Centurion: Mark's Gospel as a Thriller (19 page)

"Why do you think you're not already in chains on a northbound train? Have you thought for a good moment about that? How on King Charles's holy earth have you not been arrested for your crimes, you slobbering little brat?"

"I'm warning you, woman—"

"Warning me?" she cackles. "Poor me!" She puts a hand over her mouth in exaggerated horror. "The baby is warning me! What am I to do?" She drops her voice an octave. "I'm the only reason you're not dead—the
only
reason."

"That's not true. Maria saved my life. And Jude is the one who—"

"Jude lives because I say he lives. He breathes by the mercy of my good graces and nothing more!"

"What are you talking about?"

"You get so far ahead of yourself for someone so young, Deacon. I fear you won't last long in this war. But that's not really my concern, is it?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I know everything, son—
everything.
And I hear you're getting cold feet. What's wrong, Deacon? Can't handle the heat now that the fight draws near?"

My head feels light as a balloon. I fall back into the chair to avoid passing out. Then I slowly say, "You're a part of the resistance?"

That horrible cackle again. "God, no!" she screams. "Of course not. What do you take me for...a complete idiot? Do you think I have a death wish?"

"But—"

"But we all do what we have to do. What? You think Henrik is the only Kingdom loyalist who brokers deals with you Americans? Your delivery of the Teacher into our hands will prove very profitable for me." She smiles that wicked smile again. "I plan to retire soon. This deal will allow me to leave this wretched country and go home and live the sort of life I richly deserve."

"And you're OK with what we plan to do—"

"Stop talking!" She covers her ears. "I don't want to hear another word about it. I have no clue what else you lunatics have planned, and I don't care. All that matters to me is that Jude can withdraw the funds in your account and that you get the Teacher to the Holy City on time. That's it."

"What if I don't?"

Dr. Stone smirks. She retrieves another file and flops it open on her desk. Inside is a black-and-white photo of Maria and Alejandro. They're lying on a blanket in the middle of a park. The park looks dangerously familiar. A flash of memory from our one magical night goes off in my head. "This photo was taken yesterday," Dr. Stone says. "If you go anywhere but directly back to the Teacher, Maria will be arrested and executed on the spot. I'll see to it myself. I'll be sure to take a picture of that for you as well. Think it's hard seeing her with another man? Trying erasing the image of her bloody corpse from your brain."

"No," I say.
"Please
don't do that."

"It's not up to me. You hold the power."

"Fine. You can trust me. You have my signature. Jude will pay you in full. I swear the Teacher will be in the Holy City for the Great Festival. You can count on me."

"Once you're there, we'll need to know his exact whereabouts. Jude knows the details."

"Whatever you want," I say, glaring hard at the photo of Maria.

Dr. Stone looks at the picture. "She's a beautiful woman. I see why you've fallen so hard, even if she's been had by many, many men. I've known her for years. It was me who denied her visa." I don't look up from the photo or respond to Dr. Stone, but I know she's smiling. "But do you know what's really interesting, Deacon? In all the time I've known her, I don't believe I've ever seen her happier than she is in that photo."

Dr. Stone taps her long fingernails on the glossy photo and laughs again.

'm back in the countryside before sunset.

In the twilight I discover the largest group yet. Thousands have come to hear the Teacher. As I wade through the crowds, I hear people gossiping about him. Many praise the Teacher, calling him the true messiah, come at long last. Others debate whether his power comes from the one true God or the Evil One. Still others are confused, or curious to catch a glimpse of the man who performs many inexplicable deeds.

It takes another hour before I reach the twelve students and the Teacher. That's how large the crowd has become.

When I finally arrive, people are bringing small children to the Teacher so he might touch them with a blessing. But Petra and Jude push the parents away, trying to protect the Teacher from this crowd that could easily morph into a dangerous mob. It's an unsafe scene. The Teacher has many enemies, and more religious authorities are gathered here than ever before. Their hatred for the Teacher is written across their faces; it's no longer enough that he be silenced. They seem to wish something far more sinister to befall him.

When the Teacher realizes what Petra and Miles are doing, he becomes indignant. "Let the little children come to me!" he cries out. "Do not stop them, for it is such as these that the kingdom of God belongs. Truly I tell you, whoever doesn't receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it."

Petra and Miles obediently stand down, which allows the children to break free and run recklessly toward the Teacher, tiny arms flailing, laughter rising high in the air. The Teacher swoops them in his arms and lifts them up for all to see. "Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all. Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me." Even as the crowd balloons to an
uncontrollable size, the Teacher takes another hour to bless each and every little one who comes to him. There's a happy glow to the children's faces when they skip back to their parents.

After the last child scurries away, a man breaks free from the crowd and rushes at the Teacher. He is dressed in a fine linen suit and has an entourage of men who follow closely after him. Miles and Petra lurch forward to stop him, but it's too late; the entourage blocks them.

When he reaches the Teacher, he stops abruptly and falls to his knees, his face to the ground. I've seen many poor people out here following the Teacher, but this is the first time an apparently wealthy man has humbled himself in such dramatic fashion. "Good Teacher," the rich man says, "what must I do to inherit eternal life?"

No one ever asked this question before. A blanket of silence falls over the crowd of thousands. The only audible noise is the chirping of the crickets and the excited breathing of so many humans gathered in one place.

"Why do you call me 'good'?" the Teacher replies. "No one is good but God alone. You know the commandments: 'You shall not murder; you shall not commit adultery; you shall not steal; you shall not bear false witness; you shall not defraud; honor your father and mother..."'

The man lifts his head and declares proudly, "Teacher, I've kept all these since my youth."

"You lack one thing; go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come. Follow me."

At this the crickets seem to stop chirping, as does our collective breathing. I've never heard such a deafening silence in all my life. Everyone, including the Teacher, anxiously awaits the man's response.

Slowly the man rises from his knees and pats out the wrinkles and dust from his expensive suit. Then, painfully, he turns back to his entourage and motions for them to leave. A smile spreads across the Teacher's face. But then the man turns and follows his entourage. He keeps his eyes low as he walks. The crowd erupts in a horrified gasp.

The man, like the Teacher's smile, is gone as quickly as he came.

The Teacher addresses the crowd. His eyes are watery. "How hard will it be for those who have wealth to enter the kingdom of God?" Another gasp arises
from the crowd. "Children, how hard it is to enter the kingdom of God! It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God."

A random voice from the crowd shouts out, "Then who can be saved? Tell us, Teacher! Please tell us! Show us how! Light the way!"

The Teacher spins around, addressing the crowd encircling him. He cries in a loud voice, "For mortals it is impossible, but not for God. For God all things are possible!"

"But Teacher!" Petra cries back. "We've left everything and followed you!"

"Truly I tell you, there's no one who has left his house or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or fields, for my sake and for the sake of the good news, who will not receive a hundredfold now in this age: houses, brothers, and sisters, mothers and children, and fields, with persecutions—and in the age to come..
.eternal life.
But many who are first will be last, and the last will be first."

At these words the crowd ignites into a full-fledged frenzy. Some shout with joy. Others call out to the Teacher, begging for clarification. "We don't understand!" they scream. "What does this mean?" Others lash out in anger, howling, "Only God can grant eternal life! How can you claim such a thing! It's a blasphemy! This is blasphemy!"

In the end all the angry and confused voices are drowned out by a unified and earth-shattering chant. It brings me to my knees in fear. With a passion worthy of the angels attending the one true God in heaven, the people roar, "Messiah! Messiah! Messiah!"

Sleep doesn't come easy to me tonight. I toss and turn for hours, awakening from countless nightmares. I'm tempted to get up, awake the Teacher, and demand an answer from him. I want to know what he has planned, and I want to hear it in plain language.

Are you or are you not going to fight the Kingdom?

How complicated can it be? I need an answer; I have to know exactly what he wants to do. Enough with all this talk—it's time for action.

These people in the countryside believe the Teacher is the anointed one of God. Thousands of them plan to follow us into the Holy City for the Great Festival. It will be a sight to see. Thousands of Americans will come to the
Holy City to worship the one true God, with two men being called the messiah. There's a buzz in the air, with people saying the time finally has come, that this is it—the ages are finally ending.

There have been whispers, even here, that a Southerner has returned home and is marching an army toward the Holy City. But no one knows his name. There are many rumors. He is the Son of Man coming with the clouds of heaven, riding a white horse, and carrying a bloodied sword. He's a dragon with ten heads who spits fire from his mouth, able to scorch King Charles's army in a single hour. He's very young, they say—just a student returned home to save his people. He is neither an angel nor a dragon but simply a man touched by God.

I say nothing to anyone but Jude, who tells me to listen to the people and believe their words. "They know the truth about you, Deacon, and soon the whole world will also. When the army reaches the Holy City and you assume command, they all will know the truth—the messiah has come and is everything they've heard. You're the Son of Man, a dragon from hell, and a warrior. The man who carries the gun of his rebel father. The man who'll cut off the head of our dreaded enemy."

But still I doubt. It's been a long while since I heard the men chant "Messiah" for me. Even then, it was only one night—so very fast, like a dream. I went to them. I battled the Nordic, beating him senseless, and they hoisted me like a king and revealed to me their plan.

King Charles will make an unannounced visit to the Holy City for the Great Festival. No one knows he's coming. Henrik, our Centurion Guard traitor, is apparently a high-ranking soldier with access to top-secret information and to the king himself. King Charles is smart enough to realize the calls for rebellion have grown too loud in the South. His presence at the Great Festival will send a strong message to those calling for war. Henrik says the king plans on executing a record number of criminals on Kingdom crosses, just to make sure he gets his point across.

My army will wait outside the city wall until they receive my signal.

When the king visits a royal territory, it's his custom to meet the families of those "selected" for work in the camps. It's a public display of honor, a chance for the king to praise loyal service and courage. When a family member
has perished in the camps, as both my mine have, the king humbles himself by kissing the hand of a surviving relative.