Circle of Wagons: The Gospel of Madness (Book 4 of 6) (The Gospel of Madness - (A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller Series))

by Georg Bruckmann

  On the second thought, Toni was no longer surprised that they passed the letter on to him. They wanted him to remember that there was another outside world where someone was waiting for him. That he still had something to lose.

  Like with the newspaper page. Same game.

  The letter must have come with the last supply delivery. Probably took them a while to translate it. Toni thought it very, very unlikely that someone who spoke Italian was among them. Probably they had radioed the contents of the correspondence letter by letter to some henchman with a dictionary. Somewhere in town or somewhere else they probably had someone like that. Toni unfolded the single sheet. Only one page this time, he wondered, but at least written on both sides. Then he read.

  I miss you so much, my dear!

  Right now I am sick with desire and lust for you.

  I just can´t stop touching myself

  Guarding the Vatican bores me to the death, I tell you that.

  Hell, that´s so annoying!

  The tourists, the doves and the heat.

  How could I ever think that was a good idea?

  Even beating up some bums at night doesn´t help.

  Rudolfo still is a pain in the ass, and not a pleasant one!

  Eerie guy, really!

  Nevertheless, I´ll manage.

  Every day, I manage for you, my love

  Every day I think about you, being down there.

  Day by day my longing gets stronger!

  Love you way too much.

  Obviously I am insane, haha!

  Crazy for you! Know that terrible song?

  Allesio going all Hasselhof, can you imagine?

  That´s enough from my side.

  I want to ask about you now.

  Over there the

  Niggers stay in line, I hope?

  Have you made new friends?

  Enemies?

  Lovers?

  I hope for the first exclusively! ;)

  Rudolfo gives head quite well, but it´s not like when we ...

  Easter was hell. Double shifts, you understand?

  A last question:

  Do you still smoke, by the way

  You shouldn´t, you know?

  And please remember the hierarchy list you wanted to send me. I'm still getting all confused about all the priesthood stuff. Except the Pope's at the top, I just can't remember anything, haha.

  In love and affection, always yours

  Alessio

  Toni was at a loss. So perplexed that he had to read the letter a second time. Not only did Antoine's polished style give way to the stuttering of a mediocre, dumb teenager. No, that wasn't all that was weird about that letter.

  Who the hell was Rudolfo? Toni could not remember that Antoine had ever spoken of anyone named Rudolfo before. And what was that about smoking and the tuna fish? Toni had never smoked seriously. That was the stupidest drug you could ever consume. Kills you and doesn't even get high.

  And what kind of hierarchy list? Of course, they had talked about hierarchies, about actual and philosophical concepts, but that had still been in boarding school. And never before had Antoine called Toni his brother.

  There was something wrong with this letter. But it was clearly Antoine's handwriting. Toni just couldn't figure out what it was. Nevertheless, he caught himself smiling when he had to think about the time they spent together at the boarding school. Antoine had been a clever little devil, and he had developed splendidly, even though he often could not follow Toni's thoughts to their final consequences. He was definitely one of Tony's favorite puppies.

  A weak spot I might have to fix sometime, Toni thought.

  Then his thoughts returned to the current topic. A clever little devil like Antoine would think of something if he changed his style that way. Toni unfolded one of the freshly folded paper animals and read the letter it was made of. Compared to the one he had just received, this one was a lyrical masterpiece of almost perfect aesthetic. After Toni had assured himself that his impression was absolutely correct, he certainly read the new letter twenty more times very carefully before giving up. He realized that he was not in a state to solve this riddle right now. He should continue writing for now so that the general would have something to read when he came back. It was difficult for Toni to banish the letter from his mind and return to his vague memories. But after a while, he had made it.

  The third dinner with the American ambassador. This time Toni had initiated the meeting before the deadline set by the American. Toni didn't have to do much for it. He had simply gone back to the hotel restaurant in the late afternoon, sat down at the bar and drank water. It took two and a half hours for the ambassador, his entourage and his doll-wife to show up. The Darkwater guy was there too. He positioned himself on one of the walls, like last time. From there he was able to supervise the whole room, especially the table where Toni and the ambassador sat. Before Toni said anything, or the ambassador was given an opportunity for his energetic small talk, Toni waved the man over. Toni had put everything together exactly. He'd have a little fun with the Americans.

  When Dubois had hesitantly stepped at the table, they all looked at Toni with expectation. Toni, for his part, looked up at Dubois, who calmly answered his gaze.

  No, he's not going to sit down. He wants to make the hierarchy clear. Dumbass.

  Soon Toni became bored with the visual duel, but he found it remarkable that Dubois, despite his habitus, did not radiate aggression. He didn't radiate ... anything.

  The guy's made of ice. Too bad he doesn't work for me.

  Toni said nothing for almost a minute, then he stopped the game for good by turning to the ambassador, and now he finally began to speak. Simultaneously Dubois sat down.

  He declared with self-righteous pathos in his voice that he would not even stir the smallest of his fingers to end the strike.

  The amazement at this opening was clearly to be seen in the ambassador´s and the security guy´s faces. The American's hideous marriage bitch was also astounded and burst into a garishly hysterical giggle. The alcohol-soaked head of the ambassador turned red while the military contractor pushed back on his chair, as if he wanted to be ready to jump up in case of emergency and ... to do whatever he deemed necessary.

  Toni enjoyed the following seconds like a particularly noble drop of cognac, and just as the ambassador was about to raise his voice, Toni raised his hands and continued to speak.

  He told them in a now conspiratorial tone that he had exactly the opposite in mind. He would ensure that the strike would escalate, which in turn would allow the Americans to take certain measures that they had not considered at this stage for image reasons.

  It wouldn't take him long, Toni told them. Maybe a few days of preaching and one-on-one-talks. The guards should be well prepared. This would be the fastest, most sustainable and most cost-effective way to end the strike.

  The second silence that reigned now lasted much longer than the first. Toni had thought it through. The strike would actually be over in one fell swoop. He would not even have to justify the loss of his workforce to Vascotto. Americans with guns - what else could you expect?

  Toni would take the ambassador's money, at least part of it. For the conditions he attached to his proposal included that about half of the amount would be paid out in a gala of donations allegedly staged by him and the idiot Herod. He would in turn pass a part of this money on to his order and distribute another part among the widows and orphans of the expected fatalities, and thus do his order name Raphael credit. He would share his fame with Herod. Not at all of it, but enough for camouflage's sake.

  There would be three birds hit with one stone. The Americans would be happy, Vascotto would simply need a little more patience, and Toni had laid a foundation from which he could begin his ascent into the ranks of the Church.

  Of course Toni would have to make sure that nobody but the ringleaders of the strike would hear his rebellious speeches, but that wasn't difficult. The well was s
till being worked on in the evening, and he would take one after the other aside and teach them the true glory of the Old Testament. If he had to, he'd have to invent one verse or another.

  After the implications of his proposal had been understood at the table, the ambassador of course expressed the usual reservations.

  What if these affairs were to cause a real riot?

  What if American citizens got killed?

  Well, Ambassador, that would only give your America more opportunities to become active in Merkanto - on a completely different scale, wouldn't it?

  Toni only thought this because he knew that the ambassador was perfectly aware of this fact. In short, after a bit of back and forth, the American Ambassador agreed to Toni Da Silva's plan, and also Darkwater's acting CEO seemed more pleased than concerned, nodding to the Ambassador. It was probably him, anyway, who was pulling the strings here.

  Of course it was.

  This way you can offer your people a little action and at the same time convince them that you are worth all the money the government pays you.

  Toni considered how much of these facts he should admit in his transcript for the General. If only he knew what the General already was aware of. Toni's eternal question since he's been here. There had to be a good reason for his kidnapping. Did the general have a problem with the strike thing or with Vascotto? Or did he know about both ventures? Did he ...

  A second time that day, the hatch was ripped open. This time, two men dropped in Toni's dungeon. They grabbed Toni, who had curled up in embryonic posture as soon as he heard the first sound, and dragged him into the light.

  Toni made no attempt to muffle the sounds of pain that escaped his throat.

  If he had learnt anything here, it was that you sometimes got further when you swallowed your pride and showed the greatest possible weakness. At least if you were protecting your core well enough. Soon they had maneuvered Toni's naked, stumbling body into the open and drove him before them into the middle of the square. His eyes fell on the three jeeps nearby. He hadn't even heard them arrive.

  They could only mean one thing.

  The general was here now.

  Toni broke out in a sweat. The salty liquid burned in his wounds. Four men stayed with him while the others rushed away. Toni looked after them and wondered what task they would have to perform. One came back with the dog. He kept him on a leash and stayed a little apart, but Toni still got sick.

  The plague dog.

  He broke his knees, had to rest his palms on the ground to prevent him from falling over, and pulled his head between his shoulders. Every one of his wounds pounded. The inflamed bite. The broken eye socket and the place where his left little finger had once been. Only with great mental effort was he able to slowly lift his head up again after nothing had happened for several seconds. The sun burned relentlessly right into the countless other injuries of his body that had not been bandaged. That alone was close to the limit of the bearable.

  But he was Toni Da Silva. The angel Raphael. The Godlike.

  These confused words became his mantra at that moment and enabled him to master the pain and withdraw a little into his head. Not so much that he would seem apathetic, he had learned that, but just so far that he could still think clearly. Somehow he wished that Azrael had been right with all his occult nonsense, and that he, Toni, could rush all the demons of hell against his enemies with a Latin formula. But he was the only demon here.

  For a while, in hindsight he didn't know how long that while had lasted, he surrendered to this fantasy and imagined his damn torturers being torn to shreds by unearthly beasts.

  Then the door of the biggest building opened and three men came out. In the one in the middle Toni recognized Mobanta. The other two had been there during his torture, and someone else walked behind them. Toni couldn't recognize him because the massive figure of the general covered him up. The general was holding something in his hands.

  These are my reports, Toni noted, while he waited spellbound until the General had built himself up before him. Toni now looked up, looking straight in the man's face, searching for clues to read his mood, for what might be in store for him from now on. The deep black face was a tense mask of painstaking self-control. Righteous wrath bubbled beneath the surface.

  The General spoke quietly and confidently, and in his heavy, dark English was no emotion to hear when he said:

  "This has been very amusing. But now it doesn't matter anymore. Actually, I was hoping we could turn you around. I wanted to make you a double agent. I would have even paid you for your work if you had consented, false priest! There's nothing in your smeared words that I didn't already know."

  With slow, controlled movements, the general tore what Toni had written in agony into small shreds and made them rain down on him.

  "I get it when someone wants to get rich. After all, your kind has been coming to our land with this intention for centuries. Of course I don't like it. But my anger, my real anger, you have brought upon yourself in other ways."

  The general had hooked his thumbs into the wide belt of his military clothes, and now his hands closed to fists and his ankles came out.

  "You turned this into something personal, white pig. There can be no more mercy for you. One little thing is for form's sake, but it has to be done before we kill you..."

  Mobanta turned around and made a waving movement. Then he went on.

  "Come here, Imani, and tell me if this is the man who dishonored you."

  Imani?

  Her?

  She was nothing, just a warm, reluctantly winding sheath for his dick, as so many had been before her. She was supposed to seal his fate?

  Toni looked up.

  Yeah.

  There she was.

  She had trembled before him. She had feared him, and he had used her, just as he did with the all people surrounding him in in one way or another. Now she was still shaking. Tears of shame ran out of her eyes, but her voice was firm and her posture was upright when she said:

  "Yes. That's the false priest."

  "Then that's settled, cousin. How shall he die?" Mobanta asked his relative.

  "Do to him what we always do to such people."

  "This is for our people, not for white people. For traitors and collaborators ...", the general said reluctantly.

  "Before God, we're all the same."

  Her simple sentence convinced General Aksulu Mobanta and he gave the appropriate instructions.

  It was Imani who lit the car tire soaked in petrol. Toni had done everything to avoid the flame, but he had been held in place by three men. They only let him go when they themselves ran the risk of being burned and eventually the tire burned to their complete satisfaction.

  As if from afar, Toni noticed their yelling and roaring as the rubber melted with his flesh, into which it dripped and continued to burn. Astonished, a part of him noticed that he was running and whenever he came too close to one of the buildings, one of the general's men was there and pushed him back so that the fire would not spread to the barracks and huts.

  Toni now separated completely from his body.

  It's over. It's over.

  It's all over.

  I've lost.

  And then:

  I'm gonna die.

  It would take a while. They had attached the tire about in the middle of his body. Normally, Toni knew this from bloodthirsty documentaries to which he had occasionally masturbated in Italy, the tire was put around the neck and shoulders.

  I guess that would be over too fast for them. Maybe they were hoping for more rounds.

  The fumes made his eyes water and scratch his throat as his body continued to turn its rounds. He was sure he screamed like an animal, but it wasn't the pain of his flesh that almost made him lose his mind. It was the knowledge of his failure. It was the fact that for the first time in his life one of his plans had irretrievably failed.

  He thought back to the weak Father Bianchi and his stupid
classmates. He remembered how he and Antoine had taken command of the boarding school. About how he got rid of the Lodge of the Seeing, his occult Alma Mater, about his first drug ring of homeless people and drunks, and about how the Americans had shot the ringleaders of the strike. He thought of the priestly ordination and the idiocy and stupidity he had had to endure to make it this far. He thought that he had been celebrated as an upright hero of the oppressed and had made it into the important magazines. He had tricked them all, and if he had not made this small, trivial, but nevertheless so serious mistake, then he could have reached true greatness. In the world of sheep, but also in front of himself. He could have bathed in his own magnificence for the rest of his life. And now he found a miserable end somewhere in Africa because he had taken the wrong piece of fuckmeat.

  He thought of Antoine, while the fire continued to devour him, and his body continued to cry and howl and run and wanted to flee.

  It just could not end this way.

  He did fine, he told himself, but in the end, he just won a silver medal, right?

  He should have been number one.

  He deserved the place at the top of the world order.

  He was born to rule and to be worshiped.

  He... what?

  Number one.

  The letter.

  Toni had read it so many times that he knew it by heart. Pathetic, childish and stupid lines that didn't make any sense, but yet ... Toni isolated himself even further from his body and recalled Antoine's words line by line. The content of the words was so meaningless, so profane - Antoine would never have written such a letter to Toni.

  Not without reason at least. Then Toni noticed ... the last sentences.

  The Pope at the top of the hierarchy.

  Toni had read the letter the wrong way.

  It was so simple. From top to bottom.

  The first letter in each line.

  It lasted, and the fumes were laying on his respiratory tracts.

  Then had had it:

  I right here. Darkwater. Need location. Heli ready.