For I will punish them that dwell in the land of Egypt, as I have punished Jerusalem, by the sword, by the famine, and by the pestilence …
Ryan struggled to talk. ‘But how do, do, do these parasites affect behaviour?’
‘Neuromodulators. The parasites subvert the normal function of hormonal neuromodulators — the things that order the brain around — and they manipulate them in their own favour, to encourage an abundance of crazy behaviourisms.’
‘An example?’
Herzog shrugged. ‘I have several million examples. You know that one in four species on earth are parasitic? There are two hundred thousand species of parasitic wasp alone. One of the parasites that first seduced me into this field was Entomophthorales. It is an evil fungus that parasitizes the housefly. It glues itself to the fly’s body then burrows inside and starts eating all its blood, at the same time as it tunnels into the brain, like Muslim terrorists heading for the cockpit of a 747.’ Herzog glanced at his watch, then continued. ‘In time, the presence of the fungus, by manipulating the brain of the fly, gives the fly an irresistible urge to relocate to a high place, perhaps a blade of grass, or the top of a door. There the brainwashed fly glues itself to its perch, lowers its front legs and tilts its abdomen away. And in this surreal position it dutifully dies, and the fungus is ejaculated from the exploding abdomen of the fly, its contorted position perfect for firing spores widely into the wind, to shower on more flies below.’
‘Christ.’
‘Well, precisely. And there’s more. The parasitic control of the fly’s brain is so sophisticated it makes sure the fly commits suicide in this flamboyant manner just before sunset: only at that precise time is the air dewy and sweet enough for the spores to develop quickly on the next unfortunate fly. And so the cycle continues.’
‘That’s horrible.’
Herzog smiled. ‘Yes. And there are thousands of similar examples. It’s one reason why I am not religious. How could a good Creator conjure such monstrosities? There is a beetle which chews away the tongue of a fish and becomes its tongue, a parasitic tongue. There is a magnificently evil parasite which forces its poor host to change gender, yes — change sex — there is also a parasite which obliges its victim, say, a horse, to smash its head pointlessly against a rock or a tree: the Bornavirus.’ He put a hand on Ryan’s shoulder. ‘But not all parasites are quite so malign. Many parasites thrive in a mutually beneficial way with the host. The God Parasite is one.’
‘Beneficial? But … Akhenaten was diseased, his children died young?’
‘Clearly in its earliest stage, the very first manifestation of monotheism, the God Parasite was brutal and harmfuclass="underline" it caused cranial malformation, strange bone diseases, bulging eyes — hence the oddness of Amarna portraiture. Those fearful plagues of Akhenaten and Moses. But Darwinism honed it. It got better. More user-friendly, more beneficial to the host.’
Ryan shook his head. As if he could shake the blackness from his sight. He was definitely going under now. He sat down on a wooden bench and closed his eyes. ‘It’s not benefiting me. And it killed Albert.’
Herzog’s voice was lonely in the darkness. ‘Ah, but only some people die. Those that survive do benefit, but why? Here is the genius of evolution: the parasite is, in fact, in its later forms, extremely beneficial — because monotheism is beneficial to the human host — religious people live longer than atheists: they are less likely to drink and smoke, they are happier, healthier, and, crucially, they have more kids — look at teeming Islam compared with sterile Europe — the atheists die out, in their sad and childless despair, meanwhile the monotheists breed like the lesser rodents.’ Herzog sighed. ‘We are sure the God Parasite, once it gets into the human brain, and presuming the host survives the initial infection, is then passed harmlessly down from mother to child, probably via uterine hormones. Or just maybe it smuggled its way into our DNA. Much of our DNA was originally the DNA of parasites that we co-opted. Either way, that’s why religious belief is partly heritable. A child who inherits the faith that infected his parents suffers no plague, no blindness, no insane epiphanies; he is just happy and monotheistic and devout, and he breeds more kids who have the same parasite.’
Herzog paused. ‘It does, however, appear that the parasite is not invulnerable. Eventually it stops descending down the generations, unless the human hosts are reinfected. Hence, maybe, the rise of secularism and atheism in Europe.’
Ryan opened his eyes. He saw an egret fly over the boat, spectral in the moonlight. Like a ghost. Or an angel.
Herzog concluded, ‘The parasite also evolves very quickly, we do not know how. It may become actively hostile to atheists, it may explain hostility to atheists. The science is still experimental and unformed, which is why a living, breathing, intelligent, freshly minted victim like you is such a valuable commodity.’
The moment was coming. When Ryan would have to agree. Before he lost his reason again. It was fleeing him now. He grasped for the words. ‘Commodity?’
‘This is the situation.’ Herzog clasped Ryan’s shoulder. ‘We are developing a cure for the God Parasite, a way of eradicating monotheism! Imagine the potential!’
‘I can’t. Why? Why are you doing this?’
‘Because of my country, the survival of my people. Because Israel is doomed if monotheism survives: religion is killing us. If it isn’t the Christians it is the Muslims — it is especially the Muslims, right now. Indeed, Israeli Jews will soon be outnumbered by Muslims even within Israel. There is no hope for the Zionist homeland, the Islamic nukes are here already. But ah! If only we can make the Muslims non-Muslim, make them nice secular liberals, take away the lunacy of monotheism around the world, then, hava nagila, Israel survives. And we get rid of the zealots at home.’ Herzog smiled bleakly. ‘Consequently we are, right now, developing a prototype parasite-killer; a parasiticide. We will use it on you. We do not know if it will work. It may cure you, it may not. But if it doesn’t, you will die, and then we get to cut open your head and look at your brain.’
He extended a hand. ‘Think, Ryan, think. While you still can. Doesn’t that sound like a pretty good deal? In the circumstances? With Helen asleep downstairs? You love her, don’t you? You want to save her. And yourself. So this is your only option. If you don’t agree you will definitely die, and she will be arrested and jailed. So, therefore, use your last precious moments of rationality. Make the decision. Do it quickly. Or you will die a flailing and horrible death.’
48
The girl, Zara Parkinson, was weeping again. Rothley resisted the urge to smack her. She still had faint bruises on her face from the last time he had struck her: sad, violet contusions under her eyes, and some bruising on her slim, pale arms. This was not ideal. The Abra-Melin ritual was adamant that the final victim must burn in as pure a state as possible. Virginal, and perfect, and unsullied.
Besides, there was no real need for him to hit her again. He had done much of the hardest work, having successfully transported her across southern England to this old block of apartments in a rundown corner of Plymouth.
All the neighbouring flats were empty: they could not be detected. The flat was anonymous, and utterly context-less; the police in their dutiful slowness would surely be looking for him in some house connected to Crowley and the Dawn. But Rothley was already beyond that — he had soared way beyond that.