Call Me Joe

by Martin Van Es

  “Holy shit!” was the Prime Minister’s exact reaction when told of the request from the twelve most powerful religious leaders in the world. “These men represent close to five billion people. If they all come here at once for a meeting that historic the whole world is going to want to be here to see them. We’ll sink under the weight. Apart from anything else, how will we look after that many representatives of God at the same time? We’re having enough trouble catering for the followers of one of the buggers.”

  “I don’t know how well they will take being rebuffed,” the Minister for Home Affairs warned her. “People don’t say ‘no’ to these guys very often.”

  “Perhaps,” the Minister of Foreign Affairs suggested, “we could tell them that we would love to welcome them but we fear we would not be able to guarantee their safety. It’s the truth, after all. I mean how would we keep that many VIPs safe when the whole place is swamped with visitors? Our police are already stretched beyond anything they have ever experienced before.”

  “Okay.” The Prime Minister made a decision. “Tell them we are sorry but it’s not possible. Word it any way you like.”

  Messages of regret were conveyed back to the offices of all the leaders, couched in diplomatic language, and it was agreed that they needed to find a more private place for the meeting. Someone suggested that they hire a cruise liner and position it somewhere a long way from land, flying all the various leaders to it in helicopters. Enquiries were made but no suitable ships could be found. Then someone suggested that they look into the possibility of hiring a private island somewhere in the South Pacific.

  Research soon made it clear that the only island big enough to take all twelve leaders and their entourages, and private enough to ensure that no one who was not specifically invited could get there, was an atoll called Tetiti. It was owned by a Hollywood film star who needed so much money to maintain her penchant for buying beautiful pieces of international real estate that she was always working and never able to take advantage of any of them. As a result it was fully staffed and available for hire as a private resort, usually for discreet corporate functions where senior executives were eager for their shareholders not to see how they spent their profits.

  “Tetiti? Wow!” Sophie said when she heard. “Can I come?”

  “Of course you can come,” Joe grinned. “You can be my ‘entourage’.”

  “There’s no chance they are luring you into a trap, is there?” she asked after a few moments’ thought.

  “You need to have more faith, Sophie,” he said.

  “I wish you would stop saying that.”

  Thirty-Three

  “Is this healer man with no past carrying a phone yet?” the Cyber Security Director in Beijing enquired.

  “Apparently not. He is very clever,” the researcher replied.

  “No electronic devices at all?” the Director shook his head in disbelief. “We have no way of tracking him or listening to him?”

  “Nothing on him personally. Many of the other people who are attending this island meeting will be carrying phones and tablets and laptops, but they will almost certainly be made to hand them in before any important meetings.”

  The Director was famed throughout his department for his cool head and it was the first time that his staff had ever seen anything close to a look of panic flickering across his impassive face. The thought of having to report to his superiors that there might be a corner of the Earth that they could not listen in to, filled him with trepidation. He took great pride in the job he had done for them in recent years but first Yung’s house and now this island in the middle of the Pacific had taught him that he wasn’t yet invincible. He picked up a phone and dialled.

  “We need to guarantee satellite coverage of an atoll in the Pacific,” he instructed the person who answered, without bothering with any of the usual courtesies. “It’s called Tetiti. We need to be able to see and hear everything that is happening there.”

  *****

  “The Chinese are moving their satellites so that they can spy on Tetiti,” a young technician deep inside America’s Military Intelligence Department informed his immediate superior.

  “We’ll need to do the same. How long have we got?”

  “The meeting is taking place in a week.”

  “A week? Dammit. Can we get set up in that time?”

  “If permission is given now we might.”

  Several layers of bureaucracy held up the message for two days before it reached someone with the authority to act, by which time it was too late to be sure they could catch the Chinese up.

  “Can we rent satellite space off one of the media people?” a general asked at an emergency meeting. “They cover most areas don’t they?”

  “We cannot channel top secret military information through a media-owned satellite,” another pointed out. “You might as well print the whole thing directly onto the front page of every newspaper in the world.”

  “We can tie them down with official secrets contracts. We can appeal to their patriotic pride.”

  “No one respects official secrets any more and none of the media owners have any patriotic pride. Most of them aren’t even American any more.”

  *****

  “Who is going to be on this island from New Zealand, then?” the Head of Security in Moscow enquired. “Will our informant be among them?”

  “The healer is going alone,” the operative informed him, “just with his girlfriend.”

  “Have we tried to reach out to this girlfriend?”

  “We have tried but she is out of reach now, always surrounded by security. We don’t yet know exactly who will be escorting the other delegates. Hopefully one of them will be someone we have already reached.”

  “Hopefully?” the Head of Security’s voice had gained an edge of fear. “You think I can take a word like that to the President? Find out who is on this trip from each denomination and see who we can reach. We have to know what they are talking about before the Chinese or the Americans. If the church leaders are planning on coming together to assist in toppling the current political systems we need to be prepared. We need to have plans ready. We need to take action!” He pounded the table with a clenched fist to drive home the importance of each announcement.

  “Is it possible that they are meeting him there in order to remove him?” the operative suggested.

  “Do you think so?” The Head of Security was momentarily quietened.

  “Perhaps we could just wait and see what happens.”

  The Head of Security nodded his agreement. “That is what I will suggest to the President.”

  Thirty-Four

  The Ukrainian was sitting on the balcony of his apartment in Double Bay, overlooking the glittering waters of Sydney Harbour and the silhouette of the city beyond. The sounds of the birds and insects in the trees, whose densely knitted branches and leaves kept off the worst of the heat, were the only things he could hear. He had several mobile phones laid out on the table beside his coffee, all of them on silent. Occasionally one of them would flicker with a message and he would glance at the screen, but nothing was exciting his interest enough to take his eyes away from the view for long.

  He had been up for several hours already, working out in the gym before the heat built up and then shaving himself with an obsessive precision. Shaving was a ritual he often indulged in several times a day. If he didn’t then his thick dark hair would give him a sinister appearance, which was something to be avoided at all costs. He took pride in his clean-cut appearance, like most young men, but he was also anxious not to stand out. It was an advantage in his trade if no one remembered seeing him passing by in the street. He liked to think he was good looking, but not good looking enough to turn heads.

  The dense foliage all around the house meant that he was not overlooked by any
of his neighbours and he made a point of never walking around the surrounding streets. If he left the house it was behind the tinted glass of his Mercedes or on a bicycle with helmet and goggles, which made him anonymous and unrecognisable to the casual glance. Some people in his line of work liked to live in isolated places, miles from the nearest neighbour, but he preferred to live in plain sight, in an area where everyone minded their own business.

  Recently he had pared his professional life down to the bare minimum, only accepting one or two commissions a year. All he had to do the rest of the time was keep track of the various phones, and replace them on a regular basis. They were all cheap and disposable and although he knew that didn’t mean that the sort of people who employed him would never be able to track him or listen in to his calls, it made it much harder for them. He would rather have operated without any electronic devices at all, but that would be impractical with the way the world now functioned. People who wanted to hire him had to be able to make contact somehow.

  He was a little uneasy by the number of calls he had been getting that morning. Like the rest of the world, he had been following the stories coming out of New Zealand about the healer who could perform miracles. He had not been entirely surprised when his contacts told him that there were people who would like the man silenced. Anyone who became that popular that quickly was bound to be seen as a threat by vested interests. He was pretty certain that the request which had filtered through to him most strongly was originally from the Russian government, but he would never know for sure. The Americans were just as capable of coming up with a similar plan. Not that he cared who was behind it. As long as the money arrived in his bank account as promised it didn’t matter who was sending it.

  What had surprised him with this job was the other calls that had followed. News must have leaked out that he had been approached about the possibility of removing this man and others had made enquiries about whether they could have the body, if he was going to be killed. As far as the Ukrainian could make out it was the pharmaceutical companies who were interested in studying the chemistry and biology of a man who was claiming to be divine. One contractor, who had a strong Far Eastern accent, had suggested that rather than killing Joe, it might be more sensible to kidnap him so that the scientists could study him and carry out their experiments while he was still breathing and the blood was still pumping through his veins. He had not replied to that suggestion. Experience had taught him that the dead were the only people you could trust not to give you away.

  Even after twenty years as a professional mercenary and assassin, the Ukrainian had to admit that he had been shocked by the level of interest being shown in this one target. His contacts had made it clear that he would be able to make enough money from this one job to retire for ever, which was an attractive prospect on such a beautiful sunny morning, but he was still wary of the thought of executing, or even kidnapping, someone who was being followed and watched by so many pairs of eyes every minute of the day.

  Usually his targets were people who lived hidden and secretive lives, which made it easier to catch them alone at some point of the day or night. Not many of them courted publicity and drew crowds on the scale that this man was doing. On the other hand, large crowds could provide good cover, as long as he positioned himself so that he could make a clean getaway once the job was completed.

  Having been trained originally as a soldier, he was more comfortable with the idea of a quick kill than the thought of any man being tortured. He had a picture in his brain of Joe pinned down on a laboratory table somewhere, while scientists stuck needles into him to study everything from his brain to his secretions. Maybe he was letting his imagination run away with him. Maybe he had watched too many old horror films late at night. But still it seemed that a sniper’s bullet to the head, or a knife slid straight into the heart would be more honourable ways to remove the problem, and more achievable goals for him.

  “There is a contact on the inside of his inner circle,” he was told in one of the calls. “They have been feeding information out when they can, which isn’t often. This person has been informed that things have changed and that they must support you if or when you make contact.”

  “Were they happy with that?”

  “Their happiness is not your concern,” the voice replied, which suggested to him that the plant could not be totally relied upon. As usual he would be relying almost totally on his own skills and experience.

  That was all he had been told about the set-up so far, and after the call he had dissolved the phone in a container of acid which he kept solely for that purpose. Now he was waiting for the instruction to go to New Zealand.

  Thirty-Five

  “You realise this has blown my carbon footprint for the rest of my life, right?” Sophie shouted over the engine noise as she gazed out of the window of the small plane which was carrying them from Fiji’s airport to a small platform floating in the sea off Tetiti.

  As they dropped lower over the atoll they could make out the boat coming towards the platform to meet them and ferry them the final half mile to the beach. The atoll itself looked like a CGI recreation of the perfect holiday destination. Pristine white beaches were fringed with palm trees where plantation style villas nestled in the shade beside the turquoise water. Several of the tiny islands were linked by bridges and it was possible to make out members of staff gliding around in snow white uniforms, ensuring that everything was ready for the arrival of possibly the most important guests they would ever have the privilege of serving.

  Another small plane was just taking off from the platform, having already deposited its cargo of elderly, sweating clerics who were now being helped onto another rocking boat by kind, strong young hands.

  “It actually does look like paradise,” Sophie said, unable to wipe the smile off her face.

  “Seriously?” Joe laughed. “You think this is what paradise looks like?”

  “Please,” she retorted, “give me a break. I don’t get to go to places like this, except in my dreams. Don’t prick my bubble.”

  “Okay,” he said and held up his hands in mock surrender, as the plane circled round and took its place gently on the water beside the platform. “Welcome to paradise!”

  “When I die,” Sophie burbled on as she looked across at the island, “I want to come back as a rich movie star.”

  “Sure you do,” Joe teased her; “we’ll have to see what we can do.”

  The island’s staff members were so polite and discreet it was almost like they weren’t there as they escorted them from the boat to the gardens which surrounded their villa, guaranteeing privacy on the other side of the sand.

  “It feels like we’re on honeymoon or something,” she whispered as they made their way through the flowering bushes, sending clouds of brightly coloured butterflies and hummingbirds up into the air as they went.

  Joe put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him, kissing her playfully on the nose, but saying nothing. The honeymoon feel continued once they reached their villa and a staff member showed them where everything was, poured them cool drinks and left them to settle in. They sat together on the veranda, staring through the gardens to the sea, sipping their drinks in silent thought. Sophie could see that Joe was lost in his plans for what he would say to the religious leaders and didn’t interrupt him. After half an hour both of them had fallen asleep to the buzz of insects and the lapping of waves on the beach a few yards away.

  Sophie must have slept for an hour before she woke to find Joe watching her from the other chair.

  “Fancy a walk on the beach?” he asked when he saw her eyes flutter open.

  “Sure,” she said, sleepily pulling herself from the chair. They were both in swimsuits as they emerged from the trees onto the hot sand. There was no one in sight in either direction. They ran to the cool of the water, allowing it to lap over their feet
as they strolled along the edge of the island with their arms entwined, looking for all the world like young lovers. As they passed the various villas they could hear muffled voices talking in a variety of languages. Some of them sounded angry.

  “They have a lot of issues to work out between themselves before it will be worth talking to them about a way forward,” Joe said when Sophie looked up at him enquiringly.

  “You can hear what they are saying?”

  He gave a little shrug, as if the answer to that question was obvious but he was too discreet to say it out loud.

  “We can’t expect them to end centuries of rivalries overnight just because I ask them to,” he said. “They’re only human, after all.”

  Sophie laughed. “Is there any chance that they will see the light in time to help you to change things, do you think?”

  “Oh yes.” He gave her a reassuring squeeze. “They will see the light, I’m sure of it. They are all good people, after all, even if they have been a little misguided from time to time.”

  They both chuckled contentedly as they walked on past the arguing voices. The heat was beginning to drop out of the day and the sky was tinged with orange by the time they completed their circuit of the island and came back to their own villa. A little further up the beach they could see the dark shapes of the Sunni Grand Imam and his entourage praying to Mecca on mats which had been carefully laid out for them. Joe put his finger to his lips and steered Sophie back into the trees.

  “Let’s leave them alone with Allah for a little longer. We can talk to them tomorrow.”

  The following morning, they rose with the sun and walked back down to the beach.