \"I won't be able to work without Paul finding out,\" I sighed. \"He'd want to know why, and I can't come up with a convincing reason other than the truth.\" \"Tell him you're bored at home and need some adult company once in a while,\" Grace offered helpfully. \"Yeah,\" I agreed. \"But if he knows I'm working, he'll wonder why the money isn't going into our joint bills account,\" I countered, hating the fact that every solution simply posed another problem. \"Not to mention the fact that it would take me forever to save enough, I'm not qualified for anything that would pay well.\" \"Then don't worry about money,\" she dismissed quickly. \"You and the children can come and live with me, until you've got yourself settled financially. You could stay as long as it takes you know that.\" I'd been wrong. My tears had apparently an endless supply, because Grace's generous offer brought a fresh wave. \"You're too good to me,\" I replied shakily. \"Hey,\" she cooed. \"That's what friends are for, right? So what do you say?\" \"I'd love to,\" I told her earnestly. \"But I can't. No matter what, when I leave him, Paul's going to fight me for principal custody of the kids. If I take them out of the state without his permission, his lawyers will make sure I never see them again.\" Grace was silent for several seconds. \"Surely, he wouldn't do that,\" she mumbled. \"The children love you, you're a good mom. Why would he want to do that to them or to you?\" Sighing, my eyes wandered to the ceiling. \"He can be very vindictive,\" I explained. \"And he's ruthless in getting what he wants. He's, umm...\" I hesitated. \"He's joked about what would happen if we ever split up. At least, he framed them as jokes, but I knew that he wasn't just messing around. If I give him any reason to, he'll take them from me.\" Exhaling heavily, the whir of Grace's brain almost came through the phone. \"All right,\" she began. \"So, the situation is you need to make some money, preferably a lot of it in a fairly short space of time. And you need to keep it on the down low,\" she stated, summing up my impossible situation. \"That's about it,\" I agreed, leaning forward and dropping my head into my open left palm. \"No big deal, right?\" I joked darkly. \"Well,\" she said, drawing the word out. \"I'm thinking there is something you could do?\" \"What?\" I asked, not holding out much hope for a completely full proof solution. \"Don't dismiss it right off the bat, okay?\" she prefaced. \"How about working as an exotic dancer?\" \"Stripping?\" I blurted. \"I don't think so.\" \"I said, don't dismiss it,\" she insisted. \"Think about it. You could work a couple of nights a week during the time Paul's away. You'd hire a sitter to watch the kids, or have them stay overnight with friends.\" \"All that sounds fine,\" I conceded. \"But what about the part where I take off my clothes?\" \"You've got an amazing body,\" she instantly replied, seeming to misunderstand my main objection. \"It may have been a long time since you danced in high school, but I bet you've still got the moves.\" \"Grace,\" I muttered. \"I can't.\" \"Why not?\" she countered. \"I just...\" I weakly protested. \"I can't go around all the clubs in town, gyrating in nothing more than a thong.\" \"You could,\" she retorted. \"Do you know how quickly you could make enough money for a deposit on an apartment?\" \"That's not the point,\" I replied quietly. \"Well, sweetie,\" she sighed. \"I don't know that you have many other options. I'm not suggesting that it's perfect, and I'm not suggesting you take it up as a career. But I do think it's worth considering. Otherwise, what choice do you have?\" We both knew it was a rhetorical question, but Grace left it hanging there, no doubt wanting to ensure that I really thought about my predicament and lack of ways out. \"Do you really think that you could just bury all of this and go on with Paul as though nothing's happened?\" she eventually added. That was another question that didn't require an answer. She knew me well enough to know that I couldn't bear to play 'happy families' with a man who not only had been unfaithful, but also a man who would doubtless continue to cheat on me. \"Are you still there?\" she said after my silence had become uncomfortably long. \"Yeah,\" I assured her quietly. \"Yeah, I'm still here. I'm just wondering how I got myself into this mess.\" \"None of this is your fault,\" she replied softly. \"You could never have known that this is what was going to happen. I mean,\" she added, \"it's not as though Paul was a player when he was younger. He's changed, and you couldn't have foreseen that.\" \"Maybe,\" I reluctantly mumbled. \"But he still changed right in front of me, and I was either too busy or too blind to notice.\" \"Jules,\" she said in her no nonsense manner. It was the kind of tone that all parents use with their children from time to time. \"You have to stop beating yourself up. Paul is the one who did something wrong. You're not to blame for any of it, understand?\" \"I guess,\" I replied halfheartedly. \"Listen, I'm really sorry, but I've got to go,\" she added apologetically. I could hear Mason, her baby boy, in the background. He was crying softly; the sound of a hungry, growing child. \"Think about what I said, and call me again if you need to talk. Any time, day or night.\" \"Thank you,\" I said with a grateful half smile that she would never see, but I hope she heard. \"I really appreciate that.\" \"No problem,\" she responded. \"You take care, honey.\" \"Bye,\" I sadly whispered, before slipping the phone back into its base. My gaze stayed fixed there for some time, not because I was drawn to the phone in particular. No, my focus remained there, because I was trying to resist the call of something else. If I ignored it, perhaps the feeling would pass. However, it didn't. Eventually, I peered over my shoulder at the computer. After all that time, the screen had gone blank and a small amber light blinking slowly in the right hand corner. It was insane, I told myself. There was no way I would dance for ten dollar bills to be tucked into my panties. So, it was pointless even looking. And yet, my curiosity remained. In fact, it began to grow. Muttering, \"This is ridiculous,\" I picked myself off the bed and settled back in the chair by the desk. Quickly grabbing the mouse, I swept it across the pad, enlivening the screen once more. Not wishing to be reminded of the content of Paul's emails, I quickly signed out and closed that window. Then, I opened a fresh page and began a search. After just a few minutes, I'd discovered that the pay of strippers varied dramatically depending on the clubs and how many private dances they were willing to offer. Nevertheless, it was apparently very possible for women to make between $2,000 and $3,000 per week. When I compared that with all of the entry level positions I would be qualified for, which paid minimum wage or just above, the choice seemed like a no-brainer. Grace was right, within just a few weeks, I could make enough money to put down a deposit and have a nice nest egg saved up. Suddenly becoming aware of what I was doing, I pushed away from the desk and leaned back in the chair. \"Am I actually considering this?\" I whispered. I had shocked myself by how quickly I'd warmed to the idea and how attractive it was suddenly seeming. Yes, it still seemed seedy. But I was beginning to realize I could live with that. After all, it would be for a finite, very short period of time. The alternative would mean staying with Paul, essentially prostituting myself (when he felt like having sex with me and not someone else), and trawling through a loveless, miserable existence. Being leered at by a few lonely men was a small price to pay to be free. A silly smile began to spread across my face. There was another bonus to this plan, it would feel really good to get my own pay back on Paul. Although he'd never find out what I was doing, I could guess what his reaction would be if he did know. And that was enough; at least some vengeance would be had. However, with that thought came an abrupt dampener to my heightening spirits. Paul could never know what I was doing. If he learned I was dancing in those places, despite the expression on his face being priceless, he would use it to argue that I was an unfit mother. If I danced in public, especially in the classier clubs that would be my preference, there was a possibility I'd be seen by someone Paul knows. That was a risk I could simply not afford to take. # Chapter Seven\n\nWork\n\nOver the next couple of days, I continued to think very seriously about the possibility of stripping. Every time I stepped out of the shower, I carefully examined my body. For a woman who'd had three children, I wasn't in bad shape. Regular exercise and being usually careful to avoid any kind of junk food, had helped me stay trim. There were a few silvery stretch marks around my hips, but they were barely noticeable. After prodding my butt, I discovered a little wobble, but it was still pretty firm. Most of my skin was healthily bronzed by the summer sun, and the problem of paler patches could be easily solved with a little spray tan. With the help of more make-up than I'd usually wear and the right outfit, I didn't think I'd look out of place in one of the more upmarket clubs. The more I thought, the more I became convinced not only that I could do it, but that it also offered me the escape route I needed. As my interest refused to wane, I went back onto the internet and began scouting for clubs in various cities around the state. I was surprised by the large number of so-called gentleman's clubs. Most of their websites offered a section for 'career opportunities' and stressed that they were always looking for new talent. One page provided potential customers with a gallery of their dancers. Out of curiosity, I browsed the girls noting that many of them linked to their own websites. Clicking on a blonde named, 'Snow', I was intrigued as to why a stripper would need a website. It turned out, Snow was a savvy business woman. She worked in a number of clubs and also offered private services in both dancing and escorting. Not only was she gaining some job security by diversifying, but also making a lot more money. With one night of escorting, she was earning what the average stripper gets in a week. Closing the browser, I thought no more about it. At least, I wasn't aware of thinking about it. But as I lay in bed that night, my eyes wide open and focused on shadows that played across the ceiling, I continued to think about Snow and what she chose to do for a living. Sure, it was prostitution, and yet it was a very different world to the streetwalking variety. Two things quickly occurred to me. One, if I stayed with Paul, I was going to be prostituting myself anyway. And two, men who hire escorts are much more likely to be discreet than men who go to strip joints. Shaking my head, I couldn't quite believe the conclusions I was reaching. But one after another, I kept producing reasons why a brief career as an escort would be a good idea. I'd only have to work one night per week; I wouldn't have to take my clothes off in front of a room full of people; I could be selective over my clients and where I met them, ensuring I was always out of town. But, I quickly slammed on the breaks of my runaway train of thought, there was the one huge sacrifice I would need to make. I would need to be prepared to allow complete strangers to use my body for their sexual pleasure. Was that something I could do? Was it something I would be able to live with afterward? The truth was, I didn't know. However, there were only two alternatives; continue with the sham that was my marriage or leave Paul and accept that he would fight to take primary custody of our kids. I knew without any equivocation that I could live with neither of those things. The possible fallout may have been a complete unknown, but the fear of what _might_ happen was far less than the dread of playing the dutiful wife to a man I no longer respected, trusted or loved. Unable to close my eyes, I pushed the covers off the bed and sat up. \"I can try,\" I mumbled beneath my breath. \"Just once.\" Slipping off the bed, I tiptoed in the darkness to the computer and once more turned it on. If I'd made up my mind, I told myself, then I might as well get the ball rolling. I wouldn't be able to set up my own site, at least not one in which I used a photograph, as there was too much chance of Paul, his parents, our friends and God knew who else seeing it. Instead, I'd need to use classified ads. There were several sites that would allow me to post free ones and there were a couple of message boards that offered a forum for escorts and potential clients to communicate. After having read several other ads, I began to get a gist for the basic format and the kind of things that were important to customers. It took me almost an hour to write my own pitch, it was only 100 words long, but I struggled with the tone, wanting to get the right balance between classy and alluring. It's difficult enough to sell yourself for a regular job, when you're quite literally selling yourself, a personal statement (even a very short one) becomes incredibly hard. However, by the time dawn broke, I had advertised myself on a total of five websites and had set up a new email account for the purpose. Given the sheer number of young women who seemed to be trying to get work in exactly the same way, I didn't hold out much hope of hearing from anyone in the near future. In fact, regardless of the large amounts of money that could be made, I was beginning to wonder whether I would be able to make anything at all. There seemed to be a disproportionately large supply compared with demand. Deciding that I would give the ads a couple of weeks, I determined to worry about a 'Plan B' only after that time had elapsed. In the meantime, I had to go back to being a mom; there were children that needed to be woken, fed and shipped off to school. ***\n\nAs it turned out, I didn't have to wait two weeks. Just three days passed before I received my first email inquiry. I'd almost dismissed it as spam, feeling sure that I had no chance of generating interest so quickly. However, the subject line, 'Looking for some company on Saturday night', caused me to stop dead in my tracks. I was about to open the message, but a voice from the doorway caused me to jolt in surprise. \"Mom,\" Dylan said brightly. \"Can I have some ice cream?\" My head snapped around, as I shut the browser window. It was a nonsensical reaction, there was nothing revealing on the screen, my son couldn't see it anyway and even if he could, he certainly wasn't close enough to read. \"How many times have I told you about knocking on that door before you come in,\" I grumbled, pushing myself off the chair and moving toward him. \"I did,\" he replied. \"Well, I didn't say 'come in',\" I said, coaxing him around with a light touch at his shoulder. He followed my silent guiding without hesitation or argument. \"I'm sorry,\" he continued. \"Can I have some ice cream, though?\" he quickly added, returning to his primary concern. \"Not right now,\" I responded, walking down the hall with him. \"Ahhh, Mom,\" he moaned loudly. \"Please!\" he begged, turning to me and pressing his hands together in front of his chest. \"Please, please, please,\" he rapidly added, his eyes taking on that dolefully expression he was so very good at. Shaking my head apologetically, I hustled him ahead of me and we descended the stairs. \"Maybe,\" I softly suggested, but before I could get the rest of the sentence out, my young son was already punching the air furiously. \"Yes!\" he yelled delightedly. \"Maybe,\" I repeated, stressing the word this time. \"If you eat all your dinner and promise to go to bed on time, I'll see what I can do about the ice cream.\" \"I love you, Mom,\" he said, turning his big brown eyes to me and grinning broadly. It was his standard way of trying to keep me sweet. His father used to do something similar when we were younger. With the promise of ice cream, dinner was a much smoother affair than usual and I made a mental note to use bribery more often. All three children, even Kate, ate every last piece of their meal, including the greens that typically got pushed around until I got tired of trying to coax them into a mouth. Lizzie offered to help me clear away, which was no doubt a ploy to get an extra-large scoop, but it was appreciated nonetheless. Putting them to bed that night, I spent a little longer looking at their adorable, peaceful faces. They were growing so quickly, time had been passing me by and I'd been largely oblivious to it. The shock of Paul's infidelity had caused me to put my existence into some sort of perspective. Almost thirty, and all I had to show for those years were the three kids who meant the world to me. Of course, they made me want to tear my hair out at times, but I couldn't imagine life without their mischievous charm. I wouldn't want to live in a world without them in it, my children were the only thing that made life make sense. Closing Lizzie and Dylan's doors, and leaving Kate's fractionally ajar so she still had a little light from the hallway, I walked slowly back to my own bedroom. With a renewed sense of purpose, I settled in front of the computer screen and opened the email I'd received earlier that evening. Hi,\n\nI'm David, I read your advertisement and wondered if you're free on Saturday night. I know it's a bit short notice, but I have an unplanned stop in the state and I hate to be alone. Would love to learn more about you, and maybe see a picture? If you'd like to know what I look like, just say the word. I leaned back for a moment, as the reality of what I'd done, and was planning to do, sunk in. Paul wasn't coming home until Sunday afternoon, so I certainly had the night free. However, I hadn't been expecting things to happen so quickly. I'd thought it would be at least a month, and probably much more, before I was actually working. I hadn't really had a chance to mentally prepare. In retrospect, no matter how long it had taken, I know I would never have been prepared. It simply isn't the sort of thing that can be prepared for. But, at the time, part of me was arguing that I just needed a few weeks to really adjust to the prospect of selling my body. However, something overrode that instinct, because I was already opening the many files of photographs we had stored on the computer. I managed to find a couple of me dressed in an evening gown at some fancy function Paul's company had organized six months previously. Choosing the one I liked best, I carefully cropped my husband out of the image, before attaching it to a new email. I wrote a quick message, telling him that I was available if he was still interested and that I didn't need to know what he looked like. As I clicked on 'send', I told myself his appearance didn't matter. However, I knew that my subconscious choice had been more to do with ignorance being bliss. If he was in his sixties or seventies, with a beer gut and tobacco stained teeth, the anticipation of spending the night with him would be filled with even more dread than it already was. Sex, for me, had always been inextricably linked with love. It had never been purely physical, and because Paul was my first and only lover, it had always been with someone I trusted. The thought of giving myself to a stranger; a man about whom I knew nothing and who didn't care about me, was entirely foreign and caused me to shudder. However, I was forced to remind myself that that wasn't completely true. I no longer knew Paul and, for the last few months at least, he'd stopped caring about me. The last time we'd had sex was certainly evidence of that fact. Was offering my body to David really any different than the last time I'd been to bed with my own husband? It only took a few minutes for him to write again. Hey,\n\nThanks for getting in touch. You're a very beautiful woman, and I am definitely interested in enjoying the pleasure of your company on Saturday. You haven't mentioned fee, but it's not a problem. Whatever you charge, I'm happy to pay it. I'm staying at the Hyatt, room 405. If you could be here at about 8pm, that would be good. Let me know. Thanks! Before I had time to talk myself out of it, I wrote a reply confirming that I would be there at eight o'clock. Breathing rapidly, as I pushed the chair away from the desk, I realized that it was done. I was really going to go through with it. I had just two days to arrange a babysitter and get myself ready for what would be the most bizarre date of my life. I quickly made a list of all the things that needed to be done; my legs, although always smoothly shaved, would probably need waxing; my small, neat patch of pubic hair would have to go, too. I'd never favored the Brazilian style, but I understood enough about what was popular among men to know that the hairless look would be expected. My nails required a fresh manicure; hair needed styling; and my tan lines from wearing a bikini had to be removed. In short, I had to look perfect. There was a lot of work to be done. # Chapter Eight\n\nFirst Times A Charm\n\nNervous doesn't begin to describe how I felt as I walked down the hotel corridor. The backs of my legs shook so much that they felt weak, and I must have looked a bit like a newborn deer. Having felt so confident that I could go through with the night, I suddenly knew that it was nothing but bravado; intended only to convince myself. Who was I kidding? Having only ever slept with one man, I was almost as inexperienced as they come. Even when we were engaged and first married, Paul and I were never particularly adventurous in the bedroom. If this man had some peculiar tastes or fetishes, would I know what to do? Even if he didn't want something weird, would I be able to please him? \"Oh shit,\" I whispered, seriously contemplating turning around and bolting back to the elevator. \"Oh shit, oh shit,\" I breathed. Halting the movement of my feet, I forced myself to breathe deeply. Smoothing my hands down the skirt of my red cocktail dress, I released a steady, slow exhale. I glanced down at my cleavage which was thrust up by a brand new bra I'd bought the day before. My legs were covered in black stockings and my feet securely tucked into four-inch stilettos. Flicking my newly wavy hair off my shoulder, I swallowed the anxious lump in my throat. \"Pull yourself together,\" I softly mumbled. When the temptation to turn back crept higher, I reminded myself why I was there. This was never about doing something that I wanted to, but what I felt I had to do. It was about putting my own fears and prudish concerns aside, because the end would justify the means. Before I'd ordered them to do so, my feet were once more moving. The thoughts that had been racing discordantly through my head stopped and focused on the door numbers, until I reached '405'. Quickly moistening my lips, I lifted my hand with the fingernails colored the same shade of red as my dress, and tapped softly on the door. I counted the deep thuds of my heart, while I waited for an answer. There were twelve. And then, slowly and gently the door was pulled open. The man was much younger than I had expected, he must have been somewhere in his mid-thirties. He had dark, almost jet black hair that was cut in a neat Ivy League style, with a side parting. He was clean shaven, with soft features and dark brown eyes under quite long black lashes. As he looked at me, he smiled a little lopsided grin. \"Hi,\" he greeted warmly, pulling the door open wider. \"Hi,\" I echoed, my eyes now taking in the view of the rest of his body. He was around six feet something, with strong, broad shoulders. He was wearing pinstriped black pants and a white dress shirt, with the cuffs undone. \"I'm David,\" he said, continuing to smile, as he moved to one side of the entry way and gestured an open hand into the room. \"Thank you,\" I nodded, managing a nervy smile in return as I stepped across the threshold. \"I'm Arianna,\" I murmured, remembering to use the name I'd chosen for my call girl persona, rather than my real one. All the girls used fake names, most of them were tacky: Destinee, Lotus, Candy that kind of thing. I wanted something that sounded a little exotic and mysterious, but was still classy. I unconsciously drew in a breath as I passed him and was met with the earthy, spicy scent of whatever aftershave he'd just used. Swallowing, I silently reminded myself that it didn't matter what he smelled or looked like. I was here to do a job. I couldn't help but feel grateful that he was attractive, though. Faking an interest in him would be made easier by the fact he was easy on the eyes. \"Can I get you a drink?\" he asked, closing the door behind him. I stopped in the room's small living space. It wasn't quite a suite, but there were two comfortable chairs and a coffee table, with a brand new TV on the wall and a minibar in the corner. Beyond that, in the open plan space was the bed. It was a king size, with crisp white sheets, four plump pillows and a beige bed scarf with the Hyatt Regency logo embroidered in the corner. \"Umm, yes, please,\" I managed to softly mumble, remembering that he had asked me a question. \"What can I get you?\" I added, already moving to the minibar. \"I'm on vodka myself,\" he said pointing to the one liter bottle of Smirnoff that was clearly not the hotels. \"But you can have whatever you like.\" \"Vodka's fine,\" I quickly stated. With my rising nerves, the stronger the alcohol, the better. \"Great,\" he nodded. \"Take a seat,\" he urged, grasping two shot glasses and the bottle. As I settled into one of the armchairs, keeping a hand on the hem of my dress to stop it riding too high, he took the few strides toward me and tossed himself into the other seat. With a tired sigh, he slipped the glasses onto the table and began unscrewing the bottle. \"So, umm,\" I softly mumbled, trying to think of something to say. \"What brings you here?\" \"Oh, just work,\" he shrugged. \"I was supposed to be heading back yesterday, but my office messed up the arrangements and I had to stay longer than planned.\" \"I see,\" I nodded, watching him pour some of the crystal clear liquid into each shot glass. \"Sorry to hear that.\" \"It's ok,\" he quickly insisted. \"I'm kind of glad now. If I'd gone home Friday, I would have never had the opportunity to meet you,\" he smoothly said, placing the bottle down and lifting his glass as if to toast. Carefully, I reached for my own drink and lifted it to his. We clinked the edges of the glasses together, before both swallowing the shot whole. It instantly brought a flush of tears to my eyes and a burning to my throat which I tried to mask, but a cough erupted despite my efforts. \"Okay?\" he asked, chuckling. \"Yeah,\" I assured him, hoarsely. He grinned skeptically, before accepting my word with a brief nod. \"Well,\" he sighed, lifting himself from the chair just enough to reach into his back pocket. \"I said money wasn't an object, but I'd like to get it out of the way, if that's all right with you,\" he said, pulling the wallet out and flipping it open. \"Sure,\" I replied. \"That way, we can get on with enjoying the night, huh?\" \"Right,\" I agreed. \"Umm, exactly what services do you want from me?\" I wondered, embarrassment causing my cheeks to warm. I hoped he might think the reddening was caused by the drink. \"I was hoping you'd be able to spend about six hours with me,\" he unabashedly said. \"Err, you offer full sex, right?\" My mouth suddenly went very dry and I could only nod in response. \"Well, I don't want anything too strange or out of the ordinary,\" he added. \"I guess it's called the umm, girlfriend experience?\" he finished with a crease of his eyebrow. Again, I nodded, my throat unwilling to cooperate in the making of any sounds. I'd seen the phrase 'girlfriend experience' on the many escort ads I'd seen online. And had been able to create an idea of what that would entail. I was beyond grateful that David didn't have an unusual fetish he wished to act out with me. Girlfriend experience was probably something I could just about manage. \"So?\" he uttered, his thumb slipping over a large wedge of bills. \"Oh, sorry,\" I blurted shaking my head and realizing that this had been leading to me giving him a figure for my services. \"Well, that'll be...errr... $1800.\" I spoke so haltingly and anxiously that I was worried my inexperience would be obvious to him. He said nothing, while he flicked through the bills and then pulled out a fistful of them. Silently, he placed the cash on the table, before getting up and replacing his wallet in his pants. \"Now,\" he smiled, \"that's out of the way, we can concentrate on having a good time. Would you like something to eat?\" he offered, visibly relaxing into the chair. The casual way he'd dealt with the payment seemed so strange to me, and yet it was obviously necessary to separate the transaction and the 'good time'. \"Sounds great,\" I replied, forcing a broad smile. In truth, I was so scared I didn't think I'd be able to keep anything down. But if he wanted to have dinner, then it was my job to ensure he got what he wanted. Reaching forward I scooped the cash off the table and slipped it into my purse. \"You want to go down to the restaurant?\" he asked, tipping his head to the door. \"Or should we just get some room service and eat up here?\" \"Whatever you'd prefer,\" I offered warmly. \"Hmm,\" he looked at me, while he thought for several seconds. \"On one hand, I'd like to have you on my arm. On the other, I'd kind of like to have you to myself,\" he chuckled. I felt uncomfortable not only with the way he spoke about me; as if I were a commodity, but also by the way he looked at me. It was a hungry, appreciative gaze; a look that reminded me of the way a lioness eyes her prey. Of course, on the surface, I tried to let none of those emotions show. And, I had to concede, I was a commodity of sorts. I was bought and paid for. \"I think it'll be nicer to stay up here,\" he eventually said, cradling the back of his head in his hands. \"We can really talk,\" he added. While I drained another shot glass of vodka, David called down to room service and ordered for us both. I don't even remember what I had, I know I didn't spend long choosing, sure that I wouldn't touch any of it any way. However, by the time the meal arrived, I'd had another shot and was beginning to feel much more relaxed. David had professed an interest in learning more about me, but I'd successfully been vague in most of my answers and flipped the questions back to him. As he talked about his career as head of a sales team for a pharmaceutical company, I almost forgot the circumstances under which were we meeting. \"What about free time?\" I asked, unconsciously sticking my fork into a piece of ravioli. \"Any hobbies?\" \"Ha,\" he exhaled. \"What free time?\" He was quiet for a moment, as he poured himself another glass of the red wine he'd order with the meal. \"It feels like I'm always working, that's certainly what my ex thought.\" \"Oh, I'm sorry,\" I quickly apologized when I noted the sadness in his eyes. \"Don't be,\" he dismissed with a wave of his free hand. \"It's not your fault.\" Carefully placing the bottle back down, he picked up his glass and lifted it to his lips, flashing me a smile before taking a mouthful. \"But it's been tough since she left,\" he admitted. \"My ridiculously busy schedule makes it impossible to meet anyone and I'm the kind of person that hates to be alone, you know?\" I nodded, remembering what he'd written in his first email. However, it seemed insane to me that a man like him would need to hire the services of an escort. He was young, handsome and charming. There would be any number of women who would be happy to have a one-night stand with him if that's all he could commit to. However, his desires for the evening came back to the forefront of my mind: the girlfriend experience. He didn't want a one-night stand per se, it wasn't about a quick roll in the hay. He wanted companionship, he wanted to spend this time talking, sharing some laughs and for all intents and purposes, pretending we'd known each other for much longer than we had. If he just wanted a fuck, he could have gone down to the bar and picked up a girl or headed out on the streets to find a hooker. In fact, he could even have demanded that I get my clothes off as soon as I'd walked in the door. \"You're a sweet man,\" I told him, unaware of a compulsion to do so. The alcohol had loosened me up just enough to prevent my self censor from working properly. \"I mean, someday a girl is going to be very lucky to have you.\" He grinned, as he lifted his napkin and wiped the sides of his mouth. \"I'm sure you've heard this a lot,\" he responded, tossing the napkin onto his empty plate and leaning back in his chair. \"But you are an incredibly sexy woman.\" I actually felt myself blushing and quickly glanced down to avoid his eyes. The truth was, I hadn't heard it a lot. Paul had said it twice, maybe three times, the whole time I'd known him. \"Thank you,\" I gracelessly mumbled. Suddenly, David was getting to his feet. He moved around the small table until he reached my side. There, he sank into a crouched position. Still, I couldn't bring myself to look at his face. And this was not something that went unnoticed. Slowly, he crooked his warm index finger beneath my chin and coaxed my hand around. \"The fact that hearing how sexy you are embarrasses you,\" he said, a teasing grin quirking the corners of his mouth, \"makes you even sexier.\" \"I...I...\" I stammered, shaking my head slightly. The next time I opened my mouth, nothing came out. It didn't have the chance. David's lips were unexpectedly melded to mine. He softly moved them, the tip of his tongue occasionally darting out to take a taste of my lip. For a long second the shock of his rapid movement startled me into stillness. However, as he slowly caressed my mouth with his own, I surrendered myself to the feeling. With a soft moan, I parted my lips and understanding the unintelligible call, his tongue slipped quickly over mine. Even as it deepened, the kiss remained soft and exploratory. Nevertheless, it was doing entirely unexpected things to me. A warmth was spreading through my abdomen, which I tried to rationalize was from the wine and shots of vodka consumed earlier. I could never have admitted it, not even to myself, at the time, but I was enjoying that kiss. David was good; gentle, but with just the right amount of pressure. His tongue roamed playfully, rather than aggressively and he tasted nice; a mixture of Merlot and tomato pasta sauce. What's more, I was excited by the promise of where the kiss would lead. # Chapter Nine\n\nNot Just A Job\n\nI don't recall how I went from sitting at the table to laying on the bed. I do know that my head was swimming and it wasn't just thanks to my old friend the fermented potato. David's mouth was still moving leisurely over mine, occasionally sucking my lower lip between his teeth. He was lying next to me on his side, pressing the length of his body to mine, while one arm draped across me and the hand gently caressed my hip. By that stage, I was beginning to return his kiss with an enthusiasm I didn't have to fake. One of my hands had unconsciously smoothed up his chest and curled over his shoulder, while the other snaked around the back of his head and was pulling him that little bit closer. As I tightened my fingers, gripping a handful of his smooth, thick hair, a guttural groan reverberated from his open mouth to mine. Fluidly, he eased his hand over the curve of my pelvis and began to confidently stroke his way down my thigh. When he reached my knee, he hooked his fingers behind my leg and pulled it upward. As his tongue slipped carefully over the roof of my mouth, he tugged my leg around his waist and placed the weight of his upper body on top of mine. With a subtle, easy movement his thigh glided between my legs and the warmth of his flesh, even through clothing, caused my hips to jolt in search of a more satisfying contact. With a noisy unclasping of wet mouths, he tenderly released his lips from mine and took several deep breaths. \"You're so beautiful,\" he quietly said, his dangerously dark eyes staring intently at my face. Even if my brain had been capable of coherent thought, I wouldn't have known what to say in response. But with his fingers slowly curling around to my inner thigh and edging their way higher, it was all I could do to remember to breathe. In the silent room, there were three sounds that would otherwise have gone unnoticed; David's slightly labored breathing; my irregularly pounding heart and the soft grazing of large, masculine fingers moving over sheer nylon. When he reached the lace tops of my stockings, the corners of his mouth twitched in a smile. Delicately, he traced the intricate swirling pattern with the backs of his fingers. \"Do you mind if we leave these on?\" he asked, his voice suddenly a pitch lower than it had been before. \"Of...of course,\" I hoarsely responded, my eyelids flickering as the sensation he was creating on my inner thigh became enough to make me grip my bottom lip between my teeth. As he began to move again, creeping ever higher, the scorching heat of his touch seemed to burn the naked flesh of my upper thigh. It caused me to jump and he instantly withdrew his fingers. \"I'm sorry,\" he said, smiling warmly. \"No, no,\" I quickly spoke over his apology. \"Don't stop, I just...umm,\" My chest began to move rapidly, as I got lost in his warm, gentle eyes. \"It felt good,\" I eventually whispered. His face swept closer and his eyelids drifted closed before his lips melded to mine in a more insistent and passionate kiss. It was as if he'd gained in confidence, and as his tongue entwined with mine, his fingers resumed their journey up my inner thigh. My brain could not keep up with what was happening or, more importantly, with the reactions my body was having to his actions. As the tip of his fingers reached the crease of my groin, and my hips bucked in response, I realized I no longer had any control. He slipped his finger to the edge of my panties, and carefully worked his way beneath the lacy, black fabric. Whimpering, I automatically opened my legs wider, as the soft pads of two fingers massaged the freshly waxed flesh of my outer lips. Lifting his face from mine, David's eyes sparkled. \"Arianna,\" he tenderly said, as he drew his fingers between my folds and found me damp. \"You feel so good.\" This was nothing like I'd expected. I'd assumed a client would be solely interested in getting his pleasure, possibly at the expense of an escort, but certainly with no thought for sensitivity or sensuality \u2013 the things that were perceived as purely feminine desires. \"Oh, God,\" he groaned, his index finger circling the rim of my entrance. My back arched and my mouth fell open with a quiet sigh of need, while my hands gripped him more tightly. Only Paul had ever touched my sex, only Paul had ever entered me. Before that night, I'd believed that the touch of any other man would feel wholly wrong; that my body would reject the prospect and the whole ordeal would be forgettable at best and painful at worst. In fact, the reality was more exhilarating and arousing than I ever could have imagined. David wasn't treating me like a cheap whore nor was he behaving like a stranger who simply wanted to take something from me. And yet, on some level, I still felt sluttish and rather than wanting to run from that sensation I yearned for more. \"Arianna,\" he whispered, his face coming back to mine and light kisses being placed along my jaw. \"I know you said strictly protected sex,\" he mumbled quietly, his lips tickling the top of my neck. \"But how do you feel about oral?\" My eyes opened sharply and I was abruptly pulled from the sexy haze I'd been lounging in. Now, it seemed I was required to actually do something. It was a harsh reminder of the fact I wasn't there to enjoy myself. It was work. \"Umm,\" I blabbered, while I tried to organize my thoughts. \"It's just not the same with something between us,\" he continued, rising his head and peering down at me. \"And not that you have any reason to trust me, but I promise I'm safe.\" \"I trust you,\" I breathlessly replied, unsure why I felt so certain I could. Nevertheless, I believed him. \"So, it's okay?\" he asked, smiling hopefully. His index finger was still circling my sex in slow, smooth, hypnotic motions. In that instant, I think I may have said 'yes' to whatever he asked. \"All right,\" I nervously offered, pushing myself into a sitting position. Fellatio was not something I'd had much experience in. Paul had always wanted me to deep throat him and, after a few failed attempts, he decided he'd rather not bother with it at all. I was anxious about my ability to pleasure a man with my mouth, it had certainly never done much for my husband. David, oblivious to my concerns, was also pushing himself into a seated position. Flashing a sexy grin at me, he placed both hands on my legs and lifted himself between them. \"Just relax,\" he softly instructed, his hands smoothing up my thighs and pushing my dress up with them. Carefully, he placed his thumbs in the elastic of my underwear and began to edge it off my hips. \"I...\" I mumbled. \"I thought you meant,\" I added, fumbling gracelessly with my words. \"Oh,\" he chuckled, sliding my panties over my knees and smoothing them all the way to my ankles. \"This is okay, right?\" he added, carefully lifting one of my stilletoed feet and tugging my underwear completely from me. \"Whatever you want,\" I nodded, as my panties were removed from my opposite foot and tossed on the bed by his side. His large hands returning to my waist, he encouraged me to lie back, while inching the dress just a little higher still. I settled anxiously onto the mattress, my eyes not daring to look down at what he was doing. I was completely exposed to his hungry gaze; his silence and lack of movement as he seemed to carefully take in every detail of me, was unnerving. However, eventually, he did move. Lifting one of my legs, he placed the knee on his shoulder, before shuffling closer to me. Turning his head to the side, he brushed his lips across the naked skin at the top of my stockings, creating sparks of electricity that shot up to the juncture of my thighs. He kissed his way steadily higher until, as if in slow motion, his tongue began to push its way between my plump folds. \"Ohh,\" I moaned, my voice shaking and body convulsing slightly. David responded with a rapid lick upward to my clit. It was so sensitive that the touch of his tongue made me feel as though I had been electrocuted and I shuddered beneath him. With a soft grunt, he drew lazy circles across my tight bud, surprising me when he suddenly slipped the tip of one finger inside my entrance. \"God,\" I yelped, unable to prevent the reflex to buck my hips. It might have been no more than my imagination, but I was sure I could feel his lips smiling, as he gradually lapped more feverishly at my clitoris. Desperately, my hands darted down to his head and ran restlessly across his scalp. I had never experienced anything quite so intense in my life. I could feel the heat flushing my face, as I panted shallow breathes and exhaled weak groans and mutters of pleasure. As he mixed up the rhythm and movement of his tongue, drawing long strokes rather than focusing solely on my tiny bud of nerve endings, he pushed his finger a little deeper. With a slight curve of his finger, he began rubbing at the front wall of my passage, causing yet more strong quakes of ecstasy to rock me. I watched the top of his head as he slowly made his way back to my clit and began to move in strong, purposeful jerks. As his smooth, skillful tongue strummed at my engorged flesh, his finger rubbed harder and faster at the spongy skin inside my sex. The ascent was quick; the heat inside me rocketed and my head span violently. When I felt that I was about to explode, I sucked in a deep breath and held it firmly in my lungs. My trembling limbs suddenly locked tight, my thighs clamped around David's head, my fingers seized around handfuls of hair. As the molten pleasure sent warmth spilling through my body, my mouth fell open and I could not hold back the screeches of sheer joy. Meanwhile, my hips swayed, pressing more firmly against his mouth in an attempt to make the feeling last forever. But it didn't last forever. All too quickly, the feeling seeped to my extremities and dissipated through the tips of my fingers and toes. With that came a relaxing of the spasms that had claimed every inch of me and I finally released him. My head dropping back onto the bed, I gasped for air. I was unaware of David slowly rising from his position between my legs and drawing his upper body level with mine. \"You taste incredible,\" he hummed, his lips close to my face. Sluggishly opening my eyes, I found his features hanging a couple of inches over mine. His lips and the skin around them were moist and shiny from my arousal; his hair was mussed from where I'd viciously grabbed it and the sides of his face were a little red from my impersonation of a boa constrictor. \"Oh,\" I muttered, my post-orgasm vision taking a while to focus. \"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-\"\n\n\"It's fine,\" he dismissed quickly. \"It was a genuine reaction,\" he added. \"I love that.\" \"Well,\" I quietly hedged, my eyes leaving his and drifting to his mouth. \"You're very good,\" I whispered, unsure whether I'd said the words aloud or if they'd remained in my head. He laughed a little self-effacingly, his lower half gently pressing against mine. \"I don't know about that,\" he mumbled. \"But you're incredibly responsive.\" I felt my eyebrows creep upward, as the swell of his groin suddenly made itself known against my inner thigh. I'd guessed he must have been aroused, but not having noticed the evidence of it, the suddenness of his shockingly hard member caught me by surprise. \"I want you,\" he whispered. \"I'm all yours,\" I replied breathlessly. He lunged his head forward, claiming my mouth in a kiss that now tasted of both him and me. It was brief, but spoke of the heights of his desire. Quickly, he was pushing himself up, his hands already unfastening his shirt. I followed him, sitting up and grabbing the bottom of his shirt. I rapidly unclasped some of the lower buttons, my shaky fingers meeting him somewhere in the middle. We both giggled as we fought over the last fastener. He won, making short work of the final button and peeling the white, crisp shirt off his shoulders. He was very well built, with chiseled chest muscles and washboard abs. Unlike Paul, David had a neat pattern of dark hair that began at his collarbone and spread across his broad chest muscles. At his abdomen, a strip of finer hair drew a line between his abs and disappeared beneath the waistband of his pants. As I realized I was staring at the incredibly sculptured, masculine torso before me, another revelation hit me. I'd always believed I preferred a smooth, hairless chest, but there was something so rugged and masculine about David's torso. Something a little feral; animalistic and unspeakably sexy. When my eyes finally made it back to his face, I found him smiling at me. \"Will I do?\" he asked, with a great deal of humor and just a small degree of nervousness in his tone. \"Oh, yeah,\" I grinned. \"You'll definitely do,\" I added, my hands reaching for his belt buckle and beginning to wrench it open. Carefully, he took hold of my wrists, stilling my hands before peeling them away from him. When I followed his silent instructions, he gradually released me and in response to my confused and startled expression, he reached both arms around my back. With the finger and thumb of his right hand, he took hold of the tiny zipper at the back of my dress and leisurely pulled it down. As the bodice began to slacken, he used his left hand to coax the strap off my shoulder. As he did, he dipped his head forward and kissed the small piece of skin it had once covered. I shrugged out of the opposite side, causing the front of my dress to fall in a puddle at my middle. The tiny straps had meant I'd had to forgo a bra and my breasts were now naked to his scrutiny. His eyes actually moved steadily between my bosom and my face, locking on the latter as he cupped one hand to each breast. His fingers moved smoothly, massaging the globes of flesh with just the right amount of pressure. His thumbs meanwhile, rubbed teasingly over my nipples, prompting me to mewl plaintively. All too soon, his hands were gone, slipping down my torso and pushing the dress down. I lifted my butt, helping him ease it off my hips, then he swept it down my legs and over my feet with ease. With the exception of my stockings and stilettos, I was completely nude. And I realized, as I glanced down my body, that the soft skin around my sex was glistening with the same fluid that had been spread around Ben's mouth. But that didn't seem to bother him. He quickly shuffled back, slipping off the bed and reaching for the cabinet on the right side. Yanking open the top drawer, he enclosed something in his hand, before quickly closing it again. With his free fingers, he unbuckled his belt with ease and unfastened the fly of his pants. With the help of gravity, they quickly dropped to the floor and he kicked them, and his shoes, off. \"I'm sorry,\" he said, gripping the thick elastic waistband of his boxer briefs and forcing them over his hips. \"But I need you right now, I can't wait any longer.\" # Chapter Ten\n\nThe Escort Next Door\n\nMy jaw slackened as his underwear was pushed down his legs and his manhood sprung free. His circumcised penis was huge; thick, long and perfectly smooth. It was rock hard, which was obvious even without touching him. \"It's all right,\" he said calmly. \"I've got a rubber,\" he added, holding up the thing he'd retrieved from the drawer just seconds before. I tried to relax, to ensure that he didn't realize my expression of mild alarm was for a completely different reason. I forced a smile, as I watched him slide the condom down to the base of his shaft with practiced ease. He then bent at the waist scooping his boxers and socks off, before moving back to the bed. I scooted into the middle of the mattress, one hand leaning down and grabbing the large heel of one shoe. \"No,\" he quickly urged. \"Leave those on, too.\" \"Okay,\" I nodded. I was expecting him to climb onto the bed and place himself between my slightly parted legs. However, he simply sat on the edge, turning his head over his shoulder at me. \"Come here,\" he encouraged with a playful jerk of his head. I followed his instructions, sitting up then rolling onto my knees and shuffling across the bed toward him. As soon as I was within reach, he wrapped one arm around me and pulled me closer. The other hand curled over my hip, the fingers reaching my ass. With both arms able to guide me, he compelled me to lift one leg over his so I was straddling him. My eyes were fixed on the hard rod between his legs. The rounded head, beneath a thin layer of cream latex, that was straining toward my sex. Using his shoulders for balance, I slowly peered into his face. \"Please, Arianna,\" he groaned, his hips involuntary jerking. Taking a steady, slow inhale, I realized that there was no turning back. I had passed the point of no return. Of course, what I wouldn't have admitted then was that I would not have turned back even if I could have. Forcing myself to breathe calmly, I slowly lowered my hips. David's hands were sliding serenely over my lower back, occasionally dipping to caress the curve of my buttocks. I closed my eyes and tipped my head back, as I felt his domed tip begin to force its way inside me. I held still, giving my entrance a chance to adjust to the unfamiliarly significant girth. However, instead of the discomfort I expected to experience as he entered, the sensation was satisfying. Ready for him, my body wanted to be stretched and I instinctively sank deeper. \"Ugh,\" he groaned, his hands clasping my buttocks tightly. \"Yeah, that's good.\" \"Hmm,\" I moaned luxuriously, inching further and further until my outer lips met his firm pubic bone. Startled, I opened my eyes and snatched a glance down to our joined bodies. I was amazed that he was buried to the hilt, he was completely sheathed within me; filling me in a way that felt unbearably good. It obviously felt pretty good for him, too. His pupils were dilated, he was gasping heavily and his brow had a few beads of sweat. As he tipped his face to the ceiling, I watched his throat flex as he swallowed. Running my right hand down the length of his arm, I clasped his fingers between mine and lifted his hand to my mouth. Moistening my lips, I guided two of his fingers over my tongue, closing my mouth around them. When this caused his hips to thrust against mine, I sucked hard on them. \"Arianna,\" he whispered, his head thrusting forward. His tongue moved frantically between my breasts, following the curve of one before moving to the center and latching onto the nipple. He gently grazed it with his teeth before tapping it with the tip of his tongue. It grew harder under his attention, painfully so. \"Ahh,\" I cried, releasing his hand. Writhing, I rubbed my slick clit against his rigid body. I couldn't hold back any longer. With a suddenness that surprised even me, I forced my thighs into action, lifting my body, before hurriedly slapping back down. This time, as his dick slid into my wet passage, it seemed to go deeper. \"Ugh,\" I grunted as my ass slapped against his thighs. David tried to keep his mouth on my breasts, lapping and sucking as best he could at the moving target. Needing the leverage, I put my hands back on his shoulder and began to bounce up and down on his thick, stiff shaft. As he buried his face in my cleavage, I wrapped my hands around his head, enjoying the feel of his panted breath against my skin. My own lungs were expelling air in excited shrieks and squeals. Soon, my legs no longer had the strength to lift me to the top of his penis. Instead, I could only manage feeble shallow thrusts. David began to help me, his hands guiding my hips and supporting some of my weight. However, his motions had become equally rapid and uncoordinated. As his grunts and my cries rose and combined, he lifted his face to mine. I peered down at his sweaty expression, my breasts jiggling around so violently that they were slapping against the underside of his chin. \"Ugh, God. You're so hot,\" he panted. \"Arianna, you're...you're so fucking hot.\" \"Ahhh,\" I cried, an extra strong jolt against his pubic bone sending waves of orgasm through me. As my internal muscles spasmed and clamped him, David began to desperately buck beneath me. \"Yes,\" he groaned. \"Ugh, Christ!\" His hands tightened at my hips, fingertips digging into the thin flesh. Aftershocks caused me to jerk and writhe against him for several more seconds, while our pounding hearts began to slow. I could feel his pulse pressed against my right breast and remember marveling, just for a moment, at the fact our hearts seemed to be racing in time with each other. Eventually, I grew still. My butt falling to his lap and my sex pressed as close to his as I could get. My arms were wrapped tightly around him, unwilling or perhaps unable to let go. His softening shaft was still tucked snugly within me and I was in no hurry to break the spell of calm, comfort and serenity that had descended over the two of us. \"Are you okay?\" he softly asked, his hands making lazy patterns up my spine. With a ridiculous smile on my face, I nodded, knowing he would feel the movement against the side of his face. \"I'm good,\" I said, my voice thick and weary. \"Was it okay for you?\" I quickly added, remembering suddenly that I'd been moving to the demands of my own body; chasing an orgasm for myself without the conscious awareness that the only person that mattered was him \u2013 the paying customer. \"Are you kiddin'?\" he laughed. \"God,\" he sighed. \"That was incredible.\" \"Are you sure?\" I insisted, releasing my hold of him enough to tip back and look at his face. \"Arianna,\" he said, shaking his head with amusement. \"I haven't had an orgasm like that in a long time.\" \"Me neither.\" The words slipped out before I had a chance to hold them back. \"I mean,\" I added, wanting to backtrack, but unsure how to without offending him. Giving up the search for something that would make me sound more experienced, I shrugged. \"I guess, I mean exactly what I said,\" I sighed. \"It's been a long time since I've felt like that.\" \"You know,\" he said, with his lopsided smile. \"Coming from any other woman who does what you do, I would think that you were just telling the client what he wants to hear,\" he continued. \"But I believe you. And I can't tell you how good that makes me feel.\" \"Really?\" I asked, cocking my head to one side. The fact that we were still joined, still naked, entwined in each other's arms didn't seem in the least bit odd. Instead, talking to him like that felt like the most natural thing in the world. I was more relaxed than I'd been all day, more relaxed than I'd felt for months, maybe even years. \"A woman's orgasm,\" he began, his eyes drifting to a spot on the wall behind me, \"is beyond beautiful. It's beyond sexy. It's one of those rare special, fleeting moments when life seems to make sense; my life seems to make sense, you know?\" he finished, nervously searching my face for understanding. \"Yeah,\" I offered quietly, \"I guess I do.\" \"What are we all here for if it's not to give and receive pleasure from each other?\" he added. \"I don't mean just sex, and I don't mean seeking pleasure when it's going to hurt someone else. But those moments that make us feel alive, those are what are precious.\" I nodded silently, ruminating on what he'd said. In a nutshell, he'd summed up the job of an escort. Companionship was a form of pleasure; sexual gratification was quite obviously a source of it, too. The role of an escort was to bring some of those precious experiences to another human being. I wasn't na\u00efve enough to believe that all men who hired call girls were as nice or as affectionate as David, but maybe they weren't all as sex-crazed and selfish as I'd assumed either. \"Anyway,\" he said, nudging my thoughts aside. \"I guess, I'd better,\" he muttered, tilting his head toward his groin, \"take that off.\" \"Oh, right,\" I blurted, suddenly remembering the condom that was still covering him and now filled. \"Then, I guess I'd better get up,\" I stated obviously, sliding my hands back onto his shoulders, which were clammy with drying sweat, and pushing my lower half off his lap. His hands remained securely on my waist as I rocked back and placed my feet on the ground. \"I...umm,\" he grinned, his eyes moving appreciatively up and down my body. \"I hope to make you come like that again before the night is out.\" \"Huh?\" I quizzically muttered, glancing at the digital clock on the bedside. There were another three hours of David's time with me. Did it make me even more of a whore that I smiled like the Cheshire cat when I realized that? ***\n\nIt was almost three in the morning when I eventually got home. I'd ended up staying an extra half an hour with David. It was time I'd assured him he didn't need to pay for, especially since he'd promised to hire me again next time he was in town. In fact, he'd even suggesting flying me across the country to spend evenings with him elsewhere. With the kids and trying to keep my moonlighting secret, out of state trips would have proven difficult. However, I was certainly keen and said I'd think about it. In any case, he insisted on paying for the additional thirty minutes, and while his hand was in his wallet he grabbed some cash for my cab fare. By the time I wandered into my kitchen and poured myself a mug of herbal tea, the effects of the alcohol had well and truly worn off. However, I was not as tired as I'd expected to feel. In fact, quite the reverse, I was wide awake. I felt energized, I was on a strange kind of high, the like of which I'd never known. Never in my wildest dreams had I expected to actually enjoy selling my body. Never had I imagined that a man who pays women for sex, could be a more tender, considerate and affectionate lover than my own husband. David was possibly better in bed than Paul had ever been; sex with him had definitely been better than the last few years with Paul. More importantly, I told myself, I had a little over two thousand dollars in my purse. I'd need much more to be completely free of Paul, but it was a great start. The positive experience with David had renewed my enthusiasm for the idea. Not all clients would be like him, that was obvious. But I'd learned something important about myself; I could do it. I could have sex with a stranger, sex with no real attachment. If I'd done it once, I could do it again. And, there was a chance that there were more David's out there; more men who wanted an uncomplicated evening, but who still treated women with respect. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more it occurred to me that men who use escorts do view women with respect. It's men who pick up any girl in a bar, tell her what she wants to hear, then disappears in the morning and spends the next month dodging her calls, who have little or no respect for women. An escort's clients are, at least, honest; they're frank about what they want and they're willing to pay a fair price for a girl's time. The more I thought about it, the more I realized it wasn't anything like as sleazy and degrading as I'd first assumed. Perhaps I was just trying to make myself feel better, because I was now one of those women I'd considered degraded, but I truly believe that my eyes had been opened that night. And that wasn't the only thing. Sex had never been a particular preoccupation of mine. During the first stages of our adult relationship, Paul and I had sex quite frequently and I enjoyed it. I especially liked the fact that it seemed to make him so happy. However, I didn't 'get it'. I could not understand why women craved sex, why they would put themselves in dangerous situations to seek it out. It was fine; it was nice, but it wasn't the earthshaking experience so many people seemed to think. In the most unexpected of places, my earth had been shaken. I understood it now with a clarity I could never have believed. I had left David completely satisfied, relaxed and happier than I'd felt in months. But in the quiet of my kitchen, the desire was building already. Yes, I wanted the money, I wanted to secure a future for me and the children \u2013 those were my prime concerns. But I'd be lying if I said the thrill of what I'd done hadn't sparked a sort of addiction. I wanted more sex, uncomplicated sex with no attachments; pure pleasure without hurting anyone else. ### To be continued...\n\n### Thank you for reading! ## Please visit your favorite ebook retailer to view the next books in this series.",
-        "28. Al Ikhwan, December 10, 1947; Texts": "28. Al Ikhwan, December 10, 1947; Texts of many articles are analyzed in RG59 867N.01/12-447 and /12-2047, respectively Tuck to Marshall, December 4, 1947, and Patterson to Marshall, December 20, 1947. On Egypt's Zionist movement see 867N.01/ 12-2247. 29. F0371 E1244/1244/93 Stonehewer-BirdtoFO, January 28, 1947; RG59 867N.01/12-1647 Childs to Marshall, December 16, 1947. 30. RG59 867N.01/12-947 Pinkerton to Marshall, December 9, 1947. The shaykh, who had been a leader of the 1925-26 Druze revolt against the French, recalled that the neighboring Arabs had not given much aid to his efforts and suggested that Lebanese and Syrian Druze remain neutral. Central Intelligence Group Report 106729, September 3, 1947. RG59 867N.01/11-2547 McNown to War Department, November 25, 1947;\n\n31. Strategic Air Command, \"Implications of the Arab-Jewish Conflict in Palestine,\" December 8, 1947, #421555, RG318. 32. Letter from Quwatly to Fans al-Khuri, text in RG59 890B.00/12-547. 33. F0371 E10611/49/31 Kirkbride to FO, November 3, 1947. 34. RG59 867N.01/12-347 conversations with Azzam, December 3, 1947. 35. Israel State Archives S44/708, Sassoon to Azzam, December 5, 1947. 36. For text of public resolution, see Khalil, pp. 550-51. This account is taken from detailed interviews with delegates in RG59 890B.00/12-2047 Tuck to Marshall, December 20, 1947; Israel State Archives 93.03/2267/26 Sassoon to Shertok, December 11 and 20, 1947; and General Clayton's reports in F0371 El2064/951/31, December 18, 1947 and E11726/, 11741/, and 11775/11280/65, December 10, 1947. 37. F0371 E11260/951/31 Campbell to FO, December 24, 1947; E12081/11280/63, December 18, 1947. 38. F0371 E11260/951/31 Campbell to FO, December 24, 1947; E12081/11280/63, December 18, 1947; E12064/951/31, December 18, 1947; El 1775/11280/65, December 10, 1947. 39. Cohen, pp. 408-409. 40. For example, F0371 E12131/l 1604/65 December 20, 1947, E12144/11604/65 December 22, 1947; E12092/11604/65 Kirkbride to FO, December 19, 1947. On Abdallah's efforts to win U.S. support, see RG59 867N.01/12-2347. 41. F0371 El 1264/3765/80 FO to Amman, January 10, 1948, and E12416/3765/80. 42. For Ibn Saud's complaint to William Eddy, see RG59 890B.00/11-1547 Memminger to Marshall, November 15, 1947; Philby's views are in 867N.01/12-3047 Child to Marshall, December 30, 1947. 43. The following dispatches provide extensive clippings from the Syrian press RG59 890D.00/12-1547, /12-1947 through /12-2347, /12-2647, /12-3147, /1-248, /1-1148, and /2-1248. F0371 E12263/3765/80 discussed Syrian objectives in Palestine. ### 12\u2014THE SLIPPERY ROAD TO WAR: January-May 1948\n\n1. RG59 890D.00/1-248 and /1-3148 Memminger to Marshall, January 2 and 31, 1948. Jewish merchants were forced to contribute to a liberation fund, and one holdout's store was bombed. None of this money would, however, go to the Mufti, see RG319 428074. 2. Kimches, Clash of Destinies, pp. 85-88. Taha al-Hashimi in his book Diary of the War, estimated al-Qawukji's forces at seven thousand. Al-Madi and Mousa, pp. 467-71, estimate 350 Transjordan volunteers in the force. Relations between the army and Amman are described by al-Qawukji in \"Memoirs 1948,\" Journal of Palestine Studies 2, no. 1 (1972):3-33. See also Kirkbride, From the Wings, pp. 6-7. 3. Kirkbride, Crackle of Thorns, p. 154; Hurewitz, p. 312. 4. See Israel State Archives (ISA) Memorandum of Conversation March 26, 1948, and Locker to Martin, January 23, 1948; Harry Sacher, Israel: The Establishment of a State (London: 1952), p. 119. 5. Gabbay, pp. 65, 73; Monroe, \"Mr. Bevin's Arab Policy,\" p. 15; Khalil Kanna, Iraq Yesterday and Tomorrow (in Arabic) (Beirut: 1966), pp. 82^-83. 6. ISA, Cornay to Gering, December 3, 1947; Ben-Gurion to Shertok, December 9, 1947; Shimoni to Meyerson (in Hebrew), December 10, 1947; Ben Gurion to Shertok (in Hebrew), December 14, 1947. 7. ISA Danin to Sassoon (in Hebrew), January 4, 1948; Sassoon to Shertok, January 19, 1948; Locker memorandum of conversation, January 18, 1948; Epstein to Jewish Agency, February 1, 1948. 8. RG59 890D.00/1-1048 Memminger to Marshall, January 10, 1948. 9. RG59 8901.01/1-1648 Tuck to Marshall, January 16, 1948. See also 8901.00/1-2448 Macatee to Marshall, January 24, 1948. 10. Al Misri, December 30, 1947; Al lkhwan, December 29, 1947, and January 7, 1948; Rose al-Yusuf, December 30, 1947; RG59 883.00/1-1348, /1-2248, and /1-3148 Tuck to Marshall. 11. RG59 890E.00/1-1348 Pinkerton to Marshall, January 13, 1948. 12. RG59 890E.00/2-1648 Pinkerton to Marshall, February 16, 1948; Torrey, p. 105. 13. This series of events is the most controversial issue in U.S. Palestine policy. The key question is over how much Truman knew and approved of Austin's actions. Donovan, pp. 369-87, suggests that the president approved the measures taken but did not entirely understand their ramifications. 14. RG59 501. BB Palestine/3-448 Tuck to Marshall, March 4,1948; John and Hadawi, vol. 2, pp. 312-16. 15. ISA Hurewitz to Ben-Gurion December 31, 1947 (in Hebrew), evaluates Arab rulers' attitudes toward a settlement; RG59 501.BB Palestine/3-948 Marshall to Damascus, March 9, 1948; /3-1348 Childs to Marshall, March 13, 1948; /3-1448 Kopper to Austin, March 14, 1948; /3-2648; and /4-1848 Tuck to Marshall, April 18, 1948. See also Foreign Relations of the United States 1948 5, pt. 2 (Washington, D.C.: 1976):827-28. 16. Ibid., Foreign Relations, pp. 836-37. On Bevin's position, see RG59 501.BB Palestine/4-2248 Douglas to Marshall, April 22, 1948. See also 501 .BB Palestine/4-2948. 17. RG59 501.BB Palestine/4-2248 Austin to Marshall, April 22, 1948; 867N.01/4-2648 Memorandum, April 26, 1948. 18. RG59 883.00/3-2948, /4-2348, and /4-2648 Tuck to Marshall, April 26, 1948. 19. RG59 883.00/4-1248 and/4-2548 Tuck to Marshall, April 12 and 25, 1948; 867N.01/4-2648 Tuck to Marshall, April 26, 1948; Mohammed Naguib, Egypt's Destiny (New York: 1955), p. 20. See also Raymond Baker, Egypt's Uncertain Revolution (Cambridge: 1978), pp. 19-23. 20. On Weizmann, see Eban, p. 105. On the Egyptian military's situation, see Nasser; Sadat; and Naguib, pp. 14-28. 21. Nevo, p. 55; Kimches, pp. 107-108. 22. Kubba, p. 260; Longrigg, Iraq 1900-1950, p. 260. 23. RG59890E.9111/4-2148 Pinkerton to Marshall, April 21, 1948; 890E.918/5-448 Pinkerton to Marshall, May 4, 1948. 24. RG59 867N.01/4-2748. 25. Glubb, p. 113n; Kimches, p. 108. 26. RG59 501.BB Palestine/4-2848 Marshall to Tuck, April 28, 1948. 27. ISA Shertok to Ben-Gurion, April 21, 1948; Sassoon and Berman, \"Outline of Policy Toward the Arab States,\" (in Hebrew), March 13, 1948. 28. RG59 867N.01/4-2848 Tuck to Marshall, April 28, 1948. For last-minute Saudi and Egyptian attempts, see 501.BB Palestine/5-348 and /5-548. For U.S. truce efforts, see Foreign Relations 1948, pp. 877-1000. 29. Ezra Danin, \"Meetings with Abdallah,\" (in Hebrew), March 9, 1975; Sharif; ISA, Goldman to Ben-Gurion, May 13, 1948; GoldaMeir's report, Minutes and Protocols April 18-May 14, 1948, Israel State Archives, May 1979 (in Hebrew). 30. ISA Meeting of the Arab section of the Political Department of the Jewish Agency, May 13, 1948; Nevo, pp. 56-58; 800.00 Summaries/5-1348 Marshall to Arab capitals, May 13, 1948; 867N.01/5-1448 Tuck to Marshall, May 14, 1948. 31. ISA Goldman to McNeil, May 11, 1948; Heikal, Memoirs, vol. 2, pp. 330-31; Folke Bernadotte, To Jerusalem (New York: 1951), p. 24; RG59 867N.01/5-1348 Tuck to Marshall, messages of May 13 and 15, 1948. Heikal quotes Nuqrashi as saying that he \"would not commit the Egyptian army to a position such that the British troops stationed on the Canal would attack them from the rear.\" 32. RG59 867N.01/5-1548 Tuck to Marshall (two dispatches); 883.00/5-1548 Tuck to Marshall (two dispatches). 33. Glubb, p. 82. 34. Ibid., pp. 84-93; Kubba, p. 259. Earlier, Egypt opposed offering command to Abdallah. 35. Kirkbride, From the Wings, p. 22-24. 36. Glubb, pp. 99; Nathaniel Lorch, The Edge of the Sword: Israel's War of Independence 1947-49 (New York: 1951), p. 177. 37. Kirkbride, From the Wings, pp. 28-30; see also Heikal, pp. 336-37. On Iraq's optimism, see Kubba, pp. 260-61. RG59 867N.01/5-1548 (three dispatches) and /5-1748. 38. Sykes, p. 350. 39. Glubb, pp. 93-94; al-Madi and Mousa, p. 467. 40. Cohen, p. 422. 41. Khalil, pp. 557-61. ### 13\u2014ABDALLAH'S PERILOUS PEACE-MAKING: 1948-51\n\n1. U.S. State Department records (hereafter DOS) 785.00/7-2451 Memorandum of Conversation, July 24, 1951. This document and the other DOS reports cited in this chapter were obtained under provisions of the Freedom of Information Act. 2. This story was confirmed by Francis Russell, Dulles' aide for the project, in a letter to the author, June 9, 1979. 3. See above, particularly ch. 3. 4. See above, particularly ch. 6. 5. F0371 E12264/3765/80 FO to Amman and E12416/3765/80; RG59 890D.00/1-1048 Memminger to Marshall, January 10, 1948; 8901.01/1-1648 Tuck to Marshall, January 16, 1948, and 8901.00/1-2448 Macatee to Marshall, January 24, 1948. See also Glubb, p. 66 and Kirkbride, From the Wings, pp. 12-13. 6. See above, chs. 11, 12. 7. Interview with Wells Stabler, American diplomat in Transjordan July 1948-August 1949, March 7, 1979; A. David Fritzlan to author, April 2 and May 13, 1979. Fritzlan was first secretary of the U.S. Legation in Amman 1949-52, and served as charge d'affaires, January-July 1951. 8. The British Foreign Office had concluded by the end of 1948 that the Arab parts of Palestine should be incorporated into Transjordan. Otherwise, it reasoned, they would either be absorbed by Israel or would form an unviable state under the anti-British (and anti-Transjordan) Mufti. London suggested to Amman, however, that any absorption of the West Bank be postponed until after a settlement with Israel. Washington, more distantly and to some extent relying on British judgment, took a similar position but also urged that an overall settlement be negotiated between Transjordan and Israel. Consequently, another reason for Amman's willingness to negotiate might have been that this was an Anglo-American precondition for accepting annexation. See FO 371 E6695, E6789, E6324, and E2377/1081/80. 9. At the same time, British analysts wanted to avoid any rift between Transjordan and Egypt, recognizing that the latter country was more important in their strategic plans. Mutual cooperation among pro-British Arab states might be facilitated, they believed, by a common Egypt-Transjordan border in the Negev and by Egypt's taking over of the Gaza Strip. Thus London urged Egypt-Transjordan negotiations and was restrained from strongly supporting Abdallah out of fear of antagonizing Cairo. These secret talks made no progress, however, and Egypt actually sent some arms to the Mufti's forces and played some role in stirring up Palestinians in the West Bank against Amman's rule. FO 371 E4150, E4284, E11015, E1281, and E2287/1015/31, E407/1013/80, and E6866/1015/31. 10. Amman was particularly worried about support for the Mufti from other Arab regimes. King Farouk had, however, stopped the Mufti from forming a Palestinian provisional government before the mandate ended and neither Saudi Arabia nor Syria recognized his later Gaza government. The Saudi decision was influenced by British intervention at Transjordan's request. E12022/1015/31 and E7336/3/31. There was some fatalism in other Arab governments after the 1948 war about any pursuit of the conflict. In December 1948, for example, Ibn Saud said that the communist danger should lead the British and Americans to force Jews and Arabs into an agreement. Syria's president thought the Jewish state would last and expected that an economic boycott might harm Syria more than it would damage Israel. But none of these concerns would prompt them anywhere nearly so far as Transjordan considered going. See, for instance, E1475/1015/31. 11. For first-hand descriptions of the early negotiations, see Moshe Dayan, Story of My Life (New York: 1976), pp. 132-43; Kirkbride, From the Wings, pp. 42-44; Walter Eytan, The First Ten Years, (New York: 1958), pp. 39-43; and Abdallah al-Tall, Qadiyat Filastin (Cairo: 1959). See also RG59 867N.01/1-1149, /1-2449, and /2-749 Stabler to Acheson, and 501.BB Palestine/1-449 Holmes to Acheson. The United States was an early supporter of annexation. Under-Secretary of State Robert Lovett wrote in December 1948, \"Department believes that most satisfactory solution disposition greater part Arab Palestine would be incorporation in Transjordan.\" He added, \"U.S. would like to see Transjordan negotiate armistice and final peace with Israelis,\" but the United States could not become overly involved in inter-Arab politics. RG59 867N.01/1-249 McDonald to Acheson and /12-2848 Memorandum by Lovett. 12. RG59 867N.01/1-1949; 8901.001/1-649, /1-1249, /4-2049, and /4-2249. 13. RG59 8901.001/9-149; 501.BB Palestine/10-2249 Jessup to Acheson. 14. RG59 867N.01/11-1149 and /11-1649 Fritzlan to Acheson. 15. RG59 867N.00/11-2149 Burdett to Acheson, and /11-2449 Ford to Acheson. 16. RG59 867N.00/12-149 Ford to Acheson; /12-549 Stabler Memorandum of Conversation; 767N.901/12-1349 Holmes to Acheson; 767N.90I/12-1549 and /12-2749 Fritzlan to Acheson; 867N.01/12-2249 Holmes to Acheson; and 867N.01/12-2949 McDonald to Acheson. 17. RG59 684A.85/2-1650 Gibson to Acheson; 784.00/1-1650 Fritzlan to Acheson; 684A.85/2-1050 Fritzlan to Acheson; 784A.00/1-2450 Memorandum of Conversation; 785.00/2-150 Fritzlan to Acheson; 684A.85/2-750 Fritzlan to Acheson; and 684A.85/2-750 McDonald to Acheson; Bunche to McDonald, February 24, 1950, McDonald Papers, Lehman Library, Columbia University. 18. RG59 684A.85/2-1950 McDonald to Acheson; /2-2050 and /2-2150 Fritzlan to Acheson; 684A.85/2-2650 McDonald to Acheson; 785.00/3-2450 Drew to Acheson. 19. P. J. Vatikiotis, Politics and the Military in Jordan (New York: 1967), pp. 99-108; Glubb, p. 256; Kirkbride, pp. 129-31; Eliezer Be'eri, Army Officers in Arab Politics and Society (New York: 1970), pp. 230-31. 20. DOS 785.00/2-750, /2-1350; 785.11/3-2450; 786.00/4-450. 21. DOS 785.00/2-850 Pinkerton to Acheson; 684A.85/3-1450 Keeley to Acheson, /3-1150 Webb to Acheson, 3-2550 Childs to Acheson. 22. For the resolutions' texts, see Schwadran, pp. 293-97, 784A.02/4-450, DOS. 23. DOS 684A.85/3-350 Drew to Acheson, and /3-650 McDonald to Acheson. 24. DOS611.85/4-1750; 684A.85/4-750 Keeley to Acheson; 786.00/5-450 (two dispatches); Childs to Acheson and Webb to Childs; \"Conversation with the President,\" March 9, 1950, Acheson Papers, Harry S. Truman Library. 25. DOS 684.85/4-2550 Drew to Acheson; 785.022/4-2450 Memorandum of Conversation; 684A.85/4-2750 McDonald to Acheson; 785.02/5-550 Drew to Acheson. 26. Text in DOS 784.02/5-1950 Caffery to Acheson; 786.00/5-1550 and /5-1750. 27. DOS 684.85/5-350 Drew to Acheson, /7-2650 Gibson to Acheson; 684A.85/8-150 Drew to Acheson. 28. DOS 785.00/6-2750; 884A.85/6-3050 McDonald to Acheson; 684A.85/10-250 Ford to Acheson; 320.2AA/11-3050 Drew to Acheson. 29. DOS 684A.85/12-450,/12-550,/l-1251,/2-851,/2-951, and 2-1351; 785.13/12-1350. 30. DOS 684A.85/2-1551 Ford to Acheson, /3-2551 Davis to Acheson. 31. On the murder conspiracy, assassination, and trial, see \"King Abdullah's Assassins,\" The World Today, October 1951; RG228 #838381, August 8, 1951; King Hussein, Uneasy Lies the Head (New York: 1962), pp. 5-19; Kirkbride, pp. 34-39; Be'eri, p. 234; DOS 785.11/8-2351 Drew to Acheson, and other reports cited below. 32. Fritzlan to author, April 2, 1979; DOS 785.11/7-2451 Drew to Acheson. 33. DOS 785.11/7-2151 and /7-2251 Tyler to Acheson. 34. DOS 785.11/7-2051 McGhee to Acheson, /7-2151 Caffery to Acheson; 785.00/8-551 Hare to Acheson, /8-751 Caffery to Acheson, /8-951 Drew to Acheson; 786.00/3-2152 Warren to Acheson and /9-1252 Minor to Acheson. During the preceding seven years, twelve prominent Arab politicians had been assassinated, including two sovereigns, one president, and five prime ministers. King Ibn Saud's gallant reaction to his old enemy's death was to recommend that Abdallah's sons inherit the kingdom: \"Maintaining the status quo will help to avert endless crises.\" 35. DOS 785.11/7-2151 Tyler to Acheson; Bar-Zohar, p. 191\n\n### 14\u2014EGYPT'S REVOLUTION, ISRAEL, AND AMERICA: 1950-56\n\n1. Raymond Hare oral history, Columbia University Oral History Collection, p. 56. See, forexample, U.S Department of State, Foreign Relations of the United States 1950, vol. 5 (Washington, D.C.: 1978), pp. 239, 744. Useful background works on U.S./Egypt relations in this period include: John Campbell, Defense of the Middle East (New York: 1961); Charles Cremeans, The Arabs and the World (New York: 1963); M.A. Fitzsimmons, Empire by Treaty (South Bend, Ind. : 1964); Faiz Saleh al-Jaber, \"Egypt and the Cold War 1952-1956: Implications for American Policy\" (Ph.D. diss., Syracuse University, 1966); Walter Laqueur, Communism and Nationalism in the Middle East (New York: 1956); Tom Little, Modern Egypt (New York: 1968); Kennett Love, Suez: The Twice-Fought War (New York: 1969); Peter Mansfield, Nasser's Egypt (London: 1965); Gail Meyer, Egypt and the United States: The Formative Years (E. Brunswick, N.J.: 1980); Mohammed Naguib, Egypt's Destiny (Garden City, N.Y.: 1965); Gamel Abdel Nasser, The Philosophy of the Revolution (Buffalo, N.Y: 1959); Anthony Nutting, Nasser (New York: 1972); Shah A. Qayyum, Egypt Reborn (New Delhi: 1973), Anwar el-Sadat, Revolt on the Nile (New York: 1957); Haim Shaked and Itamar Rabinovich, The Middle East and the United States (New Brunswick, N.J.: 1980); Robert Stephens, Nasser (New York: 1971); and Keith Wheelock, Nasser's New Egypt (New York: 1960). 2. On the background of U.S.-Soviet conflict in the region, see Barry Rubin, The Great Powers in the Middle East 1941-1947: The Road to Cold War (London: 1980). 3. There were periodic hints of Egyptian willingness to negotiate with Israel and persistent Egyptian statements of disinterest in any second round with the Jewish state. For example, Nelson to Berry, February 24, 1950, in Foreign Relations of the United States 1950 (hereafter FRUS) pp. 285-86. 4. The most comprehensive report is, \"Stability versus Instability in Egypt,\" 774.00/8-1351, August 13, 1951. This, like most of the other State Department documents cited below, was obtained through the Freedom of Information Act. See also 774.00/11-650, /1-1251, /7-1651, /8-751, and /9-751. One American diplomat in the embassy, Keith Adamson, recounts how a young Egyptian officer came into his office in the summer of 1951, closed the door, and whispered that a group at the Officers' Club had discussed overthrowing King Farouk the previous evening .During the talk, Nasser had come in and criticized them, saying they did not know how to plan a revolution and that, in future, they should have less public gatherings. This, and other such information, was passed on to Caffery. Adamson to Rubin, 2/1/79, and C. Robert Payne to Rubin, 2/18/79. 5. FRUS 1950, pp. 291, 298, 327-28; Dean Acheson, Present at the Creation (New York: 1969), pp. 562-68; Acheson Papers, Memoranda of Conversation for 10/16/51 and 1/ 27/52, Truman Library; and Executive Sessions of the Senate Foreign Relations Commit tee (hereafter, Executive Sessions) 4 (1952) (Washington, D.C.: 1976):26. 6. Acheson Papers, Memorandum of Conversation, 1/27/52, Truman Library; Acheson, pp. 562-68; J. Wesley Adams, \"Black Saturday: The Burning of Cairo,\" Foreign Service Journal (March 1980). 7. On Sudan see, for example, Meeker to Jessup, 774.00/1-752, and L. A. Fabunmi, The Sudan in Anglo-Egyptian Relations (London: 1961). On aid, see Berry to Acheson, 774.00/2-2752. 8. On the base issue, see \"Princeton Seminar,\" 5/16/54, Dean Acheson Papers, reel 6, track l,pp. 13-15, and track 2, pp. 1-4, 11, Truman Library; Foster to Acheson, 611.74/ 6-2952; Bruce to U.S. Embassy/London, 611.74/6-2552; and Byroade to Acheson, 774.00/7-2152. Byroade later testified that he never heard of Nasser before July 1952. Executive Sessions 9 (1957) (Washington, D.C.: 1980);217. 9. The most influential account has been Miles Copeland, The Game of Nations (New York: 1969), pp. 48-59. Copeland, the CIA Cairo station chief, argues that his superior, Kermit Roosevelt, tried first to work with King Farouk and, giving him up for lost, met with and assisted the Free Officers after March 1952. Copeland does not claim that the United States organized or supported the coup, but his account is often erroneously interpreted that way, particularly in Egypt. Author's interviews with Egyptian scholars and journalists, August 1979, in Cairo. 10. Interview with Kermit Roosevelt, March 20,1980, and off-the-record discussions with other participants. 11. Interview with William Weathersby, 2/12/79, and with Evans, 1/12/79. See also note 4 above. Sabry, who had just returned from a training course in the United States, said he was inspired by American democracy and modernity. 12. Ibid. 13. Ibid. ; Holmes to Acheson, 774.00/7-2352, Acheson to Caffery, /7-2452; interview with Wells Stabler, then Egypt desk officer, March 7, 1979; Memorandum of 7/24/52, Acheson Papers, Truman Library. 14. Caffery to Acheson, 774.00/7-2452. See also Wright to Acheson, /7-2452, and Caffery to Acheson, /7-2552. Caffery later compared Naguib's appeal to that of Walter Cronkite, but added the general's problem was that he tended to believe the last man to whom he spoke. John Badeau oral history, Columbia University, p. 236. Even the conspirators were confused. AH Mahir, their choice for prime minister, told Americans that Anwar al-Sadat was the coup leader, /7-2552, Caffery to Acheson. As far as can be judged by his early dispatches and by interviews with his closest aides, Caffery was surprised by the coup and lacked prior knowledge of its leaders. For a British analysis, see Caffery to Acheson, /7-2852, and also Caffery to Acheson and Wright to Acheson, /7-2652 and /7-3152, describing the \"controversial figure\" Sadat (two dispatches including Evans' report). 15. 774.00/8-152, /8-552, and /8-952, all Caffery to Acheson. 16. Meeting with Amin and Zacharia Mohieddin, /8-1152; New York Times, 8/7/52; Washington Post, 8/21/52. 17. \"Egypt's New Era - The First Three Weeks,\" 774.00/8-1852, see also /8-2052, /8-2252, and /9-252; Washington Post, 8/21/52; Time, 9/8/52, U.S. News and World Report, 3/27/53, p. 28; For the State Department's suggested public statement encouraging cooperation, see Bruce to Caffery, 611.74/8-1852. One sign of the emerging special relationship was Egypt's informing the United States in advance of important moves, including the removal of Mahir. See Acheson to Caffery, 774.00/9-752, and Byroade to Acheson, /9-852. 18. David Ben-Gurion, My Talks with Arab Leaders (Jerusalem: 1972), pp. 269-70; Memorandum of Conversation, 9/22/52, Acheson Papers, Davis to Acheson, 320.00/9-1752; and Caffery to Acheson, 774.00/12-1152. 19. Memorandum of Conversation, Acheson Papers, 9/8/52, Truman Library; Gifford to Acheson, 611.74/8-2052, /8-2152, Caffery to Acheson, and 611.74/9-1752. 20. Caffery to Acheson, 774.00/9-952 #622; Acheson to Caffery, /9-752, and Caffery to Acheson, /9-1152. In Caffery's words, \"Once cooperation firmly established it may be possible (to) persuade Egypt's need for joint defense and inevitability British partnership therein.\" 21. Caffery to Acheson and Acheson to Caffery, 611.74/9-2652; see also /10-252. Public gestures might include a nonaggression statement toward Israel, support for UN action in Korea, compensation for victims of the \"Burning of Cairo.\" Furnishing arms before an Egypt-Israel settlement was delicate, wrote Acheson, but not impossible. 22. See 611.74/9-2652, /9-2752, /10-852, /11-1052, /l 1-1352, and /11-1052, Byroade to Mathews, as well as /l 1-2152, Mathews to secretary of defense. See also 774.00/10-2152, /l 1-2152, Caffery to Acheson, 774.00(w)/l 1-2952, Caffery to Naguib 11/24/52 in 774.56/ 11-2852, and Ortiz to Stabler, 774.00/12-252. 23. Mohamed Heikal, The Cairo Documents (Garden City, N.Y.: 1973), pp. 36-42; Anwar el-Sadat, In Search of Identity (New York: 1978), pp. 126-27; Interviews with Stabler and Parker Hart, then director of the Office of Near East Affairs. 24. Caffery, Byroade, and Acheson favored giving Egypt $10-11 million in interim aid even before the base talks were completed. This might have prevented the rift which later occurred. But London opposed any such aid lest it be used against them or encourage Egypt to take a hard line on the base negotiations. In January 1953, London persuaded Truman to wait a while longer. On May 7, Prime Minister Churchill asked President Eisenhower to continue to delay arms aid; again Washington agreed. In late November, just before the Anglo-American Bermuda meeting, Eden wrote: \"In my view an allotment to Egypt at this juncture could not fail to give publicity to a major divergence of British and American policies, and thus to have a serious effect on Anglo-American relations. It would have the appearance of encouraging the Egyptians to stand out in their demands against us and it would remove an important inducement to them to reach an agreement with us.\" Apparently, the British again won their point. Caffery pointed out the dangers of delay. Nasser said that he wanted to cooperate with the United States but that America's failure to provide arms seemed to fulfill the prophecy of the regime's critics that \"the only thing Egypt will get back from America will be Ali Sabry.\" Nasser had personally visited army units and told officers to expect American arms aid. Unless Washington was prepared to face the facts, Caffery wrote, Egypt would become neutralist. See 774.5 MSP/1-452, /11-1852, /12-1652, /1-353, /1-1053, /2-1453, /2-1753, /3-3053; 110.11-DU/5-853 and briefing papers for Bermuda meeting (12/4-8/53), \"U.S. Military Assistance to the Middle East.\" Even more ominous \u2014and prophetic \u2014 was Caffery's warning of January 7, 1953. Whenever Nasser visited military units, officers asked him, \"Have you requested arms from Russia?\" Caffery wrote, \"I hope Department will ponder well implications of [the] fact that Nasser felt obliged to reply (untruthfully) that he had tried to get arms from Soviets but had been refused.\" 774.5/1-753. Caffery to Acheson, 774.00/1-353; Ortis to Dorsey, /1-653; E. K. Fryer memorandum in 361.2 Naguib X500 TCA, U.S. Embassy files, Washington National Records Center (WNRC); Naguib to Eisenhower in Caffery to Dulles, 4/11/53, Eisenhower Library; and Dulles Memorandum for the President, 4/3/53, Ann Whitman File, Box 8, Folder 3, Eisenhower Library. See also Ambassador Ahmad Husayn's views in 611.74/4-2453 and Memorandum of Conversation, 5/4/53, Eisenhower Library. For Churchill's views, see J. F. Dulles Memoranda for the President, 6/15/and 6/17/53, John Foster Dulles Papers, Eisenhower Library. 25. Caffery to Dulles, 611.74/3-253. See also /3-453, Caffery to Dulles. Nasser's domination became increasingly obvious, particularly after his appointment as deputy president of the Revolutionary Command Council in May 1953. One report to Dulles estimated that Naguib might only last six months more. Dulles also received reports stressing the danger of a communist takeover in Syria and the need to solve the Arab-Israeli conflict to prevent Moscow's exploitation of the dispute. See 774.00/5-1853, Caffery to Dulles, and Caffery's memorandum of 3/26/53, as well as Lowell Wadmond's report of 4/9/53, Eisenhower Library. 26. He feared, Heikal added, historians would later say, \"During the most dangerous circumstances humanity ever confronted, the biggest country of the world behaved in a simple and idiotic way and with incomparable stupidity!\" Akhir Lahza, 4/8/53, cited in 611.74/4-1153. Despite British complaints\u2014and regardless of building tension in Egypt\u2014 the White House promised Chruchill that no arms would be given Egypt until after a Suez base agreement. Caffery to Dulles, 611.74/4-3053; 774.00/4-2953, /6-1653, /7-2053, and /8-553 on the internal situation. For Eden's charge, see Peter Mansfield, p. 133, and compare to Eisenhower to Churchill, 6/17/53, Eisenhower Papers, International Series, Box 8, Egypt Folder (3), Eisenhower Library. 27. Black's memo of 4/22/53, Ann Whitman File, Box 8, Folder 1, Eisenhower Library; Byroade to Smith, 611.74/4-2853. 28. \"Conclusions on Trip,\" February 1953, and \"Important Points of Trip,\" probably late May or early June 1953, John Foster Dulles Papers, Princeton University. 29. Heikal, pp. 31-32; Fitzsimmons,p. 120. Text in Department ojState Bulletin, June 15, 1953, pp. 831-35, and in J. C. Hurewitz, Diplomacy in the Near and Middle East, vol. 2 (New York: 1956), pp. 337-42. Of this kind of thinking Eden complained, \"the United States has sometimes failed to put its weight behind its friends, in the hope of being popular with their foes.\" Full Circle (Boston: 1960), pp. 374-75. Churchill, in contrast, thought Egypt was weakening and hence British concessions were not necessary. Dulles to U.S. Embassy/London, 6/17/53, Dwight Eisenhower Papers, International Series, Box 8, File Egypt (1) Eisenhower Library. The memoranda on Dulles' talks are in 110.11-DU/5-1253 #2417. For Egyptian press reaction to the visit, see /5-1253, /5-1353, and /5-1653. 30. Executive Sessions, vol. 5 (Washington, D.C.: 1977), pp. 439-43; Caffery to Dulles, 7/10/53, and Eisenhower to Naguib, 7/15/53, and Dulles to Eisenhower, 7/15/53, all in Eisenhower Papers, International Series, Box 8, File Egypt (1), Eisenhower Library. 31. U.S. Embassy files, Box 2667, file 320 Egypt-Israel, \"Egyptian Policy on Palestine,\" 8/28/53; Ralph Bunche's report of 9/10/53 is in the same file. 32. 611.74/9-453, 774.13/11-2153, 774.00/12-353, and briefing paper on Egypt, 774.00/ 12/1853. 33. Copeland, pp. 64-108; Heikal, pp. 44-45; Kim Roosevelt and other interviews. 34. The specific issue in question was whether a Soviet attack on Turkey\u2014as opposed to an Arab country\u2014would allow British reoccupation of the base. On political developments, see 774.00/2-2654 #963 and #2054, /2-2754, /3-254, /3-354, /3-454, and /3-2354; also /3-2554 Payne to Dulles and /3-3054 #1224 and #1225. 35. RG84 Box 2672, 500 Economic Aid to Egypt, 1/3/54, 1/21/54, and 1/23/54 Smith to Caffery. 36. 774.00/3-3154 Caffery to Dulles. Parker Hart was far less impressed with Nasser, calling him \"determined, very smart but basically immature,\" and more like a union boss than a statesman. Egypt's disorganization, Hart argued, increased Iraq's relative strength. See /3-3154 Hart to Byroade. See also /7-1254 Caffery to Dulles, and ibid., including Dulles to Caffery, 7/28/54 in 500 Economic Aid to Egypt. 37. U.S. News and World Report, 8/13/54. Similar views are expressed in his article, \"The Egyptian Revolution,\" Foreign Affairs, January 1955. 38. 774.00/1023-54 Caffery to Dulles. See also /10-1954, /10-3054, /l 1-154, and 11-454; 774.13/10-2854, /l 1-254, and /l 1-1954. 39. Dulles to Eisenhower, 8/6/54, Eisenhower Library; John Foster Dulles to Stassen, 7/24/54 Box 2, file 3; Dulles and Byroade, Box 2 file 1,8/24/54, and J. F. and Allen Dulles, Box 3 file 1, all John Foster Dulles, telephone memoranda, Eisenhower Library. 40. RG 84, Box 2672, 500 Economic and Military Aid to Egypt, 7/30/54, and Box 2671, 320 Israel-Egypt, memoranda of conversation, 8/5/54. 41. Ibid., Box 2671, 320 Israel-Egypt, 8/3/54. Caffery, 8/4/54, thought one day Egypt would have to face up to a peace treaty but that the time was not yet ripe. State suggested that the United States might seek some curbing of the Gaza-based guerrilla raids against Israel and some form of free passage through the canal for Israeli shipping, 611.74/11-1154. 42. Russell to Rubin, 6/9/79, and Eveland, p. 125. 43. U.S. Senate, Hearings before the Committees on Foreign Relations and Armed Services, 85th Congress, January-February 1957 (Washington, D.C.: 1957), pt. 2, p. 785; RG84 Box 2671,320 Israel-Egypt, 8/29/54 and 8/30/54 Caffery to Dulles, 8/31 Conversation with Ambassador Hussein. Years later, Egyptian President Anwar al-Sadat said Egypt refused the military mission \"because we had just carried out our revolution... against all kinds of foreign influence.\" Speech of 9/3/80, Foreign Broadcast Information Service, Middle East & North Africa 5, no. 173 (9/4/80):D4. 44. Interviews; Byroade to Allen, 7/10/54, George V. Allen papers, Duke University; Hare oral history; Copeland, pp. 123-31; Eveland, pp. 90-92. 45. On the border issue, see 674.84A/1-1955, /1-2055, /1-2855, and /2-555. On Nasser's reaction to the defense pact, see 123 Byroade, Henry A, March 1, 1955, #1261; Heikal, pp. 46-47; Eveland, pp. 136-38. 46. Ibid., and Dulles-Byroade conversation, 4/27/55, Telephone memoranda, John Foster Dulles papers, Eisenhower library. 47. John Badeau oral history, Columbia Oral History Collection, p. 298; Wyatt, pp. 117-18; and Chester Cooper, The Lion's Last Roar (New York: 1978), p. 68. 48. 774.56/8-2555, Trezise to Dulles, 774.56/8-2555, Cabell to Dulles; Eveland, p. 132. 49. Ibid. Khrushchev assured Dulles at the Geneva summit that there would be no Soviet arms sales to Egypt. Eveland, p. 147n. 50. Kermit Roosevelt interview; see also Eveland, pp. 132-33. Arms estimates are from Admiral Arthur Radford, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, U.S. Senate, Executive Sessions of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee, vol. 9 (1957) (Washington, D.C.: 1980), p. 147. In announcing the deal, Nasser, speaking at the opening of an armed forces exhibit on September 27, recalled his attempts to obtain arms from the West compared with Israel's successful efforts. He noted Western press accounts that the Israeli army was superior to all the Arabs and could defeat them. Why, Nasser asked, did the United States, Britain, and France deny Egypt arms to equalize the situation? Text of his speech is in 774.56/9-2955. Dulles sent a letter to Nasser that very day, indicating American disappointment in Egypt's decision. He warned that the USSR's record was clear: \"Initial, supposedly friendly gestures, lead quickly to subversion, inextrioable involvement in the Communist orbit, and (the) loss of that independence of action which Egypt rightly values so highly.\" A \"talking paper,\" which accompanied Dulles' envoy, George V. Allen, to Cairo, warned that not only would Egypt become dependent on Soviet good will and cooperation for spare parts, but also that the inflow of arms would produce an arms race with Israel, possibly, \"forcing issues at this time leading to all-out warfare in the area before Egypt is able to benefit from an increase in its arms.\" This is exactly what did happen in the Suez war. We have been and would continue to be willing in the context of an Egypt-Israel settlement, [emphasis in the original] to grant assistance, in addition to any loan the World Bank might make, in the construction of the Aswan Dam,\" Dulles continued. If Egypt cooperated in moving toward a settlement with Israel, American arms sales were still possible, added the talking paper: \"The only thing, therefore, that separates you from acquiring the arms which Egypt needs from the West... is your cooperation in removing the obstacles mentioned in the Secretary of State's August 26 speech.\" Text of the letter and talking paper are in 774.56/10-655. While Arab reaction to the arms deal with ecstatic\u2014mainly based on the argument that Egypt should be able to buy any weapons it needed anywhere it chose to do so, Sharett called the deal a \"revolutionary ominous change in Israel's security situation.\" He cited statements from Nasser, the Egyptian press, and Cairo radio calling for the mobilization of Arab resources to achieve Israel's final liquidation. Text in 774.56/10-1955. Allen met with Nasser for an hour and forty-five minutes on October 1. Nasser assured him that he was determined to prevent communist influence within Egypt, but he reviewed Egypt's three years of efforts to obtain American arms. Since the Gaza raid, Nasser said, he had \"been through a nightmare.\" He feared that Menachem Begin's Herut party which sought \"Israeli domination from the Nile to the Euphrates\" might take power. Nasser's attempts to obtain French arms after February produced no results. Allen's notes of meeting in 774.56/10-155. 51. Ibid., Radford testimony, pp. 154-55; Yaacov Herzog, oral history, John Foster Dulles papers, Princeton University, pp. 17-18. Hearing of Byroade's bad relationship with Nasser, Dulles dispatched George V. Allen to ask Nasser to reconsider the arms deal, but Allen's last-minute appeal was perceived as an ultimatum by Nasser, and his CIA friends had to mollify him. Roosevelt interview; Eveland, pp. 145-46. 52. Conversation with Eric Johnston, 8/18/55, Telephone Memoranda, and his discussions with Hoover, 9/20/55, 9/27/55, and 9/28/55, all John Foster Dulles papers, Eisenhower library. Sherman Adams, Firsthand Report (New York: 1961), p. 245. 53. Text of the Dulles speech in U.S. State Department, A Select Chronology and Background Documents Relating to the Middle East (Washington, D.C.: 1969), pp. 135-39. 54. Wynn, pp. 128-46; Harold MacMillan, Tides of Fortune 1945-55 (London: 1969), p. 631; New York Times, 11/27/55. The key discussion was at a meeting between Dulles and British Foreign Minister Harold MacMillan on October 3. Hare presented the State Department's analysis. It was too late to block the deal, and the logical steps were to try for an Egypt-Israel agreement and to prevent other countries from following Egypt's \"unfortunate example.\" If this failed, other pressures might be brought to bear, but if Nasser was forced out, and there was no better candidate in sight, this might lead to complications. More immediately, there was a danger of forcing Egypt into a hostile position and the ominous prospect of a split in the Arab world with the West backing one group, the communists the other. Dulles said that public action should be avoided and that any unpleasant events should appear to be happening naturally, otherwise all the Arabs would align against the West. Egypt wanted to be like Yugoslavia, enjoying the best of both worlds and playing off the two blocs against each other. Egypt as a neutralist nation would be more tolerable than as a communist satellite. It would be best to wait and see what developed. He also suggested that the Soviets might antagonize Egypt through their implementa- tion of the arms deal and that Egypt might become a liability for Moscow. Nasser could even be pushed along on the Johnston proposals and toward a settlement with Israel. MacMillan seemed to be in general agreement with Dulles' analysis. Notes of meeting in 774.56/10-355. 55. See the transcript of his interview with U.S. News and World Report, 4/21/56, John Foster Dulles papers, Princeton University. On the Baghdad Pact, see the following oral histories from the same collection: Loy Henderson, p. 20, and Yaacov Herzog, p. 14; see also Wilton Wynn, Nasser of Egypt (Cambridge: 1959), pp. 110-15. 56. Under-Secretary of State Herbert Hoover Jr., and Secretary of the Treasury George Humphrey were critical of the idea. See their oral history, John Foster Dulles papers, Princeton University, pp. 23-24. See also the oral histories in the same collection by Winthrop Aldrich, p. 6, Abba Eban, p. 30, and Lord Sherfield, p. 5; MacMillan, p. 642. On the background of the dam, see Wheelock, pp. 173-205; Eveland, p. 160. The Nasser-Byroade story is from Charles Cremeans who was present, interview, 2/23/79. 57. Eisenhower to Dulles, White House Telecommunications file, Box 11, file 3, Eisenhower Library. An intersting perspective on these issues is in Board of National Estimates to Allen Dulles, 11 /29/55, \"Reasons for the Impact of Soviet Orbit's Military, Economic, Cultural Drive in the Middle East\" Allen Dulles papers, Princeton University. See also U.S. Senate Foreign Relations Committee, Executive Sessions, vol. 9, p. 93. 58. For President Eisenhower's letter to Nasser, carried by Anderson, see Eisenhower to Nasser, 1/9/56, and letter of 2/27/56, Eisenhower library; Russell, letter to author, Roosevelt interview, Ben-Gurion, pp. 294-325; Eveland, p. 161n. 59. Ibid. On Egyptian military infiltration, see Byroade to Dulles, 4/10/56, Eisenhower papers\u2014International Series, Box 8, Egypt (1), Eisenhower Library. 60. Testimony of 2/27/56 to Senate Foreign Relations Committee, RG46, Box 3, National Archives. 61. Nasser to Eisenhower, 2/6/56, Presidential papers \u2014 International Series, Box 8, Egypt (1); Eisenhower to Nasser, 2/27/56, Ann Whitman File, Box 8, Folder 4, Eisenhower Library. 62. Dulles testimony of 1/6/56, Executive Sessions of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee, vol. 8 (1956) (Washington, D.C.: 1978), pp. 10-11, see also p. 218. On CIA activities, see Eveland, p. 180. On arms sales, see Goodpaster to Whitman, 4/11/56, Presidential Papers\u2014International Series, Box 8, Egypt (1); Dulles-Gray, 4/12/56, White House Telecommunications file; and Byroade to Dulles, 4/11/56, Eisenhower Library. 63. Ibid., Executive Sessions, p. 46, 49-56. 64. Hoover to Eisenhower, undated (probably April 1956), Ann Whitman file, Box 8, Folder 4, Eisenhower Library. 65. Eisenhower Diary, 3/12/56, Eisenhower Library. 66. Board of National Estimates report. 67. See the following oral histories in the John Foster Dulles papers, Princeton University: Henderson, pp. 23-24,31-32,41; Stassen, p. 28; Allen, pp. 33-35; Eugene Black, pp. 7-19; Sherfield, pp. 6-7; James Hollister, pp. 46-48. See also Paul Zinner, Documents on American Foreign Relations 1956 (New York: 1957), pp. 272-75; and Milton Eisenhower, The President is Calling, (New York: 1974), p. 349. 68. Dulles to Eisenhower, 3/28/56, Eisenhower Library. 69. A symbol of this turnaround was the replacement of Byroade by Raymond Hare as ambassador to Egypt. George V. Allen was also replaced by his deputy, William Rountree. On intelligence activities see Eveland, p. 168ff. 70. Executive Sessions, vol. 9, pp. 514-15. See also pp. 618-19. Byroade continually argued in favor of financing the dam and against Dulles' decision. He was deeply concerned that this action would push Egypt\u2014and other Arab nations as well \u2014into Moscow's arms. On the issue of a settlement with Israel, Byroade added, Nasser was simply \"honest enough to tell us frankly and bluntly what he felt he could and could not do.\" See 874.2614/11-2855, /5-2656, and /6-1656. Dulles had the State Department prepare a lengthy answer to the ambassador's complaints, putting the burden for the failure of cooperation on Cairo. Nasser purchased the Soviet arms in June 1955, the same month an agreement in principle was reached to approve $27 million in sales to Egypt. Cairo wanted to get American help while pursuing anti-American policies: the attack on the Baghdad Pact, the support of leftist elements in Syria, purchases and technicians from the Soviet bloc, active intervention in north Africa, and attempts to undermine American influence in Saudi Arabia. As for Egypt-Israel relations, Fawzi expressed a desire to get along with Israel in August 1954 and stated his support for Washington's general approach and timing on the problem in April 1955. After Dulles' August 26 speech, Fawsi suggested further discussions and in November said that \"Egypt (is) prepared to work towards settlement (of) Arab-Israeli issues at earliest date.\" Nasser confirmed this ten days later, and in January 1956, indicated a willingness to start definitive negotiations. But the Egyptian leaders had gone back on all these pledges. See 874.2614/6-1656. 71. Wheelock, p. 196; White House telecommunications file, Dulles-Hoover, 7/23/56; Eisenhower, Waging Peace, p. 33. Dulles assured Eisenhower that he was taking no gamble, since Congress would have defeated the proposal anyway. Indeed, a few days later, Shepilov, now Soviet foreign minister, was quoted at a Moscow reception as negative about Soviet aid for the dam: \"We believe there are other things of more value to Egypt in industrial development than the Aswan Dam.\" Ibid., pp. 517-18. In a meeting with British Ambassador Sir Roger Makins on July 13, Dulles still seems to have been debating what course to take. For a few days the United States would receive favorable headlines for agreeing to build the dam, he said, but during the twelve to fifteen years needed to construct it, Egyptians would have to put up with considerable austerity and fiscal controls. This might lead to resentment and was likely to be beyond Egypt's capacity. His inclination was to tell Nasser what the situation was and to hold out the chance of future assistance. He would not like to see Nasser go to Moscow with an American bid in his pocket. If Washington withdrew its offer beforehand, he reasoned, the Russians might overplay their position and ask so much of Egypt that it would lead to an anti-Soviet reaction in the Arab world. 874.2614/7-1356. Byroade continued his debate with the secretary of state, complaining that Dulles judged Egypt \"solely by whether\u2014measured by our own criteria\u2014she is for us or for the Soviets.\" Cairo could not be expected to forego its own interests to fall into line with Washington: \"If we fail to develop means of fruitful cooperation\" with the nonaligned, Byroade wrote, \"and continue to consider them as being either in (the) enemy camp or as 'fellow travellers' I fear that before too long we will begin to appear\" in their eyes \"as being the unreasonable member of (the) East-West struggle.\" 874.2614/7-1356. In his meeting with Ambassador Hussayn, Dulles stressed the project's burden for Egypt's economy, the lack of agreement with upriver states, and the likelihood that years of austerity would lead to Egyptian resentment. American public and congressional opposition were also mentioned. Essentially, Dulles concluded, the two countries were \"out of step\" in too many respects. Ambassador Hussein tried, unsuccessfully, to refute these various points, mentioning, among other things, Russia's \"very generous\" offer. 874.2614/7-1356. One source close to Nasser said the Egyptian president was likely to curtail the American economic and technical aid program and) attack U.S. influence in the region generally in his July 26 speech in Alexandria. This kind of response, rather than any move against the Suez Canal, is what the State Department expected. See 874.2614/7-2056 and /7-2456. 72. Newsweek, 7/30/56; Time, 7/30/56. 73. White House telecommunications file, J. F. Dulles-A. Dulles, 7/30/56, Box 5, file 5; Dulles-Nixon, Box five, file 5,7/30/56; Dulles-Mansfield, and Dulles-Knowland, 7/31/56; Dulles-George, 8/3/56 in the same file; J. F. Dulles-Humphrey, 8/9/56 and -Allen Dulles, 10/29/56, Box 5, file 3. According to Eveland, though this cannot be confirmed, Dulles even warned Nasser that an Anglo-French attack on Egypt might be imminent. While Washington was certainly aware of French-Israel cooperation and of British military activity on Cyprus, there is no evidence that the United States knew of the planned attack in advance. See Eveland, p. 226. 74. Allen Dulles to George Humphrey, 9/29/57 and George Humphrey to Allen Dulles, 9/12/57, Allen Dulles papers, Princeton University; Kermit Roosevelt interview; The Guardian (London), 8/29/80, p. 2; Eveland, pp. 270, 292n. Eveland claims that a CIA assassination team was organized against Nasser after a misinterpreted remark from President Eisenhower. He also states that Dulles attributed the Egypt-Syria merger in easly 1958 to Russian interests. 75. The text of the president's speech is in A Select Chronology pp. 144-50. See also Executive Sessions, vol. 9, pp. 3-10. 76. Ibid., pp. 10,151, for Dulles and Radford testimony. One of the shrewdest critiques of the Eisenhower Doctrine came from Senator John F. Kennedy who saw the danger in failing to distinguish between ideological communism and tactical alliances with Moscow. He worried that the new American policy would push Egypt and Syria into the Soviets' arms and increase their antagonism to the West, pp. 174-75. On the other side, Eisenhower later wrote, \"If (Nasser) was not a communist, he certainly succeeded in making us very suspicious of him.\" Waging Peace, p. 265. 77. Albert Hourani, \"The Middle East and the Crisis of 1956,\" St. Anthony's Papers 4, Middle East Affairs 1 (London: 1958), p. 19. 78. Executive Sessions, vol. 8, p. 84. 79. 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Ye'or, Bat. \"Zionism in Islamic Lands: The Case of Egypt.\" _Wiener Library_ _Bulletin_ 30, nos. 43-44 (1977). Yisraeli, David. \"The Third Reich and Palestine. _\" Middle East Affairs_ (October 1971). ### PERIODICALS\n\n_Akhbar-al-Yawm_ (Egypt). _AlAlam al-Arabi_ (Iraq). _Al Balagh_ (Egypt). AlBilad (Iraq). _AlDifah_ (Palestine). _The Egyptian Gazette_ (Egypt). _The Egyptian Mail_ (Egypt). _Filastin_ (Palestine). Great Britain and the East. Al Ikhwan (Egypt). Al Iraq. Iraq Times. Al Istiqlal (Iraq). Journal d'Egypte. Al Kutla (Egypt). _Life Magazine_ (1943). _Al Misri_ (Egypt). _Al Moqattam_ (Egypt). New York Times. Palestine. Palestine and the Near East. Palestine Post. Palestine & Transjordan. Rose a I-Yusuf (Egypt). _Times_ (London). ### INTERVIEWS\n\nA. David Fritzlan. Letters to author April 2 and May 13, 1979. Francis Russell. Letter to author June 9 , 1979. Wells Stabler. Interview, March 7, 1979.."
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