Mission (12 page)

I didn't see him as I came in through the door. In fact I'm willing to swear that the office was empty but, as I put my Samsonite on my desk, turned and sat down, there he was. Sitting on the black leather Chesterfield, wearing the same brown robe and white Arab-type head-dress. The sudden shock jerked me out of my seat. I gripped the edge of the desk to steady myself and closed my eyes for a couple of seconds. When I opened them he was still there.

I crossed the room and shut the door that led in from Linda's office. ‘Did anyone see you come in?'

‘No,' he said. ‘I just got here. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you.'

‘That's okay,' I said. ‘Nice timing.' My gut was still quivering. Let's face it. Sleepy Hollow was one thing, but visitations at the office were definitely unwelcome. I was quite prepared to enroll for a course of enlightenment but I had no wish to play Russian Roulette with my career. ‘Is this another quick trip, or should I make plans?' I asked, trying to sound friendly, briskly polite and distant all at the same time.

The Man shrugged. ‘I can't tell you yet. We were in contact with the Time Gate the Sunday before last – '

‘The day of the Resurrection?'

‘Yes,' he nodded. ‘After I got back to Jerusalem and was transferred to the longship, I sent a message explaining what had happened and requesting rectification of the time-fault or failing that, a revised set of mission orders. But so far, nothing has come down the line.' He shrugged. ‘Until we get the word, I guess we must all do the best we can.'

It was at this point, I remembered those famous words of Tonto –
What do you mean ‘We', white man?.
But what I said was, ‘Maybe you've been dumped again. You did mention that might be the answer.'

‘I know.' He looked doubtful. ‘I can't believe this has been programmed. All our Earth missions up to now have been linear inputs.'

‘What are they?' I could have kicked myself for asking such a dumb question. The last thing I wanted to do was to get involved in another long conversation. I had a million things to do. Joe or Dick Schonfeld, the other partner, or Corinne his assistant might walk in at any minute and then where would I be?

The Man must have known all this was buzzing around my brain yet it didn't stop him. But then, nothing ever did. ‘An input,' he began, ‘is the periodic interaction between the Empire and the World Below – in this case, Earth – either directly, or by proxy. And a linear input is one which accords with your own perception of time as a one-dimensional straight-line series of events.'

‘You mean like one of your people coming to live here for a given period of time – like your own life in Galilee and Judea for example?'

‘Yes,' he said. ‘Time, for you, has three components. The future, which you are able to visualise as a variable projection of the present – the fleeting, immeasurably brief second component – and time past. Which is a sense-memory made up of personal experience and received images from other sources. Even though past events can now be recorded and reviewed on film, only the elusive moment of time present exists as a concrete realisation, which instantly slips through your grasp. But if your perception of time could be altered to embrace the concept and indeed the existence of simultaneity, then you would realise that all past events
are still taking place
within a series of overlapping time-frames.'

‘You mean in the way that the separate images on a strip of movie film still exist on the reel after they have passed through the
projector?' I said.

‘Not quite, but it's close enough. For you, the present would be one of the single frames that is projected fleetingly on the screen. What you have to imagine is a set-up where the
whole film
is being projected simultaneously.' He smiled. ‘That's the hard part. Plus the fact that, as I've demonstrated, it is possible, under certain conditions, to traverse time in different directions. What one might call “lateral tracking”.‘

‘Must be an amazing experience,' I said.

‘It is,' he replied. ‘Just don't ask me how it's done.'

‘Don't worry, I won't.' Stuff like this is hard going at eight forty-five on a Monday morning. And anyway if, as he had said, he didn't know why he had been mailed to Manhattan, he was unlikely to know how. But he had this annoying knack of opening up avenues that I could not help wanting to explore. And time-travel was a subject I found hard to resist. ‘Tell me something. I know that Time is regarded as being relative to the observer but how can it be multidimensional?'

He smiled. ‘Just accept that it can. Don't think of Time as a straight line running from past to future. Think of it as a continuous strip within which, at a given point across its width, the multiplicity of simultaneous events that make up the present exist side by side. Like the strands of yarn that interweave to make up a width of fabric. Just as your time-line is interwoven with Miriam's – and with others too. The width of the strip is infinite, but try to imagine it standing on edge. Not in a straight line, but folded into sections that zig-zag from side to side throughout eternity with, let's say, a century between each fold.'

‘Okay, I've got that,' I said. ‘What happens when you come to the end of the strip?'

‘There is no end,' he replied. ‘It zig-zags round in a circle.'

‘Wait a minute,' I said. ‘If the ends of the strip join up, it means that the far future is also our past. That doesn't make sense.'

He treated me to another patient smile. ‘You're forgetting the rules of simultaneity. Don't think of Time as being made up of the past, present and future. Time
is.'

‘For you maybe,' I riposted. ‘How does time-travel fit into this model?'

‘Very simply,' he said. ‘If you visualise these century-long folds as lying close together you can see that, under certain conditions, one
could pass
through
the weave of the fabric from one “fold” to another. It would be possible to make a straight line connection between any point in what you regard as a past century and one in the future. For you, whose life runs along the plane of the fabric, Time is still linear. But we Celestials are not bound to the temporal dimension, and therefore can travel through it.'

‘I think I get the idea,' I said. ‘Tell me, would this explain the fleeting visions of you that people have had down the centuries? Could they have seen you as you passed through their time-strip, or track, or whatever, on your way between here and Jerusalem?'

He shrugged. ‘I suppose it's possible.'

The significance of his non-committal reply did not escape me. I pressed the point further. ‘Would it explain the visions of your mother?'

He seemed genuinely surprised. ‘You've seen her?'

‘No,' I said. ‘But I understand she's made a number of personal appearances. Several world tours, in fact.'

I had the feeling I was on to something but before we could take it any further, Linda knocked on the door and walked in with the opened mail. She was surprised to see that I had someone in my office but she didn't make a big thing of it.

‘Anything important?' I asked.

‘Just the top three. I can handle the rest.' She glanced back at The Man. ‘Is this anything I should have down in my book?'

‘No,' I said. ‘This gentleman's a friend of mine. He just flew into town and stopped by to say “Hello”.' I introduced her to The Man. ‘This is Linda Kovaks, my assistant.'

‘Hi,' said Linda.

I didn't attempt to explain who he was. I just sat there and watched them exchange smiles.

Linda turned to me. ‘Do you want me to hold your calls?'

‘For the moment,' I said.

She paused halfway out the door. ‘Would you like me to bring you some coffee?'

I referred the question to The Man.

‘Not for me,' he said.

‘In that case, I won't bother,' I said.

Linda left us. I checked my watch and decided that the mysteries of Time and Space would have to wait. ‘Look, I don't want to seem rude, because I'd love nothing better than to sit here and talk some
more, but I have to be in court at ten-thirty and I have quite a few things to get through before then. Are you really sure you have no idea how long you're going to be around?'

‘No,' he said. Just sitting there.

‘Then I guess we'll just have to play it by ear.' I let out a long-suffering sigh in the hope of making him feel bad. It was a problem. I couldn't just leave him sitting around the office, but what were the alternatives? Put him on the train for Sleepy Hollow? Supposing he lost his way? I thought of asking Linda to drive him up but that would mean loaning her the Porsche. Which was out of the question. Besides, putting the two of them together in isolation could be dangerous. If I got on to a limo-service, it would be the same thing. He might do a conversion job on the chauffeur. Too risky. But why? Why should I be worried about what he might say or do to anybody else? I'll tell you – although the answer does me little credit. I didn't mind him screwing up my private life with his unscheduled appearances, and I was quite happy for him to hand me the Secrets of the Universe – whatever they were worth. I just did not want to be associated with him in public. It was as simple as that. And the more people he got involved with increased the risk that this thing might come out into the open. And God knows what might happen then. He would attract every nut in Christendom. I had no desire to end up as a marked man, or part of a three-ring circus.

Miriam was the answer. But she would be tied up at the hospital and besides, we weren't speaking. On top of which, I didn't fancy her being alone with The Man until I'd had a chance to straighten her out. It was then it came to me. An hotel. Brilliant. I could book him into the Mayflower on Central Park West and tell him to stay in his room until I was through for the day. But what about luggage? Simple. The airline was still looking for it. It happens all the time. Passport? Everything stolen. I was the lawyer handling his case. The rest was easy. But what if he suddenly high-tailed it back to Jerusalem? That was a chance I'd have to take. Providing he didn't do it in a packed elevator there shouldn't be any problem. Very few people notice what's going on around them these days. I would arrange for the hotel to charge the tab to me. The sooner they hauled him back over the time-tracks, the less it would cost.

So why, you ask, didn't I stash him away for free in my apartment? Listen. First, it was too small; second, the janitor was too nosey; and third, I had a Pearl Bailey-type cleaning lady who came in on
Mondays and Fridays.

He probably knew it already but I explained the idea I'd had about checking him into an hotel. Where I would visit him after I'd got out of the courtroom. And how, if he got bored, all he had to do was cross over the road and take a walk in Central Park – where he would have no problems provided he did not talk to anybody.

‘I can take care of everything,' I said. ‘There's just one little problem. We need a name. Something to give Linda and the desk clerk at the hotel. You know, that she can put down in the phone log if you decide to call.' I hesitated. ‘This is a little delicate, but I feel that “Jesus” is kind of, well – provocative. And I really don't think our switchboard operator could handle “Mr Christ”.‘

‘Sure. I understand,' he said. I never used that name anyway. It was the Greeks who hung that on me.' He thought for a moment. ‘My earth-parents called me Joshua. But I have been known by many other names.'

‘Such as?'

‘Ya'el'? He pronounced it Yah-ell, accenting the last syllable.

At least it was different. I had been thinking of something along the lines of Joshua Josephson but frankly, it was a little too, well – ethnic. Too on the nose. Lamb? Too weak. And then I had it. Shepherd. Just right. Quiet, strong, dignified. I put it too him. Ya'el Shepherd. ‘Only we'll spell it Y-A-L-E S-H-E-P-P-A-R-D,' I explained. ‘To make it easier for people to pronounce. It's not fancy, but the message is there for anyone who wants to look for it. Okay?'

‘Yes,' he nodded. ‘I'll buy that. After all, awareness is what this is all about. But tell me, Leo, why don't you want people to be aware of my true identity?'

It was the question I'd been dreading. I had been hoping he'd been inside my head and picked up the answer to that one. Maybe he had and had decided that it wasn't good enough. I tried desperately to come up with some reasons that made me look less of a
shmock.
‘Let me put it this way,' I began. ‘According to the Book, your next scheduled appearance is supposed to coincide with the end of the world. You know the bit. “Darkness over the face of the sun, the moon turning to blood, smoke, fire, the four horsemen”. Is this it? Is that what's about to happen?'

‘No,' he said. ‘At least, nobody's mentioned it.'

I breathed a quiet sigh of relief. ‘So that's one good reason for keeping a low profile. There's no point in scaring the shit out of
everybody if it's going to be a false alarm. Besides which, it's going to blow your entrance later on. And it won't do the stock market any good either. That may not be something you particularly care about but the economy's in enough trouble already. And there's another reason. You've said that you're not sure why you're here. If that is so, my advice is to remain incognito as far as possible, until this problem is sorted out. Whether they're religious or not, the one notion people cling to is that, no matter how bad things get down here, God, at least, is supposed to know what he's doing. If it is a mistake. If somebody
did
throw the wrong switch, it might be better not to make any kind of input that will show up in the history books.'

He smiled. ‘Don't worry, Leo. I won't embarrass you.'