Guardian

by Dan Gleed

  “Hello, Giuseppe. Recognise me?” I’ll give him his due. He didn’t hesitate for a second. With one long stride he lunged towards me, left hand reaching for my throat, the other diving into his unbuttoned jacket. Which even I knew meant only one thing. He had a concealed weapon. Probably a pistol. Made suddenly swift by terror, I pressed the knife’s catch and blessed all the powers that be that I’d been holding the knife the right way round. The blade flashed up at the same time as I swung my free arm forward, lunging desperately towards his gun hand. And even as I did so, the gun slid out from under his jacket, but the knife tip snagged him just below and to the side of the middle knuckle and since he didn’t stop (couldn’t stop!), the continued movement drove the blade straight through his hand.

  Which did absolutely nothing to halt his headlong advance or palpable aggression. Caught up in the terror of the moment, I almost failed to register his hand releasing my throat, but out of the corner of my eye I did notice him beginning to juggle the weapon from the injured to his newly freed hand, obviously still intent on putting a bullet into my exposed chest. Sheer unadulterated fear made me desperate and lent me the strength to push the barrel to one side, whilst at the same time pulling back frantically on the knife as I sought to drag it out from between the bones of his right hand. The knife must have cleared his hand at about the same time as the gun went off, because within an instant of the blast, I felt the blade driving up between his ribs. A fact that a number of witnesses later assumed and affirmed to be self-defence. A fortuitous assumption I would do nothing to dismiss. All I could be sure of at the time, and am since able to remember clearly, is that the bullet somehow missed me, whilst Giuseppe deflated like a burst balloon. And even though I’d started the whole thing and had the advantage of surprise, the intense shock over yet another killing at such close range held me frozen in its grip, just long enough to be dragged to the ground by his weight, the knife having refused to come out of his chest. I doubt I spent more than a few seconds in this compromising attitude, but by the time I came to my senses and turned to run away, an excited crowd was already gathering. Which served merely to hasten my departure. A retreat made with the same sort of alacrity I’d observed in the young hooligan of recent acquaintance.

  Chapter 74

  Eventually, heaving lungs and leaden feet forced me to a stumbling halt. Still drawing great gulps of disagreeably warm air, I looked around, trying to get a bearing on where blind panic had led me. The crowds had thinned to a mere handful of disinterested traders sitting indolently in the tiny booths that lined the pavements, and from where they sold the ubiquitous African carvings made exclusively for tourists. Giving silent thanks, I realised I’d ended up not all that far from the Muslim Institute. An area I’d come to know reasonably well. So, with breath slowing by the second and the heated silence of a Mombasa noonday wrapping itself close around me, like a familiar blanket, my thought processes slackened to a more rational pace and I began to consider how best to lie low until the initial hue and cry had died down. To my mind, there was absolutely no doubt my exploits had either already reached the ear of the police, or they would quite soon and it wouldn’t take long to get a description and put two and two together, undoubtedly making four in this case. There weren’t many white boys with ginger hair in this neck of the woods and even fewer who were wanted for questioning. I had to get under cover, or risk everything, because there was no way I was giving up on my plan to destroy Ahmed. Giuseppe had been an unexpected bonus, but the real object of my hate was still out there. Still running his filthy empire.

  So, with a last look around to make sure I wasn’t being followed, I started angling for the back of the Institute, knowing its estate spilt out into one of the dense mangrove forests that flourished in the inter-tidal range lining the island’s many creeks. However, to get there I decided to follow what I hoped would be not only a reasonably direct, but also a prudently discreet route. Huge land crabs, poisonous sea snakes and who knows what else infested the swampy undergrowth, but it offered a haven in which a determined, or desperate, man could hide.

  Fortunately, the tide was out and I was able to push deep into the marsh, stumbling over grotesquely tangled roots, struggling against the grip of a slimy combination of mud and sand, all the while trying to avoid an unholy mix of spiders, mud skippers, monitors, sea snakes and crustaceans various. Every step further into the mangroves virtually guaranteed an escalation in the buzzing, rasping and rattling going on around me as branches swayed and innumerable denizens of the quagmire swirled, hopped and swam frantically out of my way. Trying hard not to cut myself on the various molluscs clinging to the lower branches, I finally managed to reach the tideline, at which juncture I had no option but to turn my efforts upwards, climbing the most substantial mangrove I could find. Which inevitably meant slipping and sliding on the seaweed and limpet-draped limbs, until I was well above the obvious tideline. I knew I couldn’t stay long, because sheltered from the sea breeze as the creek was, the heat was already oppressive and with no potable water available, my now well-developed thirst was unlikely to be quenched. However, I had to have time to think. To get the latent panic under control. To manufacture a plan that would get me out of my predicament. Difficult, without knowing anyone on the island, but not impossible. Somewhere there surely had to be a place I could hide more permanently, where I could avoid coming to the attention of law enforcement agencies. The problem was, where?

  And this was precisely the opportunity for which Israfel had been waiting. Trapped, with little chance of doing anything beyond pondering my somewhat hopeless predicament and having to cling on tightly to prevent an untimely fall out of the thinning foliage of my chosen mangrove, preoccupation had rendered me defenceless. Moreover, like a number of the other Guardians around the world, Israfel had been specifically cleared by Michael to take advantage of just such a moment as this. Not to interfere directly, but to make himself known. But as Israfel had long since appreciated, I was highly unlikely to pay much attention until I had exhausted all other possibilities. Essentially, by reaching the end of my tether. Albeit, from my point of view, I felt nowhere near that. Unfortunately, however, no sooner had I found a sufficiently sturdy branch, dispatched the inevitable bugs and settled down with a reasonable likelihood of remaining in place, than my annoying conscience began to clamour for a hearing. And by clamour, I mean there was absolutely no chance of giving thought to anything else. This insistent demand soon resolved itself into a number of unanswerable questions: “Just exactly what do you think you’re doing?” and “Who do you think you are, acting as judge and jury?” All tied up with going around shamelessly bent on killing whoever got in my way and, during all of this, being the immediate cause of catastrophe for the very people for whom I cared.

  To my intense surprise and consternation, I actually began to burn with shame. For the first time in a long while I was thoroughly embarrassed, and it seemed there was nothing I could do to call a halt to this ‘parade’ of past crimes. Entirely involuntarily, scenes from preceding days began scrolling across my mind’s eye, only to expand into what looked like just about everything I’d ever done wrong. Which meant I was soon persuaded that large chunks of my life had been an unmitigated disaster. All of this without as much as a ‘by your leave’. Indeed, the completely uncalled for exercise in futility (as I supposed it to be) continued centre stage for what seemed an age, but was probably less than the time it takes to record. Leaving me both nonplussed and, at the same time, profoundly mortified. Guilty, even. A perplexity of mind I’d not experienced before and a state of affairs that didn’t sit well with either my raging anger, or implacable resolve to go on killing. But the real shocker was that along with the display had come an insistent, eerie whisper, repeating over and over again; “Remember Roz? Remember Adam? Remember when you were in your cell, at the end of your tether? Remember the shark that missed you by just enough? Well, I was there all along.” Now I knew I was losing it. Who on earth was
‘I’?

  ***

  Arcturus was having a bad day. Not only had he been shamed (panicked?) into a completely uncalled for metamorphous into human shape by his Angelic opponent’s threats, but now he was being forced, through this freshly inspired Guardian’s insolence, to stand back and watch a mortal (surely, one of his own) going through the very process all demons were programmed to fiercely oppose with every trick in their dark natures. There being a very good reason for such an arrangement. Profound self-examination by a human was rare, but when individuals actually got down to it, the result was too often a change of character or, at the very worst, a change of allegiance. In fact, it was one of the gravest of the infamous ‘risk situations’ demons had to face, when an individual could so easily slip out of control and go over to the Enemy. And if that happened, Arcturus could see what he considered to be his carefully nuanced plan for deposing Josephus going straight out of the proverbial ‘window’ and his suspended sentence coming straight back in. Too awful to contemplate.

  So, following the incident in the street, he’d already gone out on a limb by swiftly calling in on HQ in an effort to ingratiate himself with one of Satan’s many personal aides. The intention being to drop Josephus in the proverbial, ahead of time, through a subtle word about the reasons (and even likelihood) of failure over the matter of Paul, and the role played by his irritating boss. Also, with any luck, to arrange some support for when things got out of hand, as he now felt they were bound to do. But to his astonishment, he’d discovered Satan already knew about the Moncton case and was actually prepared to release some of his own personal protection squad to assist. But never mind the reason because now, with a little luck, he could still see his devious scheming coming to impressive fruition and wouldn’t that be one in the eye for Josephus. And his peers. Although right now, back in the field and sensing that if he didn’t get involved fairly soon, something would go irretrievably wrong, Arcturus had started edging towards me. At the same time easing his sword from its scabbard, just in case there was any sudden attack. Despite a weather eye on Israfel, one never knew when or where an assault might materialise. But for now there seemed to be only the one preoccupied angel.

  Which Israfel undoubtedly was. In fact, he was entirely focused on what was running through my mind. Which meant he, too, was nervous. But for very different reasons. As far as Israfel was concerned, I was about to get as open to ‘matters spiritual’ as I was ever likely to be, and thus the moment could hardly be more propitious from his point of view. All that was left to be done was determine the most auspicious moment for materialising beside me, and do it in a way that wouldn’t cause me to fall headlong off my perch in fright. Since he’d already been whispering in my ear, he assumed that I was at least alert to the possibility of there being someone else around. Actually, had he but realised it, there was no way on this Earth I was going to avoid practically wetting myself if another being appeared right alongside me in my tree, being under the reasonable impression, no, knowing, I was alone.

  Chapter 75

  Even a novice, be he angel or demon, should have seen the next move coming, never mind an old hand like Arcturus. But uncharacteristically, he completely missed it. Too busy trying to slip in under Israfel’s guard, he managed to blunder straight into the troop of elite legionnaires that had just been mobilised to assist Israfel. Materialising right alongside him, each one immediately donned a grateful smile on realising exactly who they’d got surrounded. Furious, Arcturus slammed his massive bulk into the angel nearest to his only escape route and fast footed it away, pirouetting like a pro to avoid several flashing blades intent on skewering him like a kebab or, worse still, separating him from his head. Surprisingly, they all missed. Nonetheless, satisfied that the immediate area around the mangrove swamp was now secure and with the excitement of the unexpected engagement quickly over, discipline reasserted itself and they spread swiftly out to ensure an all-round point defence.

  Grateful, Israfel turned back, to continue with the process of making himself known to me and, to give him his due, even he felt the least he could do was materialise in a position from which he could be usefully employed catching me, if it came to that. Hence his sudden appearance about three feet below and to my right, which, as you might imagine, still managed to raise my heartbeat well above safe levels. For at least the succeeding five minutes! Although, by great good fortune, I already had my left leg and foot firmly wrapped around the trunk. This being the sole reason I didn’t immediately pitch headlong into the mud below.

  What’s more, the apparition spoke! “Paul, don’t be afraid, I’m here in peace. Believe it or not, I’ve been looking out for you. In fact, I’m your Guardian angel and my name is Israfel.”

  Which (apart from being a pretty naff opening gambit) was about as effective at slowing my racing heart as a lukewarm snowflake might have been in cooling Hell. Although, what I didn’t know was that my galloping heart was, indeed, having an effect on Hell. A desperate Arcturus was even then trying frantically to mobilise the promised help, which, for reasons best known to themselves, had been extremely slow in getting out of Hell and into East Africa. The phrase ‘don’t you know there’s a war on?’ did occur to Arcturus, but he’d commanded too many of Hell’s Squadrons to bother wasting time, or sarcasm, on the horde now beginning to muster almost casually in front of him. Even the officer in charge wouldn’t have recognised the sarcasm, never mind the troops. Instead, he busied himself with cursing them roundly and driving them straight towards the angels he’d just evaded, whilst guaranteeing them an early plunge into Purgatory if they didn’t achieve what he wanted. Namely, a distraction in the Angelic ranks, so he could get in close to either completely blindside or, at the very least, confuse me, before it was too late (in his biased view).

  And in point of fact, he did have a modicum of success, despite their poor showing. Elite legionnaires the Angelic squad certainly were, but even they could be prone to complacency. They’d seen off the only opposition, hadn’t they? No one else around, was there? And they weren’t used to demons being able to organise anything, so when what looked like a complete regiment of satanic fighters suddenly exploded around them, it was enough to disconcert even those seasoned warriors. Almost, but not quite. Which meant that, although the arriving mob failed to carry the day, Arcturus was able to take advantage of the general mayhem by sneaking in under the radar, while everyone else was preoccupied. Fortunately for their Commander’s peace of mind, the angels took very little time to regroup and even less to sort out a counter-attack, which, when it materialised, at least managed to ensure that honours were even by the time the two sides drew apart to take stock. Actually, there were quite a few casualties on both sides, not that the demise, or wounding of any of his troops meant anything to Arcturus. He was just infuriated that even Satan’s own specially selected legionnaires had failed to carry the day, despite holding the advantage of surprise. Admittedly, they were better than those with whom he was normally burdened, but that cut little ice, because he could still feel the dread of his commuted sentence curling around him. Nevertheless, he had managed to get close enough to hit me with a degree of mind control, with the sole purpose of persuading me to reject outright any overtures from the Guardian even then introducing himself.

  Fortunately for all concerned, it wasn’t long before Arcturus was compelled, by force of arms, to retire to a safer distance – thus releasing me from his malign manipulation, which I neither understood, nor recognised as such. I simply assumed I was (to put it mildly) confused, rattled even, and that there was really nothing more to it. But it wasn’t that simple. Certainly, the overt influence telling me to ignore what I could plainly see had gone, but, even with a lot of blinking on my part, there yet remained a rather tall, muscular young man positioned just below and to my right, apparently still performing the mildly disturbing trick of standing in mid-air without the benefit of any obvious attachments. Moreover, and to my intense confusion, he persis
ted in looking straight into my eyes, whilst exhibiting a noticeable relish for the act. Not only that, but he started speaking again.

  “There’s quite a lot I have to tell you. However, first, you need to understand that although I look more or less like you right now, the fact is I’m very different and I’m not normally visible to human eyes. I’m an angel [No. Really?], I’m already immortal and I live in other dimensions. What’s more, I have a number of powers you humans don’t possess. One reason I’m able to stand here in mid-air, for instance. But, I can see you need a bit more convincing and I don’t blame you. Fact is, we angels do exist and we’re active in your world, even if very few people believe in us. You don’t know it, but, for this last couple of years I’ve been your Guardian. Now, I realise you won’t find anything I have to say particularly easy to accept, but I would be extremely grateful if you could do me a favour and suspend your disbelief long enough to hear me out. After all, what have you got to lose? Right now, short of leaving this tree – and please note, the tide is coming in – you’re rather stuck with me. So, if you’ll do this one thing, I promise that when I’m done, I’ll leave you completely free to make up your own mind on whether or not I’m to be trusted. And if you do decide to trust me, then you can consider what, if anything, you want to do about it. On the other hand, if you don’t like what you hear and genuinely don’t want me around, then I’ll disappear back to my own world, get myself relieved of duty and leave you to get on with life.”