I turn towards the steeple and take a deep breath. Even though it’s noon, the steeple casts a short shadow on the lawn in front of the building, and I gasp when I look down at it. There’s a bush growing against the building that’s just tall enough to catch a few of the sun’s rays. The top of the bush has lost its leaves, and at this very moment the sun is aligned so that the leafless sticks cast a shadow in the shape of cross at the top of the shadow of the steeple. The cross that once sat atop the steeple was removed decades ago; but for now, it’s as if it’s still standing proudly in the light.
The drones descend to just one hundred meters. I count four of them - all trained on me. I smile, knowing that Martha isn’t being pursued. The old church has heavy, double wooden doors. I open the one on the right and it creaks exactly like it used to when I was a boy. As I close it behind me, a large Corps bus glides to a stop, and dozens of heavily-armed agents burst out. In a minute or two, the building will be an armed camp that the Four teams couldn’t possibly break through.
Then the old familiar smell of the building hits me. It’s slightly musty, with a hint of pine from the air freshener that Mrs. Pierce likes. The large, open sanctuary was maintained as a reading area down the center, with display cases along the walls. I see the large stuffed fish that some guy named Si caught in the Fox River and donated to the Historical Society. Mrs. Pierce hated that ugly old fish, but tolerated it as a means to start conversations and assess who might be a Christian.
As I walk down the rows of reading tables, I catch an invading whiff of my Aunt Jennifer’s perfume. It hangs in the air, like death. I walk into the library to the left, and find Aunt Jennifer casually reading the copy of the Bible that I first stole from - and then returned - to this church.
“Updated International Version from 2029,” I say. “It isn’t exactly the original Greek, but it’s still a nice choice for beginners.”
She smiles pleasantly, and rises.
“I’ve never seen what all the fuss is about,” she says, as she approaches. “They have a book on witchcraft too, and I don’t see much difference.”
When she has crossed the room, she comes up close and gives me a tentative kiss on the cheek.
“Aunt Jennifer. From the time I was eight-years-old - even when I was lost and lonely after mom and dad were killed - that has got to be the first time you’ve ever kissed me.”
“How could I possibly resist the opportunity? I thought you, of all people, would enjoy the irony of being betrayed with a kiss,” she says.
“I’m sorry, Jennifer, but the role of Judas is already taken. Where is Garai, anyway? He usually pops up on a screen at times like these.”
She suddenly looks flustered.
“You’re still good at these little games, aren’t you, Cephas?”
She composes herself, but is starting to look frightened.
“But you seem to have lost your boyhood curiosity. Don’t you want to get a look at what you came for? I have your father’s notebook page right here.”
She holds up the piece of paper.
“You’re going to be disappointed,” she says. “There’s no technical information about how to make a vaccine.”
“I know.”
When Aunt Jennifer is feeling nervous, she has a slight twitch in the corner of her mouth. Today it’s working overtime.
“You’re not here to find some last minute miracle for the plague?” she asks. “You don’t think the last page describes how to make the vaccine? Then why have you come?”
“The page is just a piece in His wonderful puzzle - as are you and I; but you’re right. I do love puzzles. If you’d remembered that and searched the paper, you’d already know that God has you right where you’re meant to be today.”
I place a com in my ear.
“Computer, display the page in Jennifer Paulson’s hand on the nearest screen, and highlight the first and last letter that appear on the first ten lines.”
The highlighted letters appear on the screen.
“Now pull them out and line them up in order.”
The letters spell out: “You forgot about the trapdoor.”
I cross the two meters separating us. She looks scared that I’m going to hit her, but I bend slightly and kiss her on the cheek.
If it’s possible to make a person become completely unhinged from a kiss on the cheek, then I’ve accomplished it.
“I’ve been advocating behaving more like Christ,” I say. “Even though it was well within His power to escape crucifixion, He surrendered peacefully. So, here I am.”
I open my arms wide.
Aunt Jennifer takes a com from her pocket and, with a shaking hand, places it into her ear. It’s been set to make an automatic call on activation.
“Henry, call it off. Get everyone out. He knows everything before I say it. I don’t know how, but we’re not in control here.”
She’s shrieking into the device.
“Of course you’re not in control here,” I say. “God is. Can’t you feel His presence all around us?”
Jennifer backs out of the room, obviously terrified.
I hear doors opening and men crashing through the building. When they enter the library where I’m standing, they’re all carrying stun rifles and comically pointing them in every which direction, as they look for hidden threats.
“It’s okay,” I say.
I open my arms wide again to show that I’m not a threat.
“I’m the only one here.”
An older man, who appears to be in charge, rushes towards me. I can see that he’s going to do a leg sweep and knock me down. I could easily avoid the blow, and probably disable him and take his rifle, but I stand passively and let him knock me down. I get onto my hands and knees.
“Don’t worry. No harm will come to any of you,” I say.
“I can’t promise the same, fish head.”
He brings the butt of his rifle down on the back of my head, turning the world black.
*****
I wake up - or at least I think I’m awake. The pounding pain in the back of my head tells me at a minimum that I must not be dead. I start taking a mental stock. I appear to be sprawled out on a hard, cold surface, which means I’m not tied up. The surface seems to have a slight vibration to it; so I’m probably in a tube car.
I open my eyes and instantly regret it. The light is dim, but still sends a shockwave of pain through my head. Everything was blurry or covered with stars anyway, which probably means I have a concussion. My left hand is killing me. Did I fight someone? Fighting certainly wasn’t part of my plan.
A new series of vibrations hit me - it’s from footsteps heading my way.
“Why can’t those fools follow instructions?” a man’s voice asks.
That voice seems sort of familiar.
“I told them not to hurt him, unless absolutely necessary and instead, they knock an unarmed man unconscious with a rifle butt? Idiots! Getting him healthy could delay things by days.”
Delay? Delay is good. I’m supposed to be delaying somebody.
“Shall I find out who did it and bring them to you?” a woman’s voice asks.
That voice sounds familiar too. I wish I could think just a little more clearly. I’m sure I could figure out who it is, if my head would just stop throbbing.
“Yes. Get a report, and get his head on a stick,” the man replies. “And get a doctor on board. I want Paulson up and talking as soon as possible.”
I drift back out of consciousness, with my head ringing. Is my head ringing from the concussion? Or is it something else? It sounds more like a hammer hitting metal than a constant ringing in my ear. Slowly I come to realize that I’m having the blacksmith shop vision again; so I embrace it. This time I’m going to hit the nail so hard that it breaks. I do not want to be the one who forges the nails that crucify Christ. I hit it again and again and can’t even bend it. This time when I pull the nail from the water, the “C” and “H” have been joined further down the nail by an “S.”
I wake up with a start, but keep my eyes closed. I thought the dream would be more pleasant than reality - but I was wrong. Instead, the addition of another letter in Christ’s name leaves me feeling depressed, like I’m waiting for an inevitable outcome that I can’t affect.
I have no concept of how much time has passed, though I do know I must have been in a very deep sleep, because I’ve been moved. I’m now on my back on a soft surface - most likely a bed. There’s now a bandage on the back of my head and the pain is tolerable, though my left hand still aches. On the bright side, enough of the fogginess has lifted from my brain that this time I’m sure I’m awake.
Based on the vibrations, I seem to still be on board a tube car. There’s someone in the room with me, as I can hear soft breathing and the occasional shifting of weight, like they’re sitting and reading. I open my eyes just a slit and see Janet, my old “press secretary,” seated across the room reading something on a computer pad. Hers was the female voice I heard earlier, and the man was Henry. I notice that my clothes were changed at some point while I was asleep, I’m now wearing just a simple brown robe, similar to the ones I saw in ancient Jerusalem.
Henry wants you to look like Jesus.
I can think of no good reason to speak with Janet; so I remain still, hoping to gather more information. I don’t have to wait long, because moments later Henry, and a man I presume is my doctor, enter the room.
“Good. He looks perfect,” Henry says. “When do you expect he’ll wake up?”
“It was a serious concussion, but the swelling is stabilized,” the doctor reports. “It can be hard to predict when he’ll regain consciousness. It could be an hour, or it could be a day. Just don’t expect him to think clearly for a day or two.”
“He’s still wearing the ring on his left hand. I thought I was clear that everything that was his needs to go,” Henry says.
“I know what you said but …,” Janet replies.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” the doctor interrupts. “Normally, when someone is unconscious, all of their skeletal muscles relax; but his left hand goes into some sort of involuntary spasm every time we try to remove the ring. I had two strong men try to pry his fingers open, and they couldn’t do it. It was like trying to straighten out curled up pieces of iron.”
“He looks relaxed now. Get it off,” Henry says.
Janet snorts.
When the doctor touches my hand, my fingers instantly curl into a fist. While the rest of me feels horrible, my left fist feels like a source of raw power. I know there’s no way anyone can open my hand, if I choose to keep it closed.
God put the rings on our fingers. Nobody removes it, except Martha.
“See what I mean?” the doctor says. “I’ve never seen anything like it. All I can figure is that it’s some abnormal side effect of the concussion.”
“Fine. Leave the ring for now. I’ll think of some way to use it,” Henry says. “Janet, we’ll be there soon. I don’t need to tell you that you need to move fast. We’re doing this with minimum security so nobody suspects who our guest is. Once he’s inside, we’re relying on secrecy rather than firepower.”
That’s good to know.
The bed I’ve been lying on turns out to be some sort of rolling medical gurney. Why would they choose an old one with wheels, when hospitals are fully equipped with modern ones that hover? I must be going somewhere old, where the floors don’t have hover pads installed.
When we pull into the tube station, my wrists and ankles are secured to the gurney. It’s okay, I wasn’t feeling up to a run anyway.
I start risking cracking an eye open to search for clues as to where I am. When we reach the elevator that’ll take us up to a private hover bus entrance, I can see the board listing the occupants. Janet is listed, as are three men whose names are unfamiliar; but my name isn’t on the list. When Martha was captured, they put a chip into her; but they haven’t done so with me. They must be afraid that Four can hack tracking chips and see where I am. It also allows them to make me disappear without a trace, once they’ve killed me.
It’s good information, but it tells you nothing about where you are. It looks the same as any elevator in any tube station.
We go up three floors then enter an area reserved for private bus loading - which looks the same as any. There’s bright sunshine coming in through the windows. That doesn’t mean anything. It’s cold. Now, that could be something. I’m probably still in North America … perhaps in one of the northern states.
They load me into a large, private bus with all the windows darkened; so I leave my eyes closed and begin to count. Maybe I can estimate the distance we travel. As I count, I realize that we’re traveling uphill. A hover bus can only climb about a two to three percent grade, but the difference is noticeable. When we stop, I estimate that we’ve travelled somewhere between forty and forty-five kilometers.
They take me out of the bus and into bright sunlight; but it’s still cold. I smell something familiar on the wind. It’s something vaguely sweet - like butterscotch, or maybe vanilla. I crack my eyes and see evergreen trees. I’m smelling ponderosa pine trees, which means I’m somewhere in the western United States or Canada. That would be consistent with the fact that I can see a lot of sky.
The sun is blotted out, as we enter a large shadow, so I risk cracking my eyes open again. I catch a glimpse of what looks like the Great Plains stretching out in front of me, with a small city nestled against the large hill we climbed up to get here. I’m not sure that’s helpful.
The shadow deepens, but slowly I become aware of dim lights high above me. I’ve been taken inside a building. It must be very large - like an airplane hangar - because we’re not turning any corners. No - it’s not wide like a hangar. I can hear the echoes of the footsteps as I’m wheeled along, so it sounds more like I’m moving through a large tunnel than a hangar.
“Doctor,” Janet says, with some concern in her voice. “I’ve been watching the numbers on the monitor. Have you noticed that his pulse rate is swinging up and down? I also noticed his oxygen has been dropping. It was ninety-nine percent, and now it’s ninety-seven.”
The doctor comes along-side the gurney and looks at the monitor.
“The oxygen perfusion is no big deal. We’re over two thousand kilometers above sea level and it’s normal for it to drop a little as you go up in altitude. The pulse rate is more of a concern. Getting hit at the base of the skull can mess up a number of autonomic functions like heart rate and breathing; but it might also mean that he’s regaining consciousness and is scared or confused.”
We’re at two thousand kilometer; it’s cold; I smell ponderosa pines; and I could see out over a large plain. Wait. Not all of the evergreens were green. Some were blue spruce, and I could hear the rattle of quaking aspen. I think I’m in Colorado.
“See? His pulse is spiking up again,” Janet relays to the doctor; but he doesn’t respond.
Oh, no. My pulse is spiking as I piece together where I am. I need to stay calm. I need them to think I’m still completely out of it.
“Even with a concussion, this one is very smart,” Janet says. “I wonder…”
You’re smart too, Janet - no matter how dumb you sometimes try to act.
“Doctor. Is there any way to tell if someone is awake or asleep?” Janet asks.
“Sure, but I don’t have that kind of monitoring equipment here.”
“Are there any old-fashioned ways?”
“One traditional way to revive someone who fainted was to use very strong smells. Doctors used to carry a tablet called a smelling salt that they’d activate and hold under the patient’s nose. It smelled so bad that it would often bring people out of the faint. If you held it under the nose of a conscious person, there’s no way they’d be able to resist acting reflexively. Of course, doctors haven’t carried such primitive things for decades now.”
“It sounds like the idea was to make the person uncomfortable. I’ve always been pretty good at making this particular patient uncomfortable,” Janet says.
I’m sure she has a devious smile as she says it.
She slides her hand up my robe, squeezing and tickling first my lower leg and then my thigh, as she goes.
Think fast.
“Martha,” I moan.
“I promise I’m much better than Martha McLeod,” Janet says.
“That was great, Martha. Don’t stop now.”
“All you’ve proven so far is that you can make his heart rate spike again,” the doctor says.
“He’s fighting for consciousness, but he isn’t there yet,” Janet says, and withdraws her hand. “If he knew whose hand was really up his robe, he wouldn’t be so enthusiastic about it.”
What did you once say, Janet? I’m under deep cover?
*****
I wake to the sound of the door being unlocked and two people entering the room; but I decide to continue the possum act, if I can. My head still hurts where the rifle butt hit me, but my mind is surprisingly clear.
“Wake him,” Henry says.
I know from his tone that his patience has worn thin.
The doctor must have found a store of ancient medicines, because I hear a slight popping sound - followed by the worst smell I’ve ever encountered assaulting my nose. The doctor is right, I begin to cough reflexively - and the possum act is over. I try to raise my hands to keep my head from shaking painfully as I cough, but find I’m still strapped down.
“Rise and shine,” Henry says.
“Henry?” I ask.
It’s not hard to act disoriented.
“I have the mother of all headaches,” I say.
“I’m sorry about that. My agents can get a bit over zealous at times. Giving you a concussion has thrown me at least two days off schedule - maybe more, depending on you.”
“How thoughtful of you to wait for me.”
I settle back, with my eyes almost closed.
“Of course I would wait for the star of the show,” Henry says.
“Are you sure want me as the star of this show? The last time you made me the star, the show didn’t turn out the way you wanted.”
I intentionally wince, as if I’m in agony, but Henry doesn’t betray the slightest hint of sympathy for my pain.
“Of course you’re the star, Cephas. Look! You’re already in wardrobe and everything.”
Henry gestures to indicate the “Jesus robe” that they dressed me up in when I was unconscious.
“You told your dear Aunt Jennifer that you’re trying to be more like Christ; so I thought I’d treat you to the entire experience. Of course, I can’t go so far as to make you a martyr. Some fish heads are going to survive, and I wouldn’t want to provide them with a rallying point. It would be much better to break you. I want every fish head that remains to hear you deny Christ.”
“It’s not going to happen, Henry. I was there twice. I saw the angel who rolled back the stone from the tomb - and I saw Christ walk out. You’ll kill me before you hear those words cross my lips.”
“You say that today … but a week from now you may not be so confident.”
If I can buy the world a week, it’ll be worth it.