Genecaust Page 18

  A lone figure dressed in black ran from the side door of the corner building, and the White van pulled around to meet him. The instant he opened the back door of the van she speed-dialed an alert to Steve and the rest of the team making her new video, and audio data available to them. Their screens also displayed the van and Granger's location.

  Meret dove Junior into the open van choosing to wait for them to arrive with Granger. The beetle's sensory automatically switched the video to night vision. She selected high corner shelf inside the van where Ringo could hide within the folds of a blanket. She angled him toward the roof of the van to see where was making the bright light. Sure enough, the van's roof had been outfitted with a foggy plastic cover with slits on its sides for air. Then she adjusted his position to allow her to view what happened next.

  When the controls on her cell went to a yellow flashing light, Meret's knew Steve and the team got her alert.

  The blankets she'd tucked Junior into muffled the audio input and reduced her screen size a bit, but other than that she was in business. Then a wheelchair, roughly pushed up the short ramp by two men, rammed into the back of the van.

  Damn.

  They had placed a dark hood over his head. If it were Hawking, she couldn't tell and could only hope MJ and Steve could confirm the identity from their screens.

  Not knowing how far they would take him, she checked Ringo's power levels and turned off recording audio to conserve as much energy as possible for the next part of the trip.

  Almost 100%

  Two men sat on the floor of the van with a hand on the chair, and someone outside slammed the door shut. Without a word from anyone, they abruptly took off. Her view of the van told Meret Ringo teetered on the edge of the shelf and she righted him just as her ear bud clicked. MJ.

  "Meret, I've got my bot on the luggage rack. I'm hoping it can hold on. Any confirmation Granger's inside? I saw the wheelchair, but they had his head bagged."

  "Check your screen. I sent a picture that is closer than what you saw. Can you tell anything from Granger's body?"

  33

  The Conference Call

  Late May, Hong Kong, Subash Scores

  Six weeks after the attack on Socotra, Subash Sen, Ph.D, sat alone rechecking his notes in a secure bunker in Hong Kong, the equivalent of a FEMA room, currently popular in America’s neighborhoods that host seasonal tornados. The diminutive doctor faced a large split screen monitor and carefully placed two silver canisters twice the size of a standard coffee thermos to his left and right, adjusting each so neither would appear on screen with him until needed. He tugged on the sleeves of his white lab coat to assure himself it lay flat over his shoulders. A thin malicious smile curled his lips. This will be entertaining. He relished the fact that he would be the one in complete control of two nations of people. He rubbed his small hands together in anticipation. Oh yes, he would call all the shots.

  On the wall above the large screen he had positioned a large collage of old faded photos that only he could see. He spoke to each individually in the mother tongue of his extended family. “What I do today I do in memory of you.” Sweat broke out on his brow. “My soul may turn black and I may rot in hell. I do not care. What they have done to you, they did to millions.”

  Using one of several hand towels, he wiped his face with trembling hands then cleaned his glasses with his handkerchief. “The senseless killing must stop, yet they refuse to put an end to it. I alone will stop them.”

  A bubble of satisfaction rose within him. He would be hated for years. But thanks to these, and he patted the top of each canister, smiling inwardly; his name will be remembered for centuries.

  He knew they waited impatiently behind dark split screens for him. He pushed the button that allowed him to observe their behavior without being seen. While his technology brought him the images of the current leaders of the Jews and the Muslims in the Middle East, it was his money that brought them to his meeting.

  On the screen to his left sat a top Minister for Israel. On the screen to his right sat the Emir of one of the most militant Muslim countries.

  Initially shocked by the frozen blue-eyed glare of the Jewish Minister, Sen examined his conservative dark blue business suit and striped tie. The minister sat behind a large mahogany desk as if for protection. Sen’s eyelids lowered. The desk would give him none. Like a GQ model, the minister’s shirt cuffs were exposed with exact precision and although he was an older gentleman, he had a vitality about him. His white handkerchief appeared steamed pressed as part of the suit. A tiny gold pin on his lapel completed his accessories. Dr. Sen zoomed in to focus on the Minister’s face. His skin must have been shaved minutes previously by a straight razor. Only a slight movement of his eyes showed the minister’s image was not a photograph.

  He switched his appraisal to the Emir. The white headdress, trimmed with black chording of favored families, framed a bespectacled chubby face with deadly serious eyes. His traditional robes, edged in ornate gold down the front and on the sleeves, revealed little about the Emir other than his wealth and standing. His facial lines told of a broad smile buried beneath years of political hardship.

  Sitting back in his chair to view both silent figures, Dr. Sen, in charge, felt nothing but power.

  He wiped his brow once more, reached for the mouse and clicked on Open Session. Seeing Dr. Sen for the first time, the eyes of both men drilled into him, but they remained silent as they judged him in turn.

  They saw a thin, diminutive, black-haired and dark-skinned man wearing doctor’s green scrubs under a starched white lab Jacket complete with pocket pens and a traditional stethoscope hanging around his neck.

  Sen took a sip of water and began. “Gentlemen, thank you for participating in this discussion. While you will hear each other speak, you will not be able to see your adversary. However, you both see me on your screen and I am able to observe both of you.”

  “For your personal security, do not use your real name. It is sufficient for our meeting each of you has been fully vetted for his credentials and abilities to represent his people. Out of respect for your people, I shall address you by the names given to you on your invitation to participate in this business venture.”

  He laid his hands on his thighs and addressed the suited man to his left. “You, sir, shall be addressed as Isaac, as your Jewish heritage would suggest.” He turned his head slightly and addressed the robed man to his right. “And you sir, shall be addressed as Ishmael, befitting an Arab.”

  “And what is your name, your real name?” the man on his right demanded.

  “As I said, for now our real names are not important, but you will soon, no doubt appreciate, Abraham would be a fitting name for me. Is this understood?”

  The man in the left screen called Isaac tented the tips of his fingers. “While your name may be suited to this occasion, what could you possibly have to say to us that is so important as to take us basically hostage?”

  Ishmael, the Muslim on the right, changed tack. “Perhaps Isaac is correct. Your name is of no importance. Why have you brought us into needless conflict? Who do you represent?”

  Sen coiled his lips into the malicious smile he so often wore. “You’ve never required assistance when it comes to conflict,” he said with poorly concealed annoyance. “I am here to help heal divisions among men. For this meeting address me as you would, the Father of the one religion, Abraham”

  Isaac snorted. “What? You can’t be serious. We are to pretend we are your children? Is that what you are implying?” He glanced toward the other screen as though he could see the Muslim there. “Ishmael, it seems our host believes one of us has a Messiah complex.” He turned again to his alleged kidnapper. “What? I am like Jesus and he is like Mohammad?”

  Sen wasn’t there to haggle. He had established the rules and the Jew and the Muslim would follow them. He reassumed the role he had given himself.

  “I’m glad you remembered some of your history. No, I do not s
ee anyone here with a messiah complex. That hasn’t played well for either of you in the past, has it?” He paused to let his words sink in. “Yes, I’m taking the part of your father, Abraham. I am also resuming the task God set for him to heal the divisions among men.” He paused once more for his words to find take root.

  Both men now wore a stunned vacant look. “Why should you wish to do that?” Isaac asked.

  Sen didn’t wait. “In this staged discussion,” he touched his chest, “I, Abraham,” and then spread his arms, “am appealing to you, my sons, Isaac and Ishmael, to remember you are brothers. You must begin act as a family among men and cease your fighting as God intended.”

  Ishmael held out both robed arms. “And this is why you just killed 1500 of our Muslim daughters on the Island of Socotra?” Sarcasm hung heavy in the air.

  “For that I will face God’s wrath, but the two of you have managed to kill as many of my children each year for decades. This must stop, at any cost.”

  “Who are you to say killings must stop when you have just committed an egregious mass killing. Who are your children?”

  “I am Abraham. All your people are my children.”

  “Insanity,” Isaac slammed his desk, revealing his expensive gold watch. “We are done here.” He shook his finger at the screen. “I demand you release us and do what you must to meet the real God you’ve delivered so many others to.”

  Sen shook his head. “No one will leave until you I am satisfied that you believe I can do as I claim.”

  Ishmael turned his palms upward in a plea for clarity. “Then tell us of your proposal, Father.”

  Isaac calmed down to listen. “Yes, Father, by all means, tell us.”

  Although angered by their disingenuous words, Sen laid out his plan.

  “I want only to put an end to the schisms that split the world of Muslims and Jews, I present each of you with the opportunity to end the vicious cycle of fratricide.”

  The Isaac said, “What is your motivation? What do you gain from this? You are an Indian. You practice Hinduism, or maybe Buddhism or Jainism.”

  “In your efforts you slaughtered many innocents and their families. I only represent these peoples.”

  “But what is this grand plan?” Isaac pressed. “Perhaps you have one we haven’t already heard?”

  Sen waved away the question with a flick of his wrist. “Is it not correct that all Jews believe they are the descendants of Abraham through Isaac… or more accurately through his wife, Hagar?”

  When he gave a reluctant nod, Sen turned to Ishmael. “And that all Muslims believe they are the descendants of Abraham through Ishmael… or rather his wife, Sarah? Correct?”

  “Of course. It is written,” he responded. “Where are you going with this? Tell us what is so important to you that you gave our governments one million dollars to guarantee our presence here today?”

  “Perhaps, you think that our donation is to be taken for forgiveness for your genocide?” Isaac demanded.

  Sen ignored the taunt, “You have both been given a copy of the latest BBC video reporting the events in Socotra six weeks ago, correct?”

  An angry affirmative followed.

  “You have confirmed the cause of the deaths with your INTELligence agencies?”

  “How could you have done this reprehensible act?” Isaac asked.

  “Not that you need to know, but I had to demonstrate the fact that I can to it and warn the world that I am seriousness.”

  “Monster. Executioner. Genocidal maniac,” Isaac roared, slamming the table with his fists.

  “Misogynist. Bigot. Murderer. Sociopath.” Ishmael simultaneously spat his expletives.

  Sen muted the sound so while they ranted he only saw their lips move. What did he care what they thought? He sipped coffee and searched for the large piece of coffee cake he had brought with him but he had eaten the last bite. Before turning the sound back on, he touched a finger to the last few crumbs.

  “Enough.” To capture their attention he slid a silver canister closer to each screen. “Gentlemen, please, we have important business to conduct.”

  Ishmael spoke through clenched teeth. “What is the purpose of sharing the terrible event in Socotra with us? How could business ever come from that?”

  “You will see exactly how they are related.”

  Isaac removed the handkerchief from his Jacket and wiped his face as he leaned closer. “You are lying to us. This whole thing is a scam.”

  Sen almost laughed. “ Nice try.” He sipped more coffee and then fingered the canisters beside him. “Let me tell you about these containers.”

  “Do they hold more of the poison you had in the drones that killed my people?” Ishmael appeared to be more of a believer than Isaac.

  “No.” Sen patted the top of each canister. “These are different. They are special.”

  “How are they special?” Isaac asked.

  “These have been created especially for each of you and only you.”

  Both men pushed away from their screens, eyes fixed on the canisters. Ishmael recovered first. “Explain this vile threat.”

  “What did you mean by saying, these have been created especially for each of us?” Isaac asked, still no closer to his screen.

  Sen crossed his legs and his arms. “Gentleman, need I clarify? The demonstration in Socotra was an incomplete, targeted attack against Muslims. To be complete, all of the Muslim inhabitants would have perished on that small island.” He extended his arms as though a valet were draping his shudders with his best fur coat. “Think of it as a proof of concept.” Then he leaned toward the screen and noticed the two men had pushed back. That smile that never reached his eyes, twisted his lips. Oh yes, be very afraid. He raised his voice and spoke for the first time with a tone that might be God’s, coming from above. “You misunderstood. When I said these canisters have been prepared for each of you, I didn’t mean you as an individual. I meant for your people. Only your people. Only you can decide which will survive, the decedents of Sarah or Hagar?”

  34

  Reality

  Late April in Hong Kong - Reactions & suspicion

  Isaac and Ishmael had identical reactions. Their mouths fell open, and their brows pushed hard against their hairline.

  "Why would you wish to kill my people?" Isaac asked. "Do you know them?"

  "This is insane," said Ishmael, his head shaking slowly. "You are crazy. What you claim you can do, cannot be real. It cannot be possible."

  Sen was pleased. He had sown the seeds of uncertainty and had to put a hand to his mouth to hide his delight as the danger finally sank into the two men on his screen. In a whisper, Isaac asked, "What do you want from us?"

  Sen spat his words in anger. "You will put an end to the centuries of slaughter. Today."

  The faces in the screens flashed to disbelief. He expected this. They had taken him for a fool. Now, they had second thoughts. The silence grew. So, too, did the tension. The men fidgeted, their fear, obvious. When Isaac knocked over his chair and left the screen swearing, Sen took pleasure in his rage. He could hear the Jew's shouting and pounding on the locked door out of camera range.

  Ishmael leaned closer to his screen and spoke between clenched teeth. "You are not Jewish, I can tell. Why do you do business with them?"

  Before he could respond, Isaac returned. He bent into the screen. "I demand you let me out. I have no time or interest in this circus."

  Ishmael spoke to his unseen counterpart. "Isaac, let us be reasonable. Let us hear what Abraham has to say."

  Sen felt his power building and politely gestured for him to sit.

  Isaac roughly righted his chair and shook his finger at the screen. "You'll pay for this. My people will not tolerate any act of terrorism."

  Ishmael faced his screen, but his words were for the unseen Isaac. "If the accounts of the media are correct, I am the only injured party present. If you'll remember, Isaac, only Muslims were massacred on Socotra."

>   "Israel had nothing to do with the incident in Socotra," Isaac shouted, His voice lowered, and he adopted a tone of conspiracy replying to Ishmael. "Perhaps our father is merely playing us against each other."

  Sen waited for the possibility to register before he spoke. "By giving you, Isaac, the power to eliminate the vast majority of Muslims in the Middle East and you, Ishmael, equal power to eliminate the vast majority of Jews in the Middle East, you can prevent the fighting. What is in each vile is a virus that attacks only the specific genetic markings of your enemy and only your enemy. You can destroy those people without harming anyone else and put the blame on the Eastern Wind of Retribution if you wish."

  Ishmael raised his head, the wrinkles on his old face stood out against his ashen skin. "How do you plan to decide which of us gets to kill the other?"

  Isaac snorted in contempt. "Don't you get it, Ishmael? He said this is a business meeting. We must bid on the right to exterminate each other."

  "So then," Ishmael said softly, "this is all about money?"

  Sen wanted to laugh at their willingness to accept his greed but held back.

  "What, no bidding?" In a mock pout, Isaac moaned, "If not an auction, then what?"

  "As I see it," Ishmael said, "Abraham has two options. Option one, he sells to you, option two, he sells to me. In either case, he keeps the remaining canister for himself to hold over the survivor."

  "No, he has a third option." Isaac shook his finger. "He makes a double profit by selling to both of us, thus building a mutual destruction pack very much like the Cold War between the United States and the former Soviet Union. He gets twice the money, and we have the ability to destroy each other." He glared at Sen. "And all of that at a bargain price far below the cost of a protracted Cold War. Have I correctly stated your bargaining strategy, doctor?"