Saviour

by Christopher Gallagher

  'You new?' Levi asked in a friendly tone.

  The girl nodded, nervous all of a sudden. He liked that. Shy little virgin no doubt.

  'What's your name?' Levi asked.

  'Trudy.'

  'Working girl?'

  'No sir, just waitressing.'

  'Job important to you?'

  'Yes, sir, very important.'

  Levi nodded. 'Wouldn't like to lose it then, would you?'

  Trudy had stopped smiling.

  'Why don't you find us an empty room, Trudy?' Levi suggested. 'I fancy spending some time alone with you'

  Trudy's hand moved to the panic alarm she wore on a chain round her neck.

  'You can do that if you like, love, your call,' Levi shrugged. 'This place gets shut down within the hour.' The turmoil showed on her face. Would she call his bluff? He wasn't that worried. A simple case of misunderstanding. He could sense her distaste. It increased his excitement.

  She toyed with the alarm for a minute before saying. 'I don't suppose I have much choice, do I?'

  Levi grinned, ‘You're right love. You don't.’ He stood, adjusted his trousers, and then patted her plump little arse before following her from the bar in urgent anticipation.

  The moors, Northumbria.

  'You sir. Yes, you sir, take a card, any card.' The well- known TV magician fanned the cards in his hand, offered them.

  Jesus looked at the cards. Not normal playing cards, these bore the names of countries and states. The Union, The Oceanic Federation, The Combined States of America, the Slavic States, the African Federation, among others.

  Jesus shook his head. This was all so pathetic. He was weak, in a pitiful state, no food for forty days. His blood sugar was way down, off the scale. Wasn't sure how much more of this he could take.

  Why Father?

  The magician fell silent, watched the inner turmoil, relished the moment of surrender. 'In fact, don't take one, take them all,' he continued, 'you sir, yes, you sir, could be the ruler of all these great states, The Union, empires, federations, countries large and small. The greatest ruler the world has ever known.' He looked at Jesus, 'So, what do you say?'

  'And the catch is?' Jesus asked.

  'No catch, sir, well...' The magician paused, all injured innocence. 'Maybe there is a small teeny weeny condition.'

  Jesus waited.

  The magician shrugged. ‘You have to bow down, worship me, confess me as your Lord and Master, then all this and more will be yours. A one-time offer, unbeatable value. Of interest, sir? The magician asked, looked expectant.

  Jesus clapped his hands together. 'Go away Satan,' he said, 'you've given it your best shot, but I can't be bought like a naive mark at a country fair. It is written, “worship the Lord your God, and just serve Him”.'

  The magician cursed, changed once more into the handsome star of the silver screen. 'You do know Jesus, don't you, that you’ll come to a horrible end? These people down here, these corruptible created beings. They won't understand what you're trying to do. They won't want your help. You, the word made flesh, they'll destroy you.'

  ‘And what good will it be,' Jesus scorned with the little strength he could muster, 'for someone to gain the whole world at the cost of losing their soul?'

  Satan shrugged. 'Your loss Jesus, but yours won't be an easy task. I'll be watching and waiting at every turn, and when you do crash and burn, I'll be there having the final laugh, when they lower you into the earth.'

  'Satan,' Jesus said with the last of his energy. 'I command you to go, bother me no more.'

  Satan vanished. Jesus slumped to his knees, exhausted by the ordeal. He gave thanks to the Father for the strength he'd received to withstand the three temptations. Drained, he rested his forehead on the ground, was aware of spiritual beings moving around, ministering to his needs. They provided food. He ate, regained strength.

  He slept for what seemed a long time, awoke refreshed, revived.

  It was time to head back to Whitby.

  It was time to be about his Father's business.

  It was time for his mission to commence.

  ✝

  Whitby, Northumbria.

  Nathan finished his glass of ice-cold lager, signalled the waiter for a refill. Say what you like about the Saxons, they brewed a nice drop of lager.

  Across the room, he could see his handler, Sal, making her way back from the ladies. She was a small rotund woman, barrel of a figure, with a haircut resembling a coalscuttle. There was nothing feminine about her, she didn’t often smile, but Nathan noted, as she skipped past a waiter bearing a tray of steaming food, she had dancer's feet.

  Sal picked up her empty glass and looked at Nathan's. 'Another?'

  'Sorted.'

  'Good.'

  Nathan looked around the restaurant, conscious of Sal's gaze. Not my real name she'd said at their first meeting, a casual encounter in a local pub. He'd always assumed it was his old skipper on the job who'd pointed him out. Had never asked.

  Nathan didn't think Sal was native Northumbrian. There was a slight accent there. He suspected Saxon, in which case she must be State Security. The service being predominately staffed by them. Again, he hadn't asked. Truth was he didn't care, less he knew the better. Just another job, another way of putting food on the table, means to an end.

  She opened her bag. 'Do you need money?'

  Nathan saw the pistol, thought it looked incongruous alongside the detritus of a woman's bag. He wondered if she’d intended him to see it. 'I always need money.' Nathan smiled, watched as she pulled Euros from her purse, pushed them across the table. He picked up the notes, toyed with them. The waiter came, left their drinks, eyed the money, and departed.

  'I'm thinking of pulling the plug.' Sal said.

  'Oh?' Nathan raised an eyebrow. He'd been wondering why she'd turned up out of the blue. There was a set procedure for meets. Just arriving wasn't one of them.

  Sal shrugged. 'Don't want you getting too cosy out here. Anyway, it's been quiet for the last few weeks. This Messiah Baptiste was banging on about hasn't come to light. Same as usual, fart in a gale.' She shook her head in frustration. 'It's a lot easier when they take up arms, plant a few bombs.' She took a sip of her soft drink. 'Least then you know what you're dealing with, but these religious nuts with their threats of spiritual kingdoms, it's just a load o' bollocks.'

  She set her glass down, looked at Nathan. 'What do you reckon, fancy coming in from the dark side?'

  Was this a trap, Nathan wondered. If Tom was also undercover for the authorities and had told Sal about this Jesus character and Nathan didn't, she would wonder what was going on. Be careful lad, he told himself. For all her bluster Sal was a shrewd operator.

  'I think I should stick it out a bit longer.'

  'Why?' The challenge was immediate.

  'Just a feeling.' Nathan replied, casual.

  Sal shrugged. 'Your call, you're the man on the inside.' She grinned, 'you reckon this Messiah is still gonna turn up?'

  Nathan shrugged. 'Hard to say, but if he does it'd be a shame to miss him for the sake of a couple o' weeks.'

  'Okay.' Sal agreed, 'let's give it another two weeks. First sign though, I need to know.'

  Nathan nodded in agreement. He thought again about the new guy, Jesus, who'd appeared from nowhere. What had Baptiste called him, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world. That had been a funny old business. Baptiste hadn't gone through the, believe, repent, and confess routine when he'd dipped Jesus. Almost as if he knew this Jesus had no sins to confess, but that was impossible, everybody had some kind of shameful secret, impossible not to have.

  Nathan knew one thing. Baptiste was finished, drained. After his encounter with Jesus the guy had been left a crumpled heap, mumbling incoherently. Okay, he was back, immersing in the old routine, but he wouldn't last.

  And what had Jesus done?

  Done a runner.

  Strides on the stage, gets dipped, goes on his merry way.
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  Like the feller in the film, I'll be back.

  And it was that promise of a further meeting that was keeping him close to Baptiste. This Jesus, Messiah or not, he had something, and Nathan wanted more of it.

  FOUR

  WHITBY, NORTHUMBRIA.

  Baptiste had soon regained his equilibrium after his encounter with Jesus. He'd been back the following day immersing the thousands who flocked to him from all over the kingdom. He was puzzled though. Couldn’t understand why having identified Jesus as the Messiah, he should then disappear. Still, he reasoned, it would all be revealed in the Lord's good time.

  That had been six weeks before and Baptiste was still waiting, still immersing, still asking the people who came, to confess and repent. This afternoon he was being assisted by Andrew and John, followers who'd decided their lives were worthless and without purpose. It was mid-afternoon, the sun blazing, light breeze off the sea, a salt tang in the air. Sounds of early season holidaymakers drifted down from the road, bingo callers competed for attention with electronic voices from the arcades.

  Baptiste looked past the long line of folks queuing to be immersed, his gaze drawn to the road, where a convoy of cars had just arrived. An official looking delegation came down the steps to the beach and trudged across the sand. They pushed past the queue of people and came to a halt at the head of the line. All men, they wore black three quarter length suit jackets with open neck white shirts, along with a black hat. They all sported a thick bush of facial hair. It was the modern style for the orthodox Jewish male and looked totally incongruous on the beach. Their appearance prompted much laughter and good-natured catcalling. Baptiste eyed them and continued immersing.

  Andrew looked at John, raising his eyebrows.

  'From the Temple in York.' John said.

  ‘I’d never have guessed.’ Andrew said with a smile.

  Baptiste received two more people, heard them confess and repent, before turning to face the waiting group.

  'My name is Brotherton.’ The leader of the delegation spoke. He was a tall, thin man, with hollowed cheeks and a disapproving look permanently etched on his face. When Baptiste didn’t respond, he followed it up with, ‘sent by Caiaphas the High priest.'

  Baptiste shrugged, and looked at one of the other smart suits, phone held to his face, filming the encounter. 'And?'

  'Who are you?' Brotherton demanded.

  'Baptiste.'

  'Yes, yes,' the official said, frowning. 'I know that, but who are you?'

  Baptiste was silent. He’d answered that question.

  'Are you Eliyahu?'

  'No.'

  'Are you the prophet?'

  'No, I'm not.'

  'Are you the Messiah?'

  Baptiste chuckled. 'No.'

  'I must give an answer to Caiaphas. What do you say about yourself?'

  Baptiste looked at Brotherton, his delegation, the phones recording his every word, his every facial expression. He took a deep breath and it seemed as though boldness came upon him. 'I am the voice of one crying in the wilderness,' he declared, 'making straight the way of the Lord. I am baptizing to prepare people for the Messiah who is coming after me, even though,' he shrugged, 'He is before me.'

  'You talk in riddles. On whose authority are you baptizing people?' Brotherton demanded.

  Baptiste didn't answer, but pointed to a solitary figure standing to one side. 'Look, look,' he roared, startling everyone within ear shot. ‘Behold! The Lamb of God.'

  Everybody turned to look at the man indicated by Baptiste. He met their gaze, untroubled by the attention.

  'He is the one I am speaking of.' Baptiste continued. 'He was baptized, and then disappeared for a while. He has now returned, the one who takes away the sin of the world. I knew him, but did not know him.’

  The buzz of the crowd had died down. Clouds covered the sun. Andrew shivered.

  'You snake.' Baptiste hissed. 'You hypocrites. You ask me about authority.'

  Startled Brotherton took a step back as Baptiste continued. 'I saw the Holy Spirit fall on this man, I heard the Lord proclaim this man.’

  The official group, fearful now, continued to back away.

  'Who told you to come here? Are you fleeing the Lord's rage? Come,' Baptiste indicated the sea, 'Confess, repent, be saved.'

  The group of men gathered together, conferred, checked video footage, trooped back to the waiting cars.

  'This is the Son of God.' Baptiste called after them.

  The departing delegation gave no sign of having heard.

  Baptiste called again. 'The Messiah.'

  Jesus smiled at Baptiste, turned, and walked away.

  Baptiste watched as Andrew and John looked at each other, then, without speaking, followed Jesus along the beach.

  ✝

  Peter waited for a quiet moment at work before pulling Andrew to one side, and suggested a stroll along the harbour side. They walked in companionable silence for a while before Peter said, 'What's all this I hear about you being dipped in the sea by that oddball, Baptiste?'

  Andrew chuckled, knew there was some reason why his brother wanted his company. 'It's no big deal.'

  'It's true, then?'

  'Yeah, so?'

  Peter held up his hands. 'No matter to me Andy lad, except...'

  'What?'

  'Well, you don't seem the type to be off following religious crackpots.'

  'He's not a crackpot.' Andrew stopped, nudged an old buoy with his foot. 'In fact, we think he's identified Messiah.'

  All Jews, whether they were strict adherents of the faith, or just paid lip service, knew about Messiah. He would be a great charismatic leader, a mighty warrior and a wise judge. He would transform the lives of the people, and lead them back to their ancient lands.

  'Oh aye, who's that?' Peter asked.

  They walked on.

  'Jesus.' Andrew said.

  Peter frowned. 'I was at a school with a lad called Jesus.'

  'It's the same one.' Andrew hesitated. 'In fact, I've decided to get involved with his movement.'

  'Have you? Didn't strike me as Messiah material when I knew him.' He shrugged. 'Nice enough lad, never any trouble, kept his head down, got on with his work.' Peter paused, remembering. 'Good opening bat, decent off spinner.' He laughed. 'Crap at rugger.' He shook his head in wonderment. 'Thought he'd gone into the building trade, but Messiah, eh? Wouldn't mind catching up with him sometime, have a jar or two.'

  'You’d like that?'

  'Sure, why not? Messiah, eh?’ Peter laughed. ‘Heard it all now.'

  ✝

  East Northumbria.

  Bocus, three months into his project was still surprised at how much he enjoyed getting out of the office. He loved spending time in the beautiful Northumbrian countryside visiting the company facilities. He was glad to shake off the bustle and noise of the city. The majority of the sites were miles from anywhere, set in the most remote parts of the kingdom, only accessible by dirt tracks off country lanes.

  But now, he was lost somewhere in the wilds of east Northumbria. His first mistake had been pushing himself to get wrapped up in this sector, before spending a few days in the office, by visiting that last installation, a pumping station on the River Ouse. Should have left it till his next visit. As it was he'd been confronted by a buzzing alarm, flashing lights on the display panel. Should have turned round, walked away.

  Second mistake, calling it in, result, spending two frustrating hours talking to the tech guys back at base. Push this button, push that button, power down, reset, hold the line, we'll get back to you. End of process, we don't think it's anything serious, but thanks for letting us know. Have a nice evening.

  Some chance.

  Third mistake was not filling up in Goole.

  No signal on the mobile. A soft Gaelic voice on the sat-nav telling him, turn around when possible.

  Bocus gripped the wheel, used all the swear words he knew, before assessing the situation. He could either stay
put or walk to the nearest house or farm. Trouble was he couldn't recall passing any sign of habitation in the last four, five kilometres. There might be a house full of nubile women waiting round the next bend, or the next, or there might not. Plus, it would be dark soon, so the sensible course was to stay where he was, suss it out in the morning.

  He had sandwiches and coffee in his flask, so wouldn't starve. He'd had the foresight to pack a sleeping bag in the boot, so wouldn't freeze, not that there was much chance of that in the warm early summer night.

  Once out of fuel, Bocus had coasted downhill for 500 metres, and managed to swing the car onto the grass verge under some trees. He got out. Walked up and down the lane for a short way in both directions, open fields to the right, a copse to the left. He smoked a cigarette, walked into the woods for a little distance. The trail he followed through the trees soon petered out in a small clearing. A few beer cans, tab ends, and used condoms were the signs of recent activity. The light was fading fast as he made his way back. Bocus, trying and failing not to think about horror films set in remote woods, kept glancing over his shoulder for the last 50 metres, convinced he was being watched.

  Relieved to reach the car in one piece, he used the last remaining light to get his sleeping bag from the boot along with his heavy-duty torch. Once in the car he locked the doors, placed the torch on the passenger seat.

  Pillock.

  He ate his sandwiches, drank coffee, thought about his project. Anybody who wanted to gain access to any of the Northumbrian Water facilities would manage to do so without any problem, surrounded as they were by flimsy chain link fences. It would cost millions to get the security to a standard where it would take longer than ten minutes to gain access. Given that the more remote sites were a good two hours from civilisation, Bocus couldn't see how it could be justified. Even if they spent the money on fences, cameras and alarms, a determined group could be in and out long before help arrived. Better to have half a dozen dogs roaming free.

  He rubbed his eyes. Not his problem. Enjoy the outings, write the report, and take the pay. He decided against another smoke, the glow would be seen from outside, not that he expected there was anybody out there watching, but still. It was dark outside now. Bocus flicked the interior light to the off position. Didn’t want it coming on if he opened the door. He wrapped the sleeping bag round his shoulder, snuggled down. It wasn't that he was scared of the dark, more what might be out there in the dark. He double-checked the windows were closed and the doors locked. He eased the seat backwards and flicked the radio on for some company.