But now, Bocus was beginning to wonder. There had been no real need for him to be there. The local guys were more than capable of handling the situation.
Would Beaumont go as far as hiding himself away, getting his own back for being left home alone? Knowing it was stupid, Bocus got the pole, lowered the loft hatch, climbed the ladder, thrust his head into the dark space, and flicked on the light. Nothing, apart from the stuff he'd put there when he'd moved in.
Of course, Beaumont could have gone for a walk, but it seemed unlikely, afraid as he was of being picked up by the Polizei. Bocus looked at the kitchen clock, just after 18,00. He'd been home less than an hour. Give him two hours before panicking, he decided.
Bocus spent the time going through the house searching each room at a time. There was no sign of a forced entry. Doors, windows, all intact. Four hours later the conclusion was unavoidable. Beaumont had gone. Whether by choice, was harder to determine. The one thing that jarred was the tidy duvet. Beaumont never made his bed. He had to assume the worst. That Beaumont had been arrested, either on the street when he'd left the house for some reason, or the Ninjas had been here.
This new situation left Bocus with a difficult decision. By rights, he should go himself. Leave. Walk away, without a second thought or a backward glance. Wouldn't that be just a bit over the top? It would mean leaving his job, going underground. All it would take was a phone call using the mobile hidden under the floor in the spare bedroom. One call, then away into hiding until the regime had changed.
Did he want that? He wasn't sure.
Another thought struck him. If they had got Beaumont, they'd be watching the house. Soon as he showed any sign of flight, they'd swoop. If that was the case, he was done for either way. Sleep on it, he told himself, decide in the morning.
✝
Liverpool, Northumbria.
Peter scanned the room, all the while listening to the phone clamped to his ear, muttering a word when he could, which wasn’t often. His eyes locked onto Phil, he watched as the musician placed his guitar to one side, stood and stretched. He said something to Jude who laughed in response. Tracking the musician as he left the room, he assured the caller he'd get back to them as soon as he knew more. He cleared the call and followed Phil.
Andrew, watching from a corner, followed Peter. He’d recognised the expression on his brother's face. He was in time to see Peter enter the gent's toilet. He wasn't in time to stop Peter grabbing Phil by his shirtfront and push him up against the tiled wall.
Phil blinked in surprise, tried to speak, but couldn't stem the torrent of words spewing out of Peter.
'You took a call from Martha?'
'Few days ago?
'Message for the Boss?'
Silence, apart from the automatic flush of the urinals.
'Well?' Peter demanded.
Phil realised it was his turn to speak. 'Yeah.'
Peter relaxed his grip. 'You pass it on?'
'Yeah, course I did.' Phil wriggled free, backed away. 'Why, what's wrong?'
'What was the message?' Peter again, insistent.
Phil frowned. 'That her brother, Laz, was sick, could the Boss come soon as?'
'Did she say how worried she was? That Laz was very sick?'
By now, there was a crowd in the doorway. Men came in, stood, did their thing, and went. A few of the disciples stayed, and watched. They looked at each other and smiled. It was just Peter having a strop.
Phil, happy to see friendly faces, shrugged. 'I told the Boss.'
Peter shook his head, frustrated. 'Didn't you think to let me know?'
'Nah, why?' Phil shrugged. 'Like I say, I told Jesus.'
'What's the problem, bro?' Andrew asked.
Peter explained the situation. 'She's concerned that Jesus hasn't been in touch.'
'Hardly Phil's fault, is it?' Jim said.
'She thinks he'll die.' Peter, anger draining away, sighed. 'She sounds desperate. She's convinced Jesus could heal him.'
'Yeah,' Judas chipped in. 'What's the point of having influential friends if they don't help?'
Peter glared at Judas.
'I told the Boss.' Phil repeated, appealing to the others. 'I did what I was asked to do.'
Andrew smiled, patted his shoulder, and assured Phil he'd done nothing wrong. Typical Peter. Up like a rocket, down like a stick, as their old man used to say.
A toilet flushed. The cubicle door opened and Jesus appeared.
The disciples watched in silence as he washed his hands at the sink. He looked at them all in turn. 'Our friend Laz won't die. It's for the Father's glory, that the Son will be glorified through this situation.'
He thrust his hands under the hot air blower, further words cut off by the noise, although Andrew thought he heard Jesus mutter something about lack of faith.
✝
Leeds, Northumbria.
Swanger sat in her car, smoked another cigarette, and blew a thin plume of smoke through the gap in the window. Waiting was the worst part. Even though there was no need to be here, she had a compulsion to be around, wanted or not. The Sergeant commanding the six-man team of Ninjas had made it clear.
'Keep out the way.' He'd warned.
Though he looked young enough to be in the sixth form, Swanger knew appearances were deceptive. She smiled nonetheless.
'Well out of the way.' He gave her a hard stare, maintained eye contact until Swanger blinked first, and nodded her agreement.
It was coming up to three in the morning. They should be moving in soon. Shame that Heathersedge wanted to delay the interviews for a few days. Swanger could see the benefit of letting the guy stew in a holding cell for a while, but she wanted to get stuck in. Confident of her own abilities, she expected a signed confession within the hour.
She could hear drunks squabbling somewhere close and a plaintive voice singing 'Are you lonesome tonight?' floated in on the night air. Swanger sighed. Every night buddy, she thought, every night. Closing her eyes for a moment, she was startled by a rap on the glass.
Embarrassed, she lowered the window, hoped the Sergeant hadn't heard her little squeal.
'Scare you?' He asked, broad smile.
Swanger looked at him. 'Problem?'
He shook his head. 'Nah. All good. The target's on his way to York as we speak.'
'You've done it?'
The Sergeant grinned, amused at her surprise. 'They don't call us the Ghost Squad for nothing.' He turned to go. 'Night.'
✝
Newcastle, Northumbria.
The queue of children, mothers’ holding their hands, stretched a long way. Just like the winter solstice, Judas thought sourly, visit of the Holly King bringing his gifts. A total load of rubbish. Most kids stopped believing soon as they could think for themselves. He sighed. This wasn't going as he'd expected. When would Jesus make his move? Seize the capital, overthrow the Saxons?
Peter joined him, scanned the line of children. 'We'll be here all day at this rate.'
'Shall I start turning them away?' Judas asked, eager to start.
Peter shook his head. 'You're joking. Remember the last time we tried that.'
'Yeah.' Judas smiled.
Jesus had been so annoyed at catching one of the disciples turning children away from seeing him, telling them all, 'Let the children through. The kingdom of God belongs to such as these. I tell you the truth lads, anyone who doesn't receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.'
Later in the day, when the children had gone, Jesus and the disciples were enjoying a rare break. A moment of peace after the tumult.
After a while, a well-dressed man who'd been hanging around most of the day approached the group. Jesus noticed him and asked what he wanted.
'What must I do to inherit eternal life?' The man asked. 'I'm a good person, and never intentionally done harm to people.'
The disciples looked at each other. Were there still people who didn't know?
'Remember the commandm
ents.' Jesus told him. 'Do not murder, do not commit adultery, do not steal, do not give false testimony, do not defraud, and honour your father and your mother.'
Peter finished his sausage roll, sipped his coffee, and looked at the man incuriously as he told Jesus that he'd kept all the commandments from childhood. You'll be alright then sunshine, he thought. You're in.
Jesus drained his mug of tea. 'There is one more thing.'
'Oh?' The man looked eager to know.
'Sell everything you possess and give it to the poor,' Jesus shrugged, 'you'll have treasure in heaven. Then, come and follow me.'
Peter smiled as he watched the man's face change from anticipation to grievous disappointment. He muttered something, turned, and walked away.
'He won't do it, Boss.'
'I think you're right, Peter.' Jesus said ruefully. He glanced round all the disciples. 'You see lads. It’s easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God.'
'Who can be saved then?' Jim asked.
'With man, impossible.' Jesus replied. 'But with God, all things are possible.'
'Boss, we've left everything to follow you.' Peter protested.
'Ah, Peter.' Jesus looked at him. 'No one who has left family, partners, mothers, fathers, businesses, jobs, for me and the gospel, will fail to receive a hundred times as much as this present day. Along with,' Jesus paused, looked at them each in turn, 'persecutions, and in the age to come, eternal life. But remember, many who are first will be last, and the last first.'
✝
'Jesus?'
Jesus and the disciples were packing their equipment away after the meet and greet in the shopping centre when Brotherton and his gang arrived.
Jude hoped Jesus would ignore them for once.
'Jesus?'
Jesus paused. 'Yes, Brotherton?'
'This kingdom of God,' Brotherton gave a sly glance at his friends. 'When will it come?'
'The kingdom of God is not something that can be seen.' Jesus replied. 'You can't say, here it is, or there it is. The kingdom of God is already here, now.'
As Brotherton and his band of Pharisees went away moaning at never getting a straight answer, Jesus gestured to the disciples and drew them close. 'Listen lads, the day is coming when you will long to see the Son of Man, but you won't be able to.' He paused. The disciples were attentive, listening. 'People will tell you, there he is, or here he comes. I tell you the truth. Don’t go chasing rumours.’
'When the Son of Man comes back, he'll be like lightning that flashes and lights up the sky from end to end.' Jesus spread his arms wide.
'And we all know what comes after lightning.' John said.
Jesus nodded. 'But, before any of that, before any talk of coming back, he will, he must, suffer a great deal and be rejected by this generation.'
The disciples stirred uneasily. They weren't too keen on the suffering aspects, preferring to concentrate on the destination rather than the journey.
Jesus waited for them to settle again. 'Back in the day of Noah, people were eating, drinking, having a good time, then,' Jesus snapped his fingers, 'the flood came, destroyed them all.'
Silence, then Jesus continued. 'It was the same back in the day of Lot. Eating, drinking, planting, building, but on the day Lot left Sodom, fire and sulphur rained down from the sky, destroying them all.’
'It will be like this on the day the Son of Man is revealed. On that day, no one who is outside should go back into their homes to get their belongings. No one who is at work should go home. Remember Lot's wife? She turned, looked back,' another snap of the fingers, 'and became a pillar of salt.’
'I tell you the truth, whoever tries to keep their life will lose it. Whoever loses their life will be restored. On that day, two people will be talking in the street, one will be taken, the other left. Two people in bed together, one will be taken, the other left.'
'When, Lord?' John asked. 'When?'
Jesus looked at him. 'Where there is a dead body the vultures will gather.’
✝
Richmond, Northumbria.
Although tired, Judas knew he wouldn’t be able to resist turning on the laptop, logging on to the poker site. He hoped to win back some of his recent losses. He knew full well he had debts to service. Also knew he couldn't keep dipping into the accounts for which he had full responsibility. With a bit of luck a winning streak would sort that out. He’d be able to pay his debts, have some left over.
With the bike on the stand and his helmet off, he had a sense he wasn't alone in the garage. He half turned to the door that he'd left open. It was closed. Even then, the blow was totally unexpected. A feeling that his left ear had exploded in a confusion of bright lights. Totally bewildered, he crumpled to the floor, instinctively drawing his knees into his chest as best he could. A pair of trainers came into his eye line, one pulled back. The kicking started. Blow after blow thudded into his body. Ribs, chest, stomach, taking the brunt. His assailant circling, landing kicks at any and every exposed part. Judas tried to cover his head with his arms, could hear the quiet breathing of his attacker. Judas thought he was going to die, but then, save a final kick to the face, it was over.
The man bent low over him. 'That's just a taste. You've three days to find the money. Otherwise it's a hospital job next.'
Judas wanted to protest, say he didn't know what money, that they must have got the wrong man, but didn't. Self-preservation kicked in. he remained silent as the man left, even then he didn’t vomit until he’d heard the car on the street move off.
SEVENTEEN
TADCASTER, NORTHUMBRIA.
Peter pushed his half-eaten breakfast to one side. Looking round the tables it seemed the others were suffering a similar lack of appetite. Andrew and John were deep in conversation. Phil was staring aimlessly out the window, guitar for once left on the minibus. Matthew scribbled notes in his journal. It was odd to think he used to be a drug dealing low life called Levi. Nathan and Tom exchanged the occasional word. Jude had a phone glued to his ear, no doubt organising some deal. Simon was at the counter paying, Jim was filling up with fuel. Jamie was making his way back from the toilet, which left Judas.
Peter scanned the cafe. No sign of Judas.
It'd been a shock to a few of the lads. Judas turning up like he'd gone fifteen rounds with a heavyweight champ. Reckoned he'd tripped, fallen down the stairs at home. As if, Peter snorted, looked around. Jesus, sitting a little apart from the others, had cleared his plate. He either hadn't realised there was an atmosphere or was ignoring it. Peter watched as Jesus poured the last of the tea from the pot, buttered more toast. He looked up, caught Peter's eye, smiled. Peter nodded, looked away.
Peter was puzzled. Jesus had promised Laz wouldn't die, but he had. No wonder the lads were quiet, feeling let down. Betrayed was too strong a word, but it'd been a severe jolt. Up until now the Boss had delivered on everything he'd promised. He'd even said, in front of witnesses, that Laz wouldn't die.
But Laz had died.
It wasn't even as if Jesus had tried and failed. He just hadn't bothered. All the people he'd healed over the last three years, would one more have been beyond him? His mate at that.
'What time is it?' Nathan asked.
'Ten thirty.' Peter replied, 'we should be going.' He pushed back his chair, stood. The funeral in an hour's time was going to be a big, lavish affair. Peter was worried at the reception they'd get.
The other disciples shuffled to their feet. Dreading the coming ordeal as much as Peter.
'Wait a moment, Peter.' Jesus said.
Here it comes, Peter thought, the explanation. Why it had been necessary for Laz to die.
Jesus sipped his tea, finished his toast, pointed to the TV on the wall. The reporter was talking about a recent court case where workers had challenged the validity of zero hour contracts. The court had found in favour of the employer, to the widespread dismay of workers.
'A manager of a busi
ness needs six staff for the day.' Jesus told them. 'He calls them up, offers them 50 Euros, they agree.' He looked at the disciples who shrugged. So what? Most businesses did the same. Get a call on the day, you worked. No call, no work. It was the way of the world, it wouldn't change anytime soon.
'Later on,' Jesus continued, 'at lunchtime, it's getting busy. He needs more staff, so he calls another couple of people. They came in for the afternoon shift. Same again mid- afternoon, and again about six.’
Peter sighed, knew there was a point to this parable, but disappointed that Jesus hadn't addressed the real issue.
'At the end of the day,' Jesus went on, 'the manager paid them all a day's wages of 50 Euros. Those that were first in grumbled about this. They thought they should have been paid more because they were there first and worked the longest. They complained that those who came at six had worked two hours for their pay. It wasn’t fair.
The manager listened for a while, and then told them, 'I'm not being unfair. You agreed to do a day's work for 50 Euros, that's what you've got. If I want to pay the ones I hired last the same as you, don't I have the right to do that? Are you envious because I'm generous?’
'So,' Jesus gave the disciples a broad smile, 'as I keep telling you lads, the last will be first, and the first will be last.'
Nobody spoke. If Jesus was surprised at their silence, he didn't show it. The minibus pulled up outside the door. They boarded in silence.
Judas was already on the bus, Peter noticed, phone clamped to his face, talking in a low tone. The bruises from his recent accident still were still vivid. When the disciples crowded on, he frowned and turned his head to one side, his voice dropping to a whisper. He finished his call after a minute, closed his eyes and pretended to sleep.
✝
State Security HQ, York, Northumbria.
Beaumont opened his eyes, blinked, tried to move, but couldn't. He was on his back, which was unusual. He stared at the ceiling for a few moments. The familiar crack in the plaster shaped like a donkey's hind leg had changed and moved a bit further towards the middle. The plain beige light shade had gone, replaced by a bare bulb.
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