The Barrier Read online

  About The Barrier

  TWENTY YEARS AGO AN EBOLA EPIDEMIC BROUGHT THE WORLD TO THE EDGE OF OBLIVION.

  The West won the war, the East was isolated behind a wall, and a vaccine against Ebola was developed. Peace prevailed.

  Now Agent Noah Williams is being sent over the barrier to investigate a rogue scientist who risks releasing another plague. But why would a once-respected academic threated the enforced vaccination program that ensures humans are no longer an endangered species?

  Hunting for answers amid shootouts, espionage and murder, Noah will have to confront a fundamental question:

  IN THE FIGHT FOR SURVIVAL, CAN OUR HUMANITY SURVIVE TOO?

  Contents

  Cover

  About The Barrier

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Map

  Armistice Accord

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Acknowledgements

  About Shankari Chandran

  Copyright page

  To Amma and Appa, who gave me faith

  There have been as many plagues as wars in history; yet always plagues and wars take people equally by surprise.

  Albert Camus, The Plague

  Armistice Accord

  signed at the end of World War Righteous

  On this, the ninth day of the sixth month of the year 2025, we, the surviving children of the human race, declare that World War Righteous is over, five years and more than three billion deaths after it began.

  We each acknowledge our role in the destruction of our citizens and cities and solemnly vow that we will never allow our philosophical differences to lead us into war and to the point of extinction again.

  Out of the funeral pyres, we will create new institutions, laws and mechanisms that will protect us from ourselves and all known biological threats.

  The first mechanism is the Immunity Shield. We declare that immunisation is the right and obligation of every citizen. In 2021, the Great Ebola Pandemic swept across our world. It wrought unprecedented devastation until it was finally controlled in 2025. We must always be vigilant against its rise and recurrence. The Global Vaccination Programme will provide the vaccine, EBL-47, to maintain herd immunity against Ebola. The programme will be administered freely by the World Health Organization (WHO) and enforced by a new public health agency, the Department for Biological Integrity.

  The second mechanism is the Information Shield, a barrier between the countries of the Western Alliance and the countries of the Eastern Alliance. The purpose of this barrier is to ensure that only approved information and people may move between these two new governance zones.

  The final mechanism is our resolve to learn from the past and do whatever is necessary to ensure the security and stability of our world.

  Prologue

  A voice cut through the turbulence and ricocheted inside Noah’s helmet.

  ‘Hard landing, soldiers!’ the pilot shouted.

  Noah braced himself as the plane shuddered and listed to the right. He coughed, a charred smell catching in his throat. The soldier next to him jabbed him in the ribs, reminding him to turn on the air filter in his mask. The sudden movement of the plane threw him against a window and he looked down. It was night-time and for a moment the cloudy haze below cleared. What had looked like hundreds of thousands of streetlights were actually fires. Sri Lanka was burning. Buildings, vehicles, homes and people.

  He pushed his feet into the floor of the plane, his hands across his chest, threaded into the straps the way he’d been taught.

  Deep breath. He was only a few months out of the academy but he wouldn’t let Commander Hackman down.

  The plane dropped and dropped again, tossed like the ash swirling around them. His stomach somersaulted. He bit the inside of his cheeks.

  Brace for impact. Trust the pilot. Trust your unit. Trust yourself.

  The plane slammed into the ground, hard but controlled. It skidded, turned and stopped. The impact shook him violently but it didn’t shake him loose. Noah laughed and cheered with the others.

  *

  Noah and the Western Alliance units boarded a military convoy and headed straight to the Sivanadana Cave at the northern tip of the island.

  They passed the smouldering remains of towns and villages, and the massive refugee camps that had replaced them. World War Righteous had started in this quadrant of the South Asian Sector. Sri Lanka had a greater mix of religions than most countries – and a greater propensity towards carnage.

  There were quarantine camps with large ‘No Entry’ signs at the front and smoke billowing from crematoriums at the back. And Noah saw the small blue WHO vaccination tents that would later proliferate all over the world like pustules on a dying body.

  At the cave, the convoy stopped for Hackman’s final orders. The team was large – about fifty men and women, experienced soldiers and Bio agents.

  ‘This area requires careful purging. Our primary target is the Hindu temple here,’ Hackman pointed to a building on the map.

  ‘The temple has been carved out of the vertical rock face. It is a contiguous piece of stone the size of Capitol Hill.’

  Noah flicked through the file on his handheld. He had heard about Sivanadana before. His father said it was stunning.

  ‘Do not be deceived into reverence,’ Hackman cautioned. ‘In this part of the world, reverence leads to the suspension of compassion and humanity.

  ‘Remember why we’re here. Remember what happened.’

  None of them could forget. Five years ago, Sri Lanka had incubated and released the virus of religious war. World War Righteous had weakened an already compromised world, but it didn’t destroy it. Instead, war created the perfect host for the Great Ebola Pandemic – contagion did the rest.

  Hackman pulled more detailed maps onto the screen.

  ‘This site is vast. We don’t have the firepower to raze it to the ground right now. But,’ he paused to make sure everyone was listening, ‘I want all statues to be smashed, all frescoes and artwork burned. Anything that reminds these people of their religion.

  ‘There are about a hundred families in the temple compound – refugees and a few priests who led them there.’

  Hundreds of people who thought that sanctity equalled salvation, Noah thought.

  ‘They are in the early stages of Ebola – and not contagious yet. However, we have isolated them as per the Containment Protocol. Stay alert. If you encounter any resistance, you have shoot-to-kill orders. When you’re done, we’ll blow the surrounding rock face. Are there any questions?’

  Hackman looked around. Noah willed his face to remain impassive.

  ‘No? Good. This is an historic moment. It is 27 June 2025, and it is our privilege to help execute the Great Purge across the East. The convoy leaves in thirty minutes. Be ready.�
��

  *

  The team divided into smaller groups and worked in a grid formation.

  ‘Don’t leave anything standing. Destroy it all,’ Hackman warned one last time.

  The cave entrance was lined by a stone parade of celestial dancers, their arms raised in salute. Noah approached the central temple for Lord Shiva, the Hindu god of destruction.

  Ragged men, women and children huddled together in the courtyard, cowering as the soldiers approached them.

  Noah pulled his face mask up like the rest of the team. Ebola is not airborne. I have been vaccinated with the new wonder drug, he reminded himself. The refugees were not contagious, but they were sick: not just from Ebola but from starvation, from the trauma of war and all the diseases that came with it.

  Sunlight drifted onto the wall of the temple. He thought he was looking at a detailed fresco. But as the cool grey stone began to glow, he realised it was not a painting. A stonemason had become a storyteller, carving every scene and subplot of the Mahabharata into the wall.

  Noah reached up and touched the faces of the family that had been torn apart, doomed to fight each other for a kingdom they could have shared. He didn’t know stone could convey emotion: love, anger, envy and so much grief.

  ‘What are you doing?’ A soldier emerged from the shadows, an MF-25 automatic weapon strapped around his chest.

  ‘Nothing . . . I was just reading the stone.’

  ‘Reading the stone?’

  ‘The panels tell a story. It’s a mythical battle that happened thousands of years ago. See –’ He pointed to a section. ‘That’s Arjuna, the great warrior. He’s holding his young son who died alone on the battlefield. And there he is cursing his cousins who killed the boy. They betrayed their code as warriors and killed him through deceit.’

  It wasn’t a righteous kill, Noah’s father used to say.

  ‘What’s he doing there?’ The soldier pointed to the next panel with the tip of his gun.

  ‘There, Arjuna avenges his son’s death. He hunts down the killers.’ The stonemason showed Arjuna avenged but still overwhelmed by loss.

  ‘It’s big, isn’t it?’ The other soldier craned his head up to survey the entire series of panels.

  It was big and beautifully narrated in stone. The Mahabharata was told to Hindu children; it was a thousand stories within a story that taught them how to live.

  ‘This panel here – it’s the most important one.’ Noah touched the carving of Lord Krishna, the magnificent blue god, now conceived black and shining. The god’s hand was raised as he stood on the battlefield, the armies of good and evil gathered around him. Arjuna, his disciple and warrior, was crouched prostrate at his feet, hands folded in prayer. Lord Krishna was speaking to Arjuna, giving him the Bhagavad Gita, the song of god, the religion’s most prized scripture.

  ‘Hinduism says we are bonded to this cycle of life, death and rebirth. But we yearn to be free of it. Man’s true nature is a divine energy. This moment in the war here –’ Noah placed his palm on the cool stone again. ‘It’s when God tells us the way home.’

  ‘How do you know all that shit?’ the soldier asked.

  ‘My father told me,’ Noah whispered into the stone. His father, a theology professor, had studied that ‘shit’ for decades, teaching Noah when he was willing to listen. He waited to hear if his father’s voice, calm and sure, would whisper back.

  ‘Well then, let’s start there. Move away.’ The soldier unclipped the safety on his weapon, adjusted the strap around his shoulders and stood with his feet apart. He braced himself and then opened fire. A staccato of metal tore into the stone. It echoed throughout the cave. Noah flinched in spite of himself.

  Behind him a withered mass rose from the shadows. He turned and saw the men from the courtyard stagger towards him. Some called out for their gods. The women sat transfixed by what they knew was about to happen. Their eyes followed the men and the men followed the bullets, but they were too late.

  The Bhagavad Gita fell to the ground in pieces. And then Commander Hackman was next to Noah, shouldering him to attention.

  ‘What are you doing, Williams? Fire, fire, fire.’

  Fire.

  The ragged men were close enough to him that Noah could see the disbelief in their eyes, and feel the disgust in his own as he did what he was ordered. Soldiers joined him at his side.

  He had never heard the sound of metal ripping through layers of shrivelled muscle and brittle bone. It passed through body after body, like a child’s fingers in playdough. He heard people scream in agony, the air rattle from their chests, the life rush from their wounds in a fountain of dark blood. When it was over the pieces of their bodies lay twisted, mangled and merged with the pieces of their gods.

  Chapter 1

  Noah had watched the interrogation for seventeen hours but lost interest after nine.

  It was going nowhere. The London office was impatient, forcing him to intervene. He nodded to the three interrogators as they left. One of them, the best in his team, shrugged his shoulders apologetically.

  With his right hand, Noah dragged the metal chair over and placed it in front of the naked man. He sat and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm. The small room was kept airless at his command.

  In his left hand, he held the gleaming orb of a human skull, the kind used in medical school. He tossed it and caught it, casually adjusting its position in his hand.

  He excelled at Human Anatomy. It had been his best subject at the academy all those years ago when he was just starting out. That wasn’t entirely true. Analytic Tradecraft was his best subject. Virology was his second best. He excelled at Theoretical Killing too but partly because he was so good at Human Anatomy. The latter could be more accurately described as his favourite subject.

  He ran a hand through his dark hair, pushing it out of his eyes. He needed a haircut. And sleep. He looked at his watch and then spoke loudly for the benefit of the recording devices in the room: ‘Interview continued at 22.34 on 8 December 2040 by Agent Noah Williams. Location: Interrogation Site 45, South Asian Sector.’

  He turned to the naked man. ‘This is Louis,’ he said, introducing Hassan to the skull. ‘He and I have been together a long time.’

  The man licked his lips, his tongue lingering on the cracked, peeling skin. He reached higher, licking the sweat above his lip.

  ‘It’s hot in here, isn’t it? How about we talk to Louis for a little while and then I’ll see if I can get you a cold beer? A soda if you prefer.’ Noah smiled at him and then at the skull whose grimace remained fixed.

  Hassan squinted with his one good eye – first at Noah, then at the skull, confused. He raised his head stiffly to the security camera protruding from the ceiling corner. In the room next door, Noah knew the agents watching them on the monitor would be smiling. Things wrapped up pretty quickly when he brought out Louis.

  ‘Don’t look at them.’ Noah slapped Hassan’s face lightly, his tone friendly. ‘Look at Louis.’ He raised the skull. ‘I named him after Louis Pasteur. Do you know who that is?’

  Hassan tried to speak but couldn’t push words through his parched throat. He nodded his head and coughed.

  ‘That’s right, cough it out. Your throat is fine. I never touch the throat. You need it to breathe, eat and most importantly to speak.’ Noah leaned in for the next piece of information. ‘To be honest, you don’t really need it for breathing and eating. We can enable those functions in different ways if necessary. But I find communication is best done face to face, through the throat, the organs of articulation and the poetry of language.’

  Hassan began to cry.

  ‘It’s okay. Louis and I are not going to hurt you anymore. As you know, Louis is actually French so I should really call him Louis. But I think it sounds a little pretentious under the circumstances, don’t you?’

  Hassan’s tears streamed into the cuts on his face.

  Noah held Louis up again and Hassan cringed, pu
lling instinctively against his restraints. He cried out. His body was heavily bruised. His skin was stripped in places. Any movement hurt.

  ‘Louis helps me explain something to you. My boys have roughed you up a little. I know it doesn’t seem like a fair fight with you tied to the chair. But we’d only end up hurting you more if we allowed you to fight back. So the boys have had their turn and, to your credit, you’ve told us very little. Nothing in fact. You are very brave and very strong. Surprisingly strong for a public health official.’

  ‘I’m a doctor,’ Hassan whispered.

  ‘Yes, of course. You’re a qualified vaccinator, entrusted by the WHO to maintain herd immunity against Ebola. Your parents must be so proud. My mother always wanted me to be a doctor. A medical doctor, that is. She’d be hard pressed to find a medic who knows anatomy the way I do. She thinks I work in pharmaceutical testing for the government.

  ‘You’re a doctor,’ Noah repeated. ‘So you know that there are two parts to your skull. The cranium creates a vault around your brain and brainstem.’ He traced the outline of Louis’s cranium with his finger.

  ‘Your brain weighs 1.7 percent of your total weight – not much. And yet it absorbs twenty percent of your oxygen intake. The second part of your skull is your facial skeleton – the bone structures that give shape to your face.

  ‘Your braincase – the cranium – is strong. Nature has made it hard and although it can be cracked by any number of implements, the process of cracking is often imprecise and can inadvertently damage your brain. For now, I need your brain as it is – parts of it at least. I need your higher-level thinking, your short- and long-term memory and some of your executive functions.’ He rattled off the names, using the fingers of his empty hand, like items on a grocery list.

  ‘There are parts I don’t need – for example, your motor cortex or your sensory cortex, although I’m sure you’d like to keep those.’ He motioned again to sections of Louis’s skull.