Centurion: Mark's Gospel as a Thriller

by Waller, Ryan Casey

  "I have no idea," I say.

  "Don't answer until you're positive you know the correct response. You may only offer one reply. If it's incorrect, I'll immediately usher you out of this vault, and you won't receive another opportunity. These are your father's explicit instructions. So please, think carefully before you speak." Jude takes a deep breath. "For what purpose have you come home, my son? Speak openly, for I'm your father, and you're my son. There's nothing you can't tell me."

  Jude nods when he's finished reciting the stimulus. It's my turn now.

  Hearing the words of my father on a stranger's lips unnerves me, as if I'm hearing his voice from the grave. My emotion, however, is soon replaced with fear as I begin to understand the message. Or at least I think I do. That phrase—"Speak openly, for I'm your father and you're my son"—was our secret code of sorts. Whenever I was upset or angry, my father would say that to me and remind me that I could tell him anything, that I was free to express my deepest thoughts and feelings—no matter how dark.

  It's a test, I think, but for what?

  There's no way my father, the construction laborer, ever could have imagined I would come home for the purpose I have. He was a simple man. He would expect me to grieve his and my mother's death then get on with my life as a doctor. The last thing he'd expect was for me to come home to fight in the resistance. So...is that the answer? Because you died. That must be it. It's the only reason I'd ever find myself standing here with the key to his safe-deposit box.

  I take a shallow breath and open my mouth to speak. The words come slowly. "I've...come home because." I freeze. Something is wrong. I know in my gut this isn't the answer. This is a test. If the answer were so obvious, my father would have left me the password in his written will. But he didn't. Which means he wasn't sure what my motives would be.

  That's it!

  He wants a genuine answer. My father is asking me why I have come. He wants an honest answer. He wants a true answer.

  Now my fear turns to panic. If I answer honestly, I'll commit treason in the presence of a bank official. And while the Kingdom hasn't formally seized the banks, they're pretty much under its direct control. Jude could have me sent north for simply uttering the words.

  He interrupts my thoughts. "You must finish the sentence. Now."

  I probe Jude's eyes. What sort of man are you?

  I start to finish my sentence but find there's a lump in my throat. I swallow. My hands are shaking again. Twice in one day. But this time it's not anger ricocheting through me—it's horror.

  My father's voice echoes in my mind. Speak openly...my son.

  My father was a straight talker and an honest man. He wants to know why I've come home. I decide to tell him the truth.

  "I have come home...to fight. I have come home to avenge your death. I have come home to liberate our people in the name of the one true God."

  Jude's eyes widen, as if he's seen a ghost. Then he turns sharply on his heel and hurries over to box number forty and inserts both keys. He returns with the metal box and sets it on the wooden table. I watch as he carefully opens the lid, without looking inside, then backs slowly away from the table. My eyes follow him like a mouse dropped in a snake's cage. He is predator and I am prey.

  The words I've uttered are punishable by death. I fully expect Jude to inform me that he'll be contacting the Centurion Guard. Or he'll dash out of the room, which will communicate the same thing. I expect him to do something. But he doesn't. Instead he crosses his arms and nods.

  When it's clear he won't immediately condemn me, I approach the table gingerly and ask, "Aren't you supposed to leave me alone to do this sort of thing?"

  "Please look inside the box."

  He unfolds his arms and settles onto the heels of his feet. Good. If he's here with me, then he's not out there telling the Kingdom I should be hanged as a traitor. I look again at the box. The lid is open, and I discover a piece of black felt on top of the contents. I reach down, lift the cloth, and discover what's inside.

  Nothing.

  I spin around to face Jude, but he's not where he was moments before. I crane my head and spin around quickly, surveying the tiny room. No Jude—Jude is gone.

  "Wait...Jude?"

  I look confusedly back at the table. What am I missing? I lift the metal box and run my hand along the inside, using my fingers to probe every inch of its contours. The lining is soft and feels like suede, but it's empty as a drum. I turn the box over and shake it in my hands. Nothing falls out. I inspect the bottom, thinking there might be some engraving or other kind of marking or message. But there's nothing. The box is as generic and uniform as it could be. There's simply nothing to discover.

  The door behind me opens, and Jude returns.

  "I don't get it," I say. "It's empty. Is this some kind of a joke?"

  Jude walks purposefully toward me. "Your father knew the Kingdom would come here to inspect his holdings. I assured him the money was safe. The Kingdom's takeover of the banking system isn't yet complete. It would take an executive order from King Charles himself to transfer an individual's funds out of our vault. Safe-deposit boxes, however, are another story. The regulations are far more porous. The reasoning is that safe-deposit boxes—unlike vaults, which store only cash—could be used to hide contraband and are thus subject to search and seizure. Basically the property stored in this room, while safe from private theft, is treated like all other private property, which means the Kingdom can take it whenever it wants."

  "I'm sorry, but I have no idea what you're talking about."

  Jude puts a hand on my shoulder, and I can't help notice how small his hands are; they're the hands of a young girl. "The item your father left for you is in a different box," he says. "There were, of course, a few belongings in this original box." Jude points to the table. "But the Centurion Guard seized them, just as your father expected they would."

  "Centurions came here? They opened this box? But...how did they know the password?"

  Jude laughs and puts his other hand on my opposite shoulder. "The password wasn't for them; it was only meant for you. And yes, they came here and demanded to see the box. I showed it to them, and they took the contents with them."

  "What was in it?"

  "Nothing of value," Jude says casually. He takes his little hands off me and puts them in his pockets, which I appreciate. "A few collectors' coins. I think they were old US currency—quarters and dimes and some other worthless junk. Maybe a few dollar bills? I can't recall. The box was worth a thousand Worlds...at most. Chump change to you, rich boy."

  "Why would my father think the Kingdom would come to steal his property?"

  "He didn't think—he knew! And his prediction was dead-solid perfect."

  "My father laid brick for forty years," I say, feeling my blood pressure rise, my body heat rolling out from underneath my collar. I turn away from Jude. "He learned to read and understand basic arithmetic before dropping out of school. My mother had even less of an education. They were simple people. This must be some sort of. misunderstanding."

  "There's a lot you don't know about your parents, Deacon."

  I turn around. "Like what?"

  "Let's start with your opening the box your father left for you—the real one, the box he wanted you to see, if you were up to it."

  "You have the key?"

  Jude pulls two small keys from his pocket. "After you gave me the correct password, I had you open the empty box so you'd know I can be trusted."

  "I don't know that."

  Jude smirks. "You will soon." He walks briskly to the corner of the room and opens box number seven. He retrieves the box, carries it to the table, and places it next to box forty. He opens it and steps back, just as he did before. "Take a peak," he teases.

  I eye Jude suspiciously before approaching the table. Just like before, a black cloth covers the contents. I toss it aside and, in one cataclysmic moment, realize I never knew my father.

  Lying peacefull
y in the safe-deposit box is the most forbidden of all forbidden possessions.

  reach inside the box and find a handgun crafted of stainless steel.

  This is the first time I've ever touched a gun. I run my fingers along its ridges as a surge of adrenaline springs up my arm and shoots directly into my heart, which responds by pumping furiously inside my chest.

  A gun. And it's not in the hands of a centurion. It's been hiding in this box, waiting...for me.

  The gun's handle is cold and feels much different than I imagined it would. I slip my fingers around the butt and slide a finger onto the trigger. Then I slowly draw it out of its hiding place.

  I raise the contraband in front of me and am surprised by its weight, by how wondrously light the thing is. I extend my arm and imagine what it would be like to aim the barrel at the enemy. My arm shakes, and the gun dances small circles before me.

  "Careful," Jude says. "It's loaded."

  Another rush of adrenaline explodes in my brain. "Loaded?" I say, astonished at the savage thought—at the reality that I'm holding a tool capable of doling out death. With one pull of this trigger, I could...I've never experienced such a high, such a rush of unadulterated possibility. I feel dizzy.

  "Yes," Jude says. "Loaded. There are nine bullets in the clip waiting to be pumped into Kingdom sympathizers."

  I lower the gun. "You're part of the resistance?"

  Jude flinches. "This room isn't monitored, but it's best if we say nothing more."

  He collects box forty from the table and returns it to its cubbyhole in the wall. As he slides the box into place, he says, "It's illegal for me to allow someone to retrieve contraband from a safe-deposit box. The penalty for storing is minimal but not for allowing retrieval. Should I, or any other bank employee, permit someone to leave these premises with a banned object, the punishment would be death—for you and me." Jude locks the box in the wall. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

  "I do. But I don't understand why or how this—"

  He walks back toward me. "If we stay in this room any longer, it'll raise suspicion. I can answer most of your questions but not now. Right now you need to ensure this gun is hidden when you walk through the lobby."

  I take the gun and shove it down the back of my pants and pull my jacket over it, like I've seen outlaws do in the old movies. I turn my back to Jude for inspection.

  "Not bad," he says. "Just be sure to hold it securely when you start running."

  More adrenaline floods my blood. "Why would I be running?"

  "Because there's something I haven't told you."

  Jude moves decisively for the door.

  "What?" I say. "What haven't you told me?"

  "Time to go."

  "Jude, what haven't you told me?"

  "When you walk out of the bank, the metal detector will sound. But I'm not worried, because you'll get a good jump on the guards."

  "The alarm will go off!"

  Jude nods. "Yes, of course. Weapons aren't allowed inside the bank. But fortunately for you, the alarm is basically our only line of defense. I don't think you'll have any problem escaping."

  Escaping. The word hits me hard and fast. "But what about the guards?"

  Jude waves his hand as if swatting a bee. "Centurion rejects. Total incompetents. You'll be out the door before the alarm sounds, which will give you the head start you'll need. Since you'll be leaving the bank, the guards won't give chase beyond a few yards. They'll worry it's a trap designed to lure them away from their posts. I'll reassure the guards and my manager that you took nothing from the box, as it was already empty, and then I'll volunteer to file the official report to the Office of Record, which I'll forget to do. That should be the end of it. Just a false alarm. Nothing more and nothing less. Happens all the time. The Kingdom won't pay much attention to a small bank alarm in Oxford."

  The word escape bangs around in my head. Half an hour ago, a madwoman was strangling me, and now I'm being asked to smuggle contraband from a Kingdom bank. If my stay in the South keeps up this frenetic pace, I'll be dead before sunset.

  I examine Jude carefully. He appears trustworthy...sort of. He seems to have all the answers, but something about him unsettles me, though I can't put my finger on it. If this is an elaborate trap, he's done a convincing job. Perhaps that's exactly what this is—a ruse to have me arrested. Put a gun in my hand, then take me down. My stomach drops at the thought.

  "How do I know I can trust you?"

  Jude looks me dead in the eyes. "You don't."

  "Then why should I?"

  "What other choice do you have?"

  "I can put the gun back in the safe-deposit box and pretend this conversation never happened," I tell him. "Or I can put this gun to your head and pull the trigger."

  "And then what?"

  "Do what I came home to do."

  "And you're prepared to shoot your way out of here?"

  "I'm prepared to do whatever it takes to see the Kingdom overthrown."

  Jude sighs. "Do you know how difficult it is to secure a gun in the South?"

  I nod, which is a lie. I have no idea.

  "That gun gives you power," Jude says. "The real kind."

  "To do what? Take on the Centurion Guard with a single handgun and nine bullets? That's ridiculous."

  Jude rolls his eyes. "There's so much you don't understand. That gun is your entry into the game. With that gun and your money...don't you see, Deacon? This is the beginning. Right here and right now. The true beginning of the final resistance, the one that will break the Kingdom's back."

  "I don't know what you're talking about. All of this...it's a lot to absorb. I thought...well, I don't know what I thought."

  Jude steps forward and once again places his weird little hand on my shoulder. "I know. That's why I'm asking you to trust me. Get out of here with that gun, and I promise your questions will be answered. The hopes of an entire people will die right here and now if you're unwilling to take this next step. The South needs you, Deacon." He laughs darkly. "I need you."

  A voice screams in my head, telling me that if I walk out the bank door with a gun, I won't live to see any of what Jude is talking about. The alarm will sound and that will be the end.

  This is a suicide mission.

  But another voice tells me this is the moment I've waited for my whole life. The time has come; my decision is made.

  "How do I contact you?"

  Jude smiles. "You don't. I'll find you."

  "How?"

  "You're scheduled to meet Miles tonight, correct?"

  I arch my eyebrows. "How did you.?"

  "See you at the park."

  Jude winks and opens the vault door.

  his is the first near-death experience of my life, and so far I hate it. My heart races as I follow Jude out from the safe-deposit room, down the hallway, and back through the red door that leads directly into the bank lobby. Once there, we find two armed men who now have legal cause to arrest me and send me north to the camps or, if Dr. Stone is so inclined, have me shot.

  But I'd never be that lucky. From what I know of Dr. Stone, she'd opt for a hanging, which is far more dramatic. And she'd hope my neck wouldn't break so I'd suffer a slow, agonizing death by asphyxiation. I imagine wrapping my hands around her neck.

  The lunch hour is over, and the lobby is all but empty. Two people are waiting in line for the teller, but other than that, the bank is deserted—except for the guards of course. The steady hum of the airconditioner registers too loudly in my ears. No music plays in the background.

  The two guards in the lobby sport Kingdom police uniforms and stand on either side of the bank's doors. Both men brandish guns on their hips, and both glare at Jude and me. Or maybe it's just me?

  Jude turns to me and, in an exaggerated voice, says, "I'm sorry we couldn't be of further assistance to you today, Mr. Larsen. But I hope this disappointment won't deter you from continuing to bank with us. We'd hate to lose your business." He smiles
and reaches to shake my hand. I smile blankly at him and offer a flimsy shake in return. My legs are noodles, and my stomach feels queasy as we approach the door.

  I hold Jude's hand for a moment too long and say, "No problem at all."

  I release my sweaty palm and step between the two guards, one of whom moves to open the door for me. He swings the door wide, smiles tightly, and says, "Good afternoon, young man."

  "Thanks," I stutter.

  There's nothing to do now but walk through the open door. But the rare gesture of kindness from the guard isn't a fortuitous thing. When the alarm sounds, he'll be within reaching distance of me. There's no way for me to slip out the door without him snatching hold of me.

  But I have no other option. I swallow hard and walk through the door.

  My shoulder brushes the guard's chest, and he says, "May the gods of our Kingdom protect you."

  The words have just left his mouth when my fist shatters his nose.

  Blood spews brilliantly from the guard's face, but I'm out the door before a drop of it stains the floor. And then I'm gone.

  As I tear away from the bank, the sensation of cartilage crunching beneath my hand sends a fresh round of adrenaline through my veins. It's the first time I've inflicted pain on my enemy. During my training I'd wondered whether I could actually do it. Was it in me to torment another human? Would I be capable of...killing? These questions haunted me. I had countless nightmares of traveling home only to discover I was born a coward.

  But now I'm baptized, with blood on my hands to prove it.

  A dry smile rolls across my face as my legs carry me to safety, or to wherever it is I'm headed. I've joined the fight! I'm not a coward. Quite the contrary, I'm a violent man. I feel it deep in my bones.

  I make a hard turn and slide around a dusty street corner, taking a moment to look behind me. Jude was wrong. Both guards have given chase. We're separated by less than a hundred yards. Either man could easily gun me down. I consider drawing my weapon and firing at them. The mantra "Kill or be killed" flashes brightly across my brain.

  I'm in a full sprint when my brain registers the howl of the bank's alarm. It screams an ear-deafening call to arms for any Kingdom centurion who hears it. This is when the gravity of what I've done sinks in, working to erase the rush of adrenaline. There's no way for me to escape Oxford. Even if I manage to kill both of these men, more will come for me. I've committed one of the most severe crimes—defiance of authority. If that isn't bad enough, if they arrest me, they'll discover my gun. For that offense I'll be assured the slowest and most painful of Kingdom deaths—death on a cross. Getting shot or hanged sounds like a vacation by comparison.