The Atua Man

by John Stephenson

  The officers stepped aside. Jason kissed Dorothy and Melanie, and whispered to Melanie, “Keep the faith. I’ve called Dave to come back and help.” A big smile filled her face and she gave Jason a long hug.

  Chapter 4

  Kensington, London

  Tuesday Afternoon, November 2004

  Old Brompton Road in South West London was a parking lot. Theodore Spencer drove his Vauxhall onto the pavement and stopped in front of the Drayton Arms Pub and Theater. Samuel Butler, Spencer’s cameraman-slash-producer, thumbed through a street guide of London, flipping a couple of pages back and forth.

  “I told you we should have used Cromwell,” Butler said, referring to the major road that cut through Kensington.

  “That would have been worse,” Spencer answered. “We’ll leave the car here and walk. It’s only a few blocks.” Butler got out of the car, slapped a press sticker in the window, and ran into the pub. He handed the barmaid his card. “Call me if the police come nosing around. We won’t be very long.”

  “You’re blocking the foot traffic,” the girl said, looking at the Vauxhall sitting outside her front door.

  Butler slapped a twenty-pound note on the bar as he rushed out. “Thanks.” Grabbing his camera from the car, he trailed after Spencer.

  “Don’t worry, we’re on a roll. Might even get a shot of the man himself coming out to bless the crowds,” Spencer said.

  Butler, sloppy, and bigger than Spencer, pushed the way through the crowd shouting “Press! Coming through!” When they reached Bolton Gardens, the street was packed. As they got closer to Stanford House the people chanted “Antichrist!” The two reached the barricades at the corner of Wetherby Gardens. The crowd surrounding Stanford House was even denser. The police had cleared the sidewalks surrounding the ministry buildings and tried to keep the streets on either side of Collingham Gardens clear for cars. They had little success.

  Butler and Spencer squeezed through the Wetherby street barriers and crossed over to Collingham where a policeman stopped them when they got close to Stanford House.

  “Has the messiah come out yet?” Spencer showed the cop his press credentials.

  “I wish he’d bless them and send them all home,” the cop said letting them in.

  Butler hoisted his camera to his shoulder and pulled a focus on Spencer, who said a few “checks” into the microphone. Spencer then turned to an attractive woman in her mid-thirties and asked, “Are you expecting to see Jason St. John?”

  “Yes. Oh, he’ll come out. He always does.”

  “Are you here to be healed?”

  “I’ve already been healed,” the woman said. “But when he comes out you’ll feel it. There’s an energy he has that fills you with joy. That’s why I’m here.”

  A loud male voice yelled from somewhere behind Spencer, “He’s the Prince of Darkness!” Spencer headed toward a middle-aged, working class guy holding a sign proclaiming Jason St. John the antichrist. Butler followed with his camera.

  “Theodore Spencer, Independent TV.” Spencer got the man’s attention. “Why do you think Jason St. John is the Prince of Darkness?”

  “He thinks he’s God.”

  “Has he said that he’s God?” Spencer asked.

  “Read his book. All he talks about is I this and I that. You too can heal. Get in touch with your inner God, or some such bull. These people all need to wake up.”

  Some of the antichrist crowd came in closer.

  The man gestured to those around him. “Jesus is the only Son of God. Only Jesus can heal. That man is the beast, Satan here on Earth disguised as God, and he’s deceiving the people. It’s all in the Bible. He has the melodious voice. He has the friendly, loving eyes. He’s gentle and kind. He’s handsome and he charms people. With all of his money he’s extremely powerful. I can’t believe everybody doesn’t see this.”

  Spencer nodded as Butler pulled a close-up of the man.

  He’s a false prophet and all those who follow him will be sorry.

  “What’s your name, sir, so we can use this on the air?”

  The man turned away. “Can’t use my name. Those people will come after me.”

  Chapter 5

  Collingham Gardens, London

  Tuesday Afternoon, November 2004

  Tony and Gary sauntered beneath the tall sycamores of Collingham Gardens—the Ministry’s walled oasis in the heart of the city. Tony was still keyed up from his confrontation with Jason, and Gary, his tight suit bulging where his cell phone and gun were, reassured him that his tactics were right for the situation.

  “I’ve seen what mobs can do,” Tony said. “All press is propaganda. It’s manipulative and designed for one purpose, to make money from controversy. Jason has been smart. He invited the press to witness his first healing experiments and won them to his side. But he will flush that all down the toilet with one mocking statement from good old Teddy Spencer, that paragon of truth who always gets the last word.”

  The two men sat down at a bench framed by a large bush of bleeding hearts. The fog had lifted and the day had turned into a dull overcast repeat of the past week. The autumn leaves were almost gone and the trees and bushes seemed as dull as the air. An overflying jet bound for Heathrow briefly interrupted the pause in Tony’s rant.

  “I’m right,” Tony said. “Not only was Lillian evasive and rude, Jason lied when he said he was meditating. He wasn’t at the board meeting because he wasn’t at the compound. Jason is going to destroy the ministry!” He looked back at the gothic windows of the St. John’s apartment with a mix of envy and righteous fury.

  “If he can disappear and appear somewhere else like something out of Star Trek, and certain people learn of it, he’ll disappear forever,” Gary said. “I can guarantee that he didn’t leave the compound by any normal route. You know that our security is impeccable.”

  “You agree that we’re doing the right thing keeping him out of the public’s eye?”

  Gary shrugged and got up. Tony followed him to the far end of the garden, out of sight of the compound. They sat on another bench in the middle of a small forest of plane trees growing inside the walls. The huge crowds in front of Stanford House and the hum of chanting voices seemed like a distant memory of another place. Here all was quiet and the birdsong reminded Tony of the simplicity of life.

  “The thing is,” Gary said breaking the silence, “the people I know would never believe something like this unless they saw it. But if they thought it was possible, they’d find a way to isolate him and learn how he does it.”

  “We have to control Jason for his own good.”

  “I don’t like the television symposium that Barbara and Melanie are planning,” Gary stated. He rarely gave his opinion on ministry policy, keeping his input to security issues, but he felt the day’s events changed all of that. “My only hope is that it shifts focus away from whatever Jason is doing to something that can be easily explained to the people.”

  “What options do we have? We can’t go back to being a foundation like Melanie believes. We’re passed that already. This hospital thing brings us into the world of faith and belief,” Tony said. “What if the Pope had done what he did?”

  “We can only assume that Mr. St. John did it,” Gary argued.

  “Oh, he did it alright. If the public perceives that Jason St. John can appear out of the blue and heal them, then St. John becomes a god and our organization dies.”

  “If the Pope had done what Mr. St. John did, we’d all become Catholics,” Gary said.

  “And the Curia would declare him the Second Coming and kill him.” Tony got up, walked over to a tall plane tree, leaned against it and looked back at his head of security, deciding if he should voice what he was thinking. “I know you keep abreast of the groups that could adversely affect Jason and our ministry, like the antichrist mob.”

  Gary nodded. “Part of my training is to know my enemy.”

  “And keep that enemy closer to you than your friends?
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  “Something like that.”

  We can’t let the mob make Jason a martyr.” Tony bent down and watched a beetle carry a leaf across the gravel path.

  “What if the crowds grow significantly larger and more violent?” Gary asked. “Do we pressure him to cut back his appearances and not leave the compound for security reasons?”

  “He won’t put up with that,” Tony stood and looked Gary in the eyes. “He’s fighting every restriction already. Even if it’s for his own good. Knowing Jason the way I do, the more we try to control him, the more reckless he’ll become. He doesn’t realize how much he is endangering himself and his family. He has that kind of a personality. He could even get killed.”

  Gary looked away. Having read Tony’s body language, he sensed that Tony was confirming his own beliefs.

  “This could be the beginning of a new religion,” Gary said mostly to himself.

  “You need a prophet to start a religion,” Tony declared.

  Gary nodded. He believed in Mr. St. John like he believed in Christ. Shouldn’t that belief be more than a set of principles? Shouldn’t you give yourself body, mind, and soul to your savior? Jason St. John was his savior; Gary would give his life for him. But would Mr. St. John do the same? All this spun around in Gary’s mind as he stared off at the well-pruned shrubs and manicured lawn.

  Interrupting Gary’s thoughts, Tony continued, “And that prophet needs to go away before a religion can take hold.”

  Gary turned and saw fire in Tony’s eyes.

  “So, you’d replace the ministry with a religion?” Gary wanted confirmation that he wasn’t alone in his thinking.

  Tony projected humility. “If necessary. You can belong to a religion. If the organization remains a nonprofit trust,” words spoken with an air of distain, “all that Jason has given the world will die. Do you know why? Because there is no commitment from the people, there’s no community—nothing. Everything will just fade away.”

  Gary sighed deeply. His mind spun. His training, his instincts, and his love for what Jason St. John had done for him collided with the reality of what Tony was proposing. Finally Gary said, “I’ll put some things in motion. But we need some new ground rules.”

  “Okay.” Tony realized how right he was about Gary. He got the same feeling in his stomach that he use to get when he began a hostile takeover.

  “We’re never to be seen alone together,” Gary continued. “I won’t tell you anything about my plans. You will have total deniability if things go wrong. I’ll be the fall guy. If you try to interfere or manage what I’m doing, I’ll resign from the board. I think you’re right, but from now on I’m solely responsible for Mr. St. John’s safety.”

  “What about our current calendar? What about the board vote to create a TV forum to discuss apparitions?” Tony asked.

  “That’s all your area. I’ll support you on the board as I always have, but with the increased crowds, which I think will only grow, I won’t have time for anything but Mr. St. John’s security.”

  “I need to expand the board,” Tony said. “We need people who see things the way we do. Will you support me in that?”

  “Absolutely,” Gary said.

  “And I need something on Theodore Spencer. He stuck his nose where it doesn’t belong and I’d like it cut off.”

  “I’ll see what I can dig up.”

  Gary walked away, pulling his Blackberry from its belt holder and speed dialing a contact.

  Tony sat down on a nearby bench and tried to keep doubt from flooding his mind. He wondered if he could really pull this off. His passion was promoting the healing principles Jason had revealed to the world. To do that he needed a stable organization and Jason’s actions were not helping. The Ministry will change one way or another, he thought, and Tony needed to direct that change.

  Chapter 6

  Southwark, London

  Tuesday Afternoon, November 2004

  The Reverend Cyrus Germaine sat behind his elaborately carved desk below a stained-glass window of Satan tempting Christ. Germaine was pastor of Hope Chapel in the Southwark area of London, and was known for his conservative evangelical beliefs and his controversial sermons. He was a powerful-looking man in his mid-forties with close-cropped blond hair. He was astonished when his assistant interrupted his sermon preparation that Tuesday afternoon to tell him that Gary Howell from the St. John Ministries was waiting to see him.

  “What does he want?” Pastor Germaine asked.

  “He wouldn’t say.”

  The pastor thought a moment. “Tell him it’s his lucky day and send him in.”

  Pastor Germaine didn’t get up when Gary entered, but directed him to one of two chairs facing his desk.

  “It’s very kind of you to see me without an appointment.” Gary took a seat.

  “I’m always ready to convert the heathen,” Germaine said without humor.

  “I know I’m interrupting, so I’ll get right to the point.” Gary looked intently at the pastor and asked, “I’d like to understand what’s behind all the Antichrist signs and protests in front of our ministry. You seem to be an expert on the Antichrist.”

  “You know him quite well. He goes by the name of Jason St. John.”

  Gary held Germaine’s eyes until the pastor looked down. “I know that’s what you believe, Cyrus, but theologically, what does the Antichrist mean?”

  Pastor Germaine closed his eyes a moment to think. His voice took on a different timbre when he spoke. “The Antichrist is the Sinner masquerading as the Savior. The Bible has many references to false prophets, wolves in sheep’s clothing… that sort of thing. What makes the Great Deceiver so insidiously evil is that he performs miracles and appears to be an agent of God, drawing people to him and away from true redemption—exactly what your master does. When the Judgment comes, all those who have been misled will suffer the agonies of hell. Can you think of anything more evil, or more sinister? Your whole ministry, and I use that term very loosely, is based on a lie that one day will be exposed, and for which the people will be punished. Would you like me to cite the biblical references for this?”

  “No. I’ve read them. What about the children healed on the brink of death? That can’t be evil.”

  “It’s not only evil to take a soul about ready to enter heaven and shove it back into the world of sin, it’s exceedingly cruel. Why are you asking me this?”

  “I’ve tried talking to your people on the streets, the ones demonstrating, but I don’t think they know why they’re there.”

  “They’re confronting the devil to save their souls. Eternal salvation is through Jesus Christ and only Jesus Christ.” The pastor looked firmly at Gary. “I could save your soul right now if you would repent.”

  “My soul has already been saved.” Gary shook his head, trying to keep to his point. “The world isn’t going to end any time soon, so why not tone down your rhetoric?”

  “Many of the signs have been fulfilled—one of them being the arrival of Lucifer.” The pastor rubbed his chin.

  “You’re comparing Jason St. John to Lucifer?”

  Germaine continued, “God’s army defeats Lucifer and we enter the Rapture. The saved are separated from the damned and remain on Earth to live under the government of the Christ.”

  “Doesn’t the prophecy predict that the Antichrist will be assassinated?”

  Germaine jumped up and pushed away from his desk. “Nobody’s going to assassinate your little medicine man.”

  Gary calmly replied, “The way you’ve been preaching, somebody might. People have a way of taking what you say literally.”

  “So that’s why you’re here.” Germaine sat back down, confident in his righteousness. “I can tell you right now that I’m not changing my sermons. The Bible is very clear on the sequences of the End Times. But I am not advocating the murder of anyone.”

  “If it should happen, you could be culpable.”

  “I think this conversation is over. Thank you
for coming, but I have a sermon to write and you’ve just given me some fresh ammunition.”

  Gary stood and leaned over the pastor’s desk so that Cyrus Germaine could feel his breath. “My job is to protect Jason St. John, and I’m very good at my job, Cyrus. I just want you to know that.”

  Chapter 7

  Stanford House

  Tuesday Afternoon, November 2004

  An ISD officer stood outside the St. John apartment when Jason walked up to his front door. He was expecting something like this. Really, Tony, Jason thought.

  “Hi, what’s your name?” Jason asked, knowing the young man was just following orders.

  “Tommy. Thomas Parker, sir.” Parker was in his twenties—tall and muscular, newly promoted, with curly blond hair. He looked like a sweet kid and Jason was surprised he was a security guard.

  “Well, Thomas Parker, since we’ll be seeing a lot of each other I want to be able to call you by name.” Parker blushed when Jason said his name. And when Jason entered his apartment, he saluted.

  Lillian got up from the kitchen table when she heard the front door open. She’d been on the Internet looking at dozens of sites claiming inside information about Jason’s appearance at Marsdan Hospital and explaining how he’d done it. The ministry’s site had gone dark, overwhelmed with too much traffic.

  “You’re all over the web with that stunt you pulled last night, and the Ministry’s site is frozen.” She drew him close and gave him a kiss, and then whispered in his ear, “What on earth is happening?”

  He whispered back, “They want me penned up in here, out of touch.”

  “I think our apartment is bugged.”

  “I don’t think so. I don’t think they’d go that far.”

  “Perhaps they did it before we moved in, during the renovation. Perhaps the whole compound is bugged. Who knows?” Lillian whispered.