The Resurrectionist

by Jackson, Gil

  * * *

  Wearing chain-mail body armour under their suits the small army of twelve Pinkerton and three Bureaus’ agents sledged and hammered down the locked and chained double back doors that was Tinkerboys.

  Finding the rear windows and doors boarded: pit-propped using the wall of the adjacent building opposite, the occupants — their exits barred — ran around like headless chickens, the shit hitting the fans big time.

  Herding them into the corner of the club not a shot having been fired — much to Frank’s relief — the lights were put up. Frank shouted, trying to make his voice heard above the screaming mass of people. And what a mass, Frank thought. There was no way of telling their sex, not from appearances at least. Men dressed as women; women as men. Some dressed as they should be, and some half way provocatively attracting anything they fancied. Some were holding hands; some were caressing in the intimate dark corners of the club.

  The fact the police hadn’t raided before spoke volumes to Frank; there were enough people of means to assist the Seaburg inquiry into police corruption alone. There were captains, a governor, a senator, religious men, judges, writers, artists — all drinking and drug taking with nothing more on their minds than fornication with whatever was available.

  * * *

  In the ceiling of the club, out of eyeshot of anybody on the floor a small hatch opened. Two men, one prone, the other kneeling beside him in the darkness.

  ‘Is that him?’ The kneeling man whispered.

  The other looked down through the telescopic sight of a sniping rifle, its crossed hairs moving from man to man searching for the face it recognised. ‘Not yet, are you sure he’s here?’

  ‘He’s here, he’s in charge.’

  The viewing man strained through the sight again and thought he caught the recognisable face of his quarry, held it a short while on the moustached face and began to squeeze the trigger.

  ‘Seen him, have you got him?’

  He breathed out a rush of breath and released the pressure on the trigger. ‘No, I’m not sure. He hasn’t a moustache?’

  ‘No, shoot him anyway, no one is going to be too concerned.’

  He took his eye from the sight and looked up at the kneeling man, turned back to the sight and began squeezing the trigger again but the man had moved. He relaxed and turned round. ‘I’ll have to leave it, he’s not down there, Maddox must have it wrong.’

  * * *

  An hour had gone by before Frank had them all rounded up and coached to the Customs’ warehouse. And what a pathetic bunch they were in proper light. Some were shielding their faces with whatever they had to hand. Perverts was how the section: Obscene had labelled these people, and while Frank agreed, he felt sorry for them. Clearly some couldn’t help themselves, he’d seen their like before. His first job was to separate those that were the victims from those that were the abusers; those being worked to pay off trumped up charge debts by people sworn to protect and serve. There were genuine perverts, the kind that hung around the City’s parks and toilets. Loners that would make a liaison with another man for sex with scarce a word passing between them. Bohemians, artists, writers, poets, actors, all struggling to sell themselves and using the excuse that the experience broadened the mind, but what they wanted was the money. Homosexuals and lesbians; others for the hell of it. The population of New York could barely afford food let alone art. The interesting ones — and where his job would be quickly finished for he needed to get back to Sarah — were the face shielders, for these were the ones with highly regarded reputations and professions to match. Elected representatives, government officials, doctors, lawyers, and the top brass police. For this was where corruption was born.

  * * *

  They were all finished by midday the next and Frank passed his findings to deputy director Nathan Claypole.

  As to the contents of Frank’s findings that would be either sacked or disgraced was Cardinal Carlos y Xavier from Mexico, an Episcopalian minister — not together; the captain Flanagan from the New York Police department; Earl Rothbury, all the way from England; three high ranking businessmen; an architect working on the new civic amenity complex; a hit-man from the mob, that the Bureau had been after for some time, a borough president; a Rabbi; and of course half a dozen or so young prostitutes that were being, for want of a better word blackmailed into a profession that syphilis would guarantee an early death release. These were the only ones, apart from the good people of New York to have been advantaged by the raid organised by the newly formed Bureau of Investigation (section: Obscene); and whose statements and information traded for immunity (he’d accepted Rabbi Michael Levin’s reasons for involvement after his story of some enlightenment for the moment), from prosecution would decimate the New York police department and all corridors leading to the Mayor – rule 4: for a while, but not for ever.

  Frank and his team were congratulated on a job well done and commended at the inquiry for their unstinting application to duty in a difficult and intimidating environment.

  With typical brass neck the Hon. James Walker tried for re-election until President Roosevelt had a quiet word in his ear the result of which led the said Mayor to settle for early retirement back in Ireland with a small fortune from the city coffers and an Indian girl old enough to be his granddaughter to warm his bed.

  * * *

  Frank had gone back to his hotel room where he took off the chain mail body armour, his round-rimmed plain glass spectacles, his theatrical moustache, and wig. Showered, dressed and rang Charlie at his home to tell Sarah that he would be home the following morning. He dined with some of the other agents before turning in.

  * * *

  In the morning he dressed, breakfasted, packed his bag and checked out. It was a bright sunny Manhattan morning when he walked out of the Belvedere. Stopping briefly on the top step he looked up at the sky, took a deep breath before being gunned down dead by a lone sniper from the building opposite.

  An orthodox Jewish man walked up to the still body and unseen put a buff envelope in Frank Weinberg’s inside jacket pocket, stood up and shrugged to a police officer that was running over to see what had happened, then walked on.

  PART TWO

  CHAPTER 8 – 1950

  And the Lord said unto Satan, Whence comest thou?

  Then Satan answered the Lord, and said, From going to and fro in the earth, and from walking up and down in it.

  JUDAEA-CHRISTIAN BIBLE, JOB, CH.1, V,7

  Professor Angus Paul felt a little silly being called Brother. But he had aspired to the Order of the Most Divine Third Circle since he had first been approached by Dr. Allan Georgos, its membership and doctrines explained coupled with his own ideas made sense. They after all had wanted him. And they didn’t scoff at his research ideas, putting money in when his grants had been withdrawn. So, in spite of this uncomfortable nomenclature, he could live with it.

  He’d been warned that there could be a price to pay for what they knew; but he could live with that as well. For the window to another world had its blinds tilted; the light would be of an infinitesimal importance to the elite of the scientific order — their order — which would be bestowed, and if any good was to come of it, the evil that was shading the light had to be removed. The risks had been intimated, there had been previous attempts. But he was prepared. Satan’s world was not so easily conquered. After all apart from his academic qualifications he had been a serving officer during the war in Europe.

  Joining the Special Airborne Corp (Sabotage) he had spent two years learning the craft of planting explosives under ships, in harbours and in buildings. His education automatically qualified him as a captain where he was seconded to a British special diving unit where he was to take charge. He distinguished himself by leading them onto a beach known as Omaha on D-Day; clearing a path through the anti landing craft obstacles the night before with the loss of only half his men had been an achievement in itself. The expectation had been zero.

  He cr
acked his skull falling backwards against a girder that he was cutting; trapping himself under water. His men tried desperately to release him under a hail of machine gun fire from the beach. After holding his breath for two and a half minutes, freed him from an appalling way to die. After securing his release, suffering concussion and tunnel vision, he carried on with the job in hand. His was the maintenance of single mindedness of purpose.

  He had been schooled and in his time he would school. If nothing was added to what was known, that was to be the way of it. As one of the Brothers it would be his brief to direct its accomplishments and carry out a programme of securing its investigation to the exclusion of all but those involved. The other man knew that he would do that, whatever the danger.

  Of course there would be others eager to taboo his ideas and those of the organisation, he would recognise them without being told; their knowledge might shine like a beacon in the more established scientific community but it would have to be extinguished making way for the spiritual. It would fall to him to test Frederic Spannocs. There could be no other way, so Johnson had explained to him, it had been tried, the numbers just got bigger — the task more dangerous.

  The two men knelt as Johnson whispered a silent creed, while the other pondered his responsibility for the smooth entrance of the one known as God’s Keeper: the Resurrectionist. To be prepared for this to happen in his lifetime, as others had in theirs. For the Order of the Most Divine Third Circle was the most exclusive of religious orders with scientists at the cutting edge of knowledge and technology with absolute authority in their chosen fields. Although small in number, they were powerful and formidable, with people in high places to support them. Their doctrines founded at the time of the crucifixion of Christ, when it was first believed that the Christ seen in the Garden of Gethsemane was not Him but the Resurrectionist — Jesus being nothing to do with the Son of God, but an emissary, like others, that had appeared down the centuries. Further to that, the Order believed that the rising of the soul of the dead would take them to a higher plane, but only those selected. As for judgement day, forget it. If man was not judged on earth he would not be judged in heaven. And He, no more concerned with earth’s problems than man with that of his fellow. Their doctrine taught there were many creators whose dominion was a sector of a dimension. The most important dimension, that of the Third Circle, the spiritual dimension that would bring them to Him. And all that, according to the other man would come from their Order and their Resurrectionist would need to be landed through the death of Satan’s student to finalise their understanding.

  Johnson got to his feet. ‘We must maintain the rightful possession, you do understand don’t you, be under no other illusion, there can be no going back.’

  He still felt awkward. ‘Yes, Brother.’

  ‘God will go with you.’

  * * *

  The elder brother went on his way leaving Prof. Angus Paul still on his knees. Changing out of his robes he left the building via the underground car park’s lift; got into his car and drove the interstate highway non-stop for one hundred and fifty miles. Turning west at Malaka’s Corner he ignored the main interstate continuation into New Mexico; instead taking a turn that had no directional signs but which after a quarter mile ended at a building boarded in bright red lettering of Venus extra bold condensed lower case, its office title: administrative (annexe ii-38) section pen.gov.

  Fading into his own risen cloud of dust and darkness of the underground car lot he stopped the car, got out, and went to a lift gate; pushed a perforated card into a slot, pulled it out and stepped into the opening gate of an arrived lift and pushed a button.

  He stepped out onto the fifth floor, walked the long corridor to his office like a man possessed of the spirit of Oliver Cromwell.

  Nathaniel Johnson was one and equal of two most powerful men in the dark corridors of the United States’ government in a department that had no name, no known master that he was aware, and was as far removed from the bogus Order of the Divine Third Circle that he had founded, as it was possible to get, but not its aim! For he carried a terrible dilemma. Should he allow Prof. Angus Paul to attempt the assassination of the man that was as near to being Satan on earth as it was possible to be; and the flux for the Creator’s existence? Daniel Sullivan agreed and persuaded him. ‘If he is the one, he’ll survive.’

  * * *

  That Director Franklin Lomax of the FBI asked Charlie O’Hare to look into a directive that had come down from above to interview Dr. Allan Georgos regarding the activities of Prof. Angus Paul was not a little coincidental. After all, Charlie still worked for Lomax, though beyond retirement. To Charlie it was all just another assignment even if he were David Weinberg’s boss.

  Charlie met Dr. Allan Georgos years before on another matter at an office within the University of Iowa and was immediately struck with the man. An Irish American (one generation removed) from County Kerry; and like his own family had immigrated at the same time. Although greatly more educated than Charlie — he’d been sent to University by his family to study theology with a view to going into the priesthood. But like many people in their lives, finish up doing something completely different — taught it instead of performing it.

  Dr. Allan Georgos had met Prof. Angus Paul at a debate in 1948 on the role of ecumenical direction v university responsibility. The motion not being resolved they had argued ever since, but had remained firm friends until:

  * * *

  ‘He was formerly known at the University of Iowa, where he was a Nobel candidate for his work on gene structures. What his work lacked however, was his workings essential to a theory that there was an additional and invisible strand running down the double helix. Coming to the conclusion that everything in nature was for a reason and that the two additional strands he had first contemplated could, after all not easily be reasoned by his peers, so he temporarily dropped the idea. His theory, however, had not escaped everyone. At a party with others of his kind he had got a little worse for wear with drink and fell into the company of the young students. Like other elder academics, and with female company to impress, inadvertently laid out his theories. Thinking that they would treat them as mischief he dismissed any ideas that they would in any part take him seriously. Which, for the most part they didn’t. Except: there’s always one, isn’t there?

  ‘A talented mathematician who’d won a major sponsorship award for adding to some theorem on twin primes, approached him saying that he had been excited by his work. Paul said that he was only playing with young exploring minds and that he should not take him too seriously. The young mathematician not to be outdone went on to say that he was also working on a mathematical solution to the theory of a single strand and that pooling their research resources they could deepen the knowledge. Prof. Paul dismissed the young mathematician saying that he could find no reason for nature to have jumped to such an evolutionary advancement. Man is a complex animal that had evolved to where he was for his own survival: nothing else.

  ‘Until the young mathematician had come along he was quite happy to put his theory on the backburner. He was re-thinking. Had he thought of the possibility that these strands were invisibly connected to the brain stem and were capable of being plugged into a higher entity, like our creator; and like a spare socket at the back of a wireless set was waiting to be used by those that knew how? After all, he went on to say, if you think about it man has nothing else to evolve to. His survival, excepting from his own kind, was assured.

  ‘His work with the young mathematician and the subsequent article in Time Life — which the young man bowed out from after its publication; giving all credit to Prof. Paul — was naturally, the last nail in his academic coffin. Asked to resign the University fellowship. He would not and went on to call them dinosaurs and philistines. They were, surprisingly sympathetic to him after such an outburst; although surprised that someone of his eminence could purport such preposterous theories, reiterating that talking and pub
lishing such matters without proof was not only irresponsible but dangerous, they were to dismiss him.

  ‘I pleaded with them to give him the benefit of the doubt. I had after all known him a number of years. And sitting on the board of governors I was in a strong position; persuaded them that he was a good lecturer and should be kept on; using the excuse that during a trip to India he had joined in a baptism ceremony for Our Lady of Assumption; picked up a parasitic worm through one of his body’s orifices. This had settled on his brain. He still had all his faculties it was that he became difficult; wouldn’t and couldn’t be shifted from his intransigence — but was in the main harmless and would get over it. They didn’t and it didn’t and: