by Alan Baxter
Isiah sent his thoughts into Samuel’s mind, looking for the old man they were talking about. It wasn’t long before he had plucked the image of the evil sorcerer from Samuel’s memory, including where to find him. He was going to have to deal with that old bastard before he got to any more people like Samuel. It didn’t bear thinking about, what that old man might have made Samuel into.
He changed the subject. ‘How long will that spell keep Lucifer tied up?’
‘Well, it just spins him out really, sends him home. But it confuses his orientation for a while too. The couple of times I’ve used it before has given me an hour or two at least before he starts to get close again. When I’ve got that much time it’s been easy to disappear, make him start all over again. It annoys the shit out of him.’ Samuel chuckled, impressed by his abilities.
‘You have all the makings of the coward and the bully, Samuel. You piss yourself in fear while he’s there, yet chat like you don’t give a damn when he’s far away. You’re all talk.’
Samuel laughed. ‘Not all talk, Isiah. Where is he now, huh? I can stand up for myself when I have to.’
‘Which is what makes you such a risk to everybody’s safety.’
‘Whatever. We’ve got an hour or so at least.’
‘Which is plenty of time to get to the next church. We’ve still got twenty four hours or so to kill though. Make sure it’s just time you kill at this place all right?’
‘I’ll do my best.’
Carlos heard the engine of Marco’s jeep over the chattering jungle. As the jeep bounced into sight he raised his bottle in salutation. Marco raised his own in reply, skidded the jeep to a halt, jumped out smiling.
‘Good to see you, Carlos. You been away a while this time.’
Carlos swung down from his hammock, catching Marco in a rough embrace. ‘Yeah. Long story. How are you?’
Marco shrugged. ‘Can’t complain really, there’s plenty of work just now. I could use your skills if you’re available.’
Carlos grinned. ‘That would be very nice, but I have something to attend to first. Did you bring the night-glasses?’
Marco hefted a vinyl travel bag slung over his shoulder. ‘In here, my friend. Where’s Rat?’
Carlos laughed. ‘Sleeping off a rough hangover. He’s getting soft, I think!’
Rat’s rough, slurry voice floated through the screen door of his house. ‘Fuck you, Carlos.’ He staggered out into the bright, sticky day, rubbing his eyes. ‘How’s it going Marco?’
Marco shook his offered hand. ‘Pretty good. You look like shit.’
‘Thanks. Give me that.’ He took Marco’s bottle, pulled a long swig. He winced as he handed it back. ‘Ah, that’s slightly better than the rough piss I have.’
‘There’s a couple more in the jeep. You want to go inside?’
‘Shit, yeah. It’s cooler and a lot less bright.’
Inside they slumped on various chairs, began passing the bottle around. Marco reached into his bag, bringing out the dark green glasses. ‘You know how they work?’
Carlos nodded, slipping them on, pulling the strap back over his head. He adjusted the lenses as he looked around the gloomy room, checking their clarity. ‘Pretty trick equipment, Marco. These should serve me well.’
‘You better believe it,’ Marco enthused. ‘Man, you’ll see like a cat in the darkest places. The last sentry I had to deal with was staring right at me as I snuck up to him and slit his throat.’ He laughed, guttural. ‘I could do with getting them back when you’re through with them.’
‘No problem. I may not need them, but they’ll be useful to have around. I’ll get them back to you in a few days.’
‘When are you leaving?’
‘Early tomorrow, I have to get up north. It’s only a couple of days work. What would you have for me when I get back? My funds are running low.’
Marco grinned, rubbing his hands together. ‘We have a little operation going on just by the Honduran border. I have a team working it right now, but there’s a little counter assignment, good for one man that works well alone. You’d be just right for what we need.’
Carlos raised an eyebrow. He liked Marco. He saw in Marco a lot of the same qualities that he was proud of having himself. A certain pride in his own ability, a love of the work. Marco had been around too, seen a lot. Just like Carlos, Marco was a professional and proud of it. Things would be a lot different if Marco had come along on that last job rather than Karl the idiot German. Better still if no one else had come along. Carlos would never work with anyone else again. And now Marco was lining up one man work for him. Perfect. ‘Assassination?’ he asked, his eyes glittering.
Marco smiled like a cat. ‘Like I said, just right for a man of your talents.’ He reached into the top pocket of his cutoff combat jacket, pulled out a slightly bent joint. He gently pressed it back into shape. ‘Care to lighten your mind while we discuss it?’
Carlos smiled as Marco lit the joint, drawing deeply then passing it on. He settled back as he let the smoke soak deep into his lungs. Ah, it’s good to be back in the fold.
Katherine Bailey breathed a sigh of relief as the jeep she shared with Thomas Drake and the man known simply as Juan pulled to a halt outside a collection of rough shacks at the edge of the archaeological site. It had been a long, rough ride. She felt as though all her bones had been shaken loose. Poor Thomas must feel it worse than I do at his age. He looked remarkably unperturbed however. That was an indication of his general demeanour anyway. He was a very placid man.
She thanked Juan and let Thomas help her down from the jeep. ‘So here we are then,’ he said, smiling, looking around in the rapidly gathering gloom of evening. ‘Pretty easy, wouldn’t you say?’
Katherine smiled back at him. ‘No doubt you’re going to put that down to divine intervention.’
Thomas laughed quietly. ‘Well, it really was quite a coincidence to meet someone at Flores that was coming to this very site, and was prepared to give us a lift, don’t you think. Maybe it’s the power of the skulls, drawing you to them. Perhaps you have a destiny inextricably linked with theirs.’
His smile was teasing, daring her into a debate of the subject. The opportunity was lost, however, as a small, grey haired man approached. Katherine recognised him as Pedro Sanchez, curator of the museum, personal financier of this little project. She was fairly sure that he would not recognise her as they had never formally met. She knew him from her visits to the museum, studying before a trip. He looked at them with a mixture of curiosity and wariness as they stepped up to greet him.
‘Can I help you?’ he asked. ‘I am in charge here. Pedro Sanchez.’
Thomas and Katherine shook his hand in turn, then Katherine said, ‘My name is Katherine Bailey. I work for an American publication, One World Magazine. I’m a reporter.’ She gestured towards Thomas. ‘This is Thomas Drake, my photographer.’ Thomas raised a surprised eyebrow, but said nothing.
Sanchez nodded slowly. ‘A reporter? And how can I help you exactly?’
Katherine took a deep breath, Here we go. ‘Well, I am aware that you have uncovered here a site of considerable importance. I would like to make you an offer to let me cover the story, exclusively for One World.’
Sanchez’ lips were pursed. ‘How exactly are you aware of our site?’
‘I really can’t reveal my sources, Senor Sanchez, but we have travelled a long way to get here, and can make you a very reasonable offer. You are personally financing this endeavour, I believe.’
Sanchez’ face showed his surprise, but he controlled it well. ‘I find your level of knowledge regarding this endeavour, as you put it, and my part in it, disturbing. You have come a long way on an off-chance. I could quite reasonably turn you away.’
Katherine nodded, searching desperately for the right diplomatic path. She could not let on that Jesus had given her the information, or he would lose his job. She refused to be responsible for that. ‘It’s true that you could turn us away,
Senor Sanchez, but I beg you not to. At least hear our offer first. I really can’t reveal any sources of information, but I assure you that no undesirable attention has been, nor will be, placed upon you.’ It sounded ridiculous as she said it, but she couldn’t unsay it now.
Thomas Drake cleared his throat, his usual polite, English way of attracting attention. ‘We are aware that you have uncovered an artefact of ancient origin. Are you aware of the powers of these artefacts?’
Katherine glanced at him in surprise. How would they explain knowing about the skull? She had hoped to weasel her way around that much later. But Thomas had that sort of face that was eminently trustworthy and honest. Maybe he would get away with it.
Sanchez turned to Thomas, his face showing more surprise by the second. ‘The skull?’
Drake nodded sagely. ‘You could say we were drawn here by it. We have been investigating the phenomena at some length.’
Katherine saw his line of attack, chose to back it up with hard cash. ‘We are at liberty to offer you a large monetary reward for the exclusive rights to the story of all the events that unfold here. This is, of course, on top of our personal desire to find out more. We would be willing to help out in any way to make our stay here less of a burden to you and your colleagues.’
Sanchez looked from one of them to the other and back again. ‘I never cease to be amazed at the bizarre chain of events that began when I financed an exploratory search into this area of jungle.’
Katherine swatted a mosquito that had settled on her arm, reached into her bag for more repellent. The heat, humidity and travelling was beginning to tell on her. ‘So, our offer, Senor Sanchez,’ she said.
It took only a few more minutes, and the merest haggling, to reach an agreement. It seemed that Sanchez had accepted that they were going to be here. Katherine thought she recognised the same sense of fate as she had felt when Thomas had asked to accompany her. It was strange, even a little unsettling, but it was getting her the story and that’s all she cared about. But fate? Did she even believe in such a thing?
While they spoke, another man had approached. He stood alongside Sanchez, silent, as their negotiating ended. He wore the robes of a local priest. Sanchez indicated the newcomer. ‘Let me introduce Father Paleros. He joins us for the well being of our spiritual selves and for the benefit of the local men that are working for us.’
Paleros nodded in greeting, shook each of their hands. ‘I am also here on a more earthly mission, as I am a trained nurse. I have worked in a mission hospital for the past two years.’ His English was excellent.
Sanchez smiled. ‘A very useful man to have around.’
‘My name is Katherine Bailey, and this is my associate, Thomas Drake. We have just reached an agreement with Senor Sanchez to cover the story of events here.’
‘Reporters? How intriguing. You must be very tired after your journey.’
Katherine’s shoulders slumped at his words. ‘Absolutely exhausted. I would greatly appreciate a cool drink and somewhere to rest.’
Father Paleros nodded. ‘Well, we are almost all men on this site, up till now, and I am the only person to have a shack to myself, other than Senor Sanchez. It would seem that I must offer my home to you, young lady, or risk considerable upset among the workers!’
‘Oh, I couldn’t kick you out of your home, Father.’
‘But you must. There is a shack at the end here that has only two men in it, with room for six. Mr Drake, would you care to join me there?’
‘That would be splendid, Father Paleros.’ Then to Sanchez, ‘It’s very good of you to put us up so willingly.’
‘Well, it seems that everything is arranged. Father Paleros will show you what few facilities we have.’
With that he turned and headed back toward the collection of shacks. Katherine called her thanks after him before shooting a grin at Drake. ‘Remember to get my camera from me tomorrow,’ she whispered.
Father Paleros led them to his cabin. It was a simple affair, little more than a wooden hut with a cot and side table in it. A candle burned, flickering, on the table. ‘It’s not much, but I’m sure it will suffice. There are field showers in the tents behind this shack and composting toilets in the tents behind those.’
‘Thank you, Father.’
‘Of course.’ Paleros picked up a small bag from beside the bed and a bible from the table. He pointed to a bottle of water under the table. ‘I’ll leave that for you.’ Katherine nodded, smiling her thanks. ‘Well, I’ll leave you to it then. Mr Drake, if you’d care to follow me.’
Drake looked back over his shoulder, winked at Katherine as he stepped out the door. When they had left she took a long draught from the water bottle Paleros had left. It was warm and stale, but good. She looked out the door, trying to see some of the site. In the shadows of evening it was impossible to tell much about it at all. The huts and tents near here were evidence of a considerable number of people. Perhaps this site was bigger than she had anticipated.
The heat, even this late in the day, was oppressive and damp. Humid. The jungle buzzed, whistled, chimed, a thousand different sounds from a thousand different, unknown sources. Insects zoomed and weaved around, desperate for the dim light of the candle. There was a rough mosquito net over the small bed and, though it was riddled with holes ten times the size of the biggest mosquito, she was thankful for small mercies. She closed the door before any more night denizens could invade her temporary home.
With a soft sigh she reached into her travel bag and pulled out her wallet, smooth and shiny with use. Opening the wallet flat she looked at a picture of herself and Peter from one of those computer photo booths, where you pick a background and huddle in front of the screen. Sixteen tiny sticky backed photos for a few bucks. Peter had stuck one in his wallet and insisted she stick one in hers. She looked at herself, grinning foolishly over Peter’s shoulder, his smile one of genuine and honest joy. She remembered how full she had been the day this was taken, bloated from the most fabulous meal that Peter had bought her. Then he took her to a noisy, neon amusement arcade and challenged her to race him around Silverstone in a touring car. He was such a lovable idiot. The pictures had been his idea too. Well, here I am in the depths of the stinking hot jungle, Peter, and I have no idea what might happen next. So far it’s been more bizarre than I anticipated. She brought her wallet to her lips and kissed the tiny picture, collapsed onto the bed and blew out the candle.
Isiah pushed open the heavy wooden door of a large, gothic church. It was an enormous building, spires and gargoyles, like something from Gotham City. The gloomy evening cast long, velvet shadows. He looked inside. No light, no movement. His senses told him that no one was around. He let his mind wander further, checking the back, the vestry. No one. That was better than he had hoped for. He stepped into the echoing church, still and cool, assuming Samuel would follow him.
Inside it was dark, the slightest watery light seeping in through high stained glass windows all that prevented it from being pitch. Samuel sat next to Isiah on the front pew, once more taking their accustomed waiting positions.
‘You’d think it would be a little more exciting than sitting around for hours in a church, wouldn’t you,’ Samuel said.
Isiah turned, his eyes dark, flat. ‘What?’
Samuel cleared his throat. ‘You know, running from the Devil and all that. It just seems to be a lot of sitting around.’
Isiah looked away again, his eyes wandering over the altar, white and purple and gold. ‘Is that why you decided to liven things up a bit last time?’
Samuel made an uncomfortable noise. ‘Look, man, I’m sorry about that, all right. I just get a little panicky when the Devil wanders into somewhere that you said was safe.’
Isiah raised his hand, cutting off any further explanation. ‘Let it drop. Like I said, I can handle things. You just sit still and shut up and leave it all to me. You interfere again, I’ll kill you myself. Clear?’
‘Clear,’ Samuel
said quietly. ‘How come we’re safe in a church?’
‘Because the power of God is interlinked with that of the devil and the belief of their followers. You believe in the sanctuary of the church don’t you, Samuel?’
‘Yeah, I guess, though I don’t really know why.’
Isiah sighed. ‘Very few people know why they believe anything. That’s half the trouble.’
‘Why do you keep on about belief? You wave that word around like a flag.’
Isiah, still staring thoughtfully ahead, said, ‘It’s the basis of everything.’
‘What do you mean, man? Explain yourself.’
Isiah turned very slowly to face Samuel, his eyes drilling into Sam’s. ‘You really want to know? You’ll really listen?’
‘Sure, man. It seems important enough to you.’
‘You probably won’t understand, or you might simply refuse to believe, but I may as well try. I think your destiny is pretty well set anyway.’ Isiah knew that Samuel assumed his destiny was immortality. Let him carry on believing that. It would water down anything else he might begin to have faith in. ‘Belief is the most powerful human ability in existence,’ he began. ‘It’s the very foundation of everything people do. You didn’t understand when I said it was a shame that you believed you needed blood to make your magic work.’
‘I do need blood. It’s blood magic.’
Isiah shook his head. ‘No. That’s the problem. People that originally developed those powers needed something to believe in, something to substantiate what they were doing. They decided that it would only work with copious bloodshed. It seemed to fit with the image they were developing. That old sorcerer used the same hook on you.’
‘So I could cast the same spell without the blood, the killing?’
‘Of course. The magic is there all the time, it’s an energy that is always present in everything around us. It flows through everything. How you harness that power is governed by your beliefs.’
Samuel laughed. ‘Fuck, man, you sound like Yoda. What is this, “The Force”?’
‘That’s as good a name for it as anything else. Just understand that there is an energy that forms the entire universe and everything in it. Every single thing you see, including yourself, is simply a part of the whole. You are just another random collection of particles that that energy has thrown together. Your consciousness is simply a part of the consciousness of the whole. You can draw on that as much as you like, if you believe that you can. Unfortunately, you believe that you can only do it with blood and murder and bizarre incantations. Which says a lot about your personal psychology, don’t you think?’
