Call Me Joe

by Martin Van Es

  The Ukrainian moved forward, sliding a knife from inside his sleeve into the palm of his hand. Years of caution and self-discipline told him that it was unwise to make such a bold move in front of so many witnesses and cameras, but he had slipped up and delayed too many times on this mission. He had to carry out the assignment now, regardless of the extra risks, or he would lose all credibility in the eyes of his employers.

  Fifty-One

  The two friends had talked almost incessantly for nearly twelve hours after Sophie turned up on Alice’s doorstep in the middle of the night in a state of shock. They had analysed Sophie’s feelings for Joe and speculated about Joe’s feelings for her from every angle possible. They had gone from deciding that Sophie should have no more to do with him all the way round to deciding that Sophie should go back to work beside him, regardless of any personal feelings of hurt or betrayal that she might be feeling.

  “This is about the future of mankind,” she had said at one moment, after they had consumed several bottles of wine, “my hurt feelings are hardly relevant.”

  “Maybe now that you have opened his eyes to how you feel,” Alice had suggested, “he will behave differently towards you. Maybe you should just go back and see what he says. I mean, he’s the Son of God, it’s never going to be like a normal relationship.”

  They both slept through the next day and continued talking, and drinking wine, for several nights after that. After going round in the same circles of indecision many times, they decided that if Sophie were to simply turn up at the studio for the leaders’ discussion, as if it was still her job to be at his side, rather than coming as Joe’s partner, it would give him a chance to make amends for whatever hurt he had caused her. Since no one else knew what had transpired between them she was able to get access to the venue as the best-known member of Joe’s inner circle, her all-areas pass getting her automatically waved through by the security staff.

  On the day of the broadcast, she deliberately arrived just as it was about to start, knowing that Joe would be too busy watching the faces on the screens to notice her lurking in the shadows, and within a few minutes she became as transfixed by the paranoid rantings of the various leaders, and the struggles of their desperate translators, as everyone else. As she watched Joe first standing and then sitting serenely at the centre of the studio as the storm raged around him, she felt an overwhelming love for him. It was like a wave lifting her up, washing away all the petty feelings of hurt pride and jealousy that she had experienced after witnessing the scene in the nightclub, and carrying her towards the safety of the shore.

  When he finally lost his temper and extinguished the sun she felt a rush of excitement, aware that she now had a privileged ringside seat at a spectacle that was being arranged by God himself. She felt the same warm glow as the one that swept through her when Joe first revealed his true purpose to the Twelve at the chapel by the lake, but this time it was tinged with a terrible fear at the realisation that the squabbling of the old men on the screens could actually lead to the extinguishing of all life on Earth. She hardly dared breathe as she watched their faces crumbling in panic as Joe remained still and quiet at the centre of the storm. Looking round the studio, she recognised a number of people she had grown close to over the previous weeks, all of them staring at Joe and the screens, none of them paying her any attention.

  A man with a shaved head, beard and thick-framed round glasses stepped forward from the shadows behind her. For a second she thought she didn’t recognise him but something about the way he was moving seemed familiar. It reminded her of the moments backstage, immediately after the broadcast question-and-answer event finished. She tried to work out who he was and had a vague memory of him trying to get close to Joe at the end of the show. He now seemed to be staring at Joe with a particular intensity, as if taking aim, cutting out everything else going on all around, refusing to be distracted by the hysteria of the leaders as they flailed about, trying to cling to at least some of their previous airs of authority. Then she remembered the same stare emanating from the man standing in the shadows in the nightclub. Joe certainly did attract a lot of very obsessive-looking people. She wondered if she was one of them.

  Without thinking why, she followed the man as he moved towards Joe, keeping her eyes on him as she went. He was doing something with his sleeve and then she saw the flash of a knife blade reflecting in the studio lights. Acting purely on instinct she threw herself across the space between them, putting her body between Joe and the knife just as the Ukrainian made his deadly final move. She felt the full force of the blade as it entered her heart.

  There was a few seconds’ delay before anyone else realised that something more immediate than the switching off of the sun or the televised meltdown of the world’s leaders was happening in front of their eyes. The cameras swivelled away from Joe and onto Sophie as she sank first to her knees and then sprawled onto the floor, blood pumping out into a lake around her.

  Realising that he had missed his target, the Ukrainian knew he had no choice other than to abandon the mission and he attempted to vanish into the crowd. Many hands reached out to grab him and pulled him down towards the floor. His foot slipped out from under him and he landed in the pool of blood as the fists and feet of the crowd punched and kicked his prone body, all calmness and reason lost in anger. More people piled into the crowd from behind, all wanting to strike a blow, to show their defiance for anyone who would try to end their moment of hope with violence. The mob, filled with years of pent-up resentment and frustration, didn’t care who he was or why he was doing what he was doing, they just wanted to tear the assassin to pieces.

  “Stop!” Joe commanded as he pushed his way into the crowd and knelt beside the Ukrainian, placing his hand on the man’s blood-soaked hair.

  “Stand up, my son,” he said, helping him to his feet.

  Several of the world leaders were shouting questions out of their screens, wanting to know what was happening, some of them grateful that the world’s attention had been drawn away from them, others resentful of losing the spotlight. The screen from Moscow appeared to have gone blank.

  “I forgive you,” Joe told the Ukrainian, ensuring that the crowd all heard his words.

  Joe went down on his knees in the blood to where Sophie’s body lay. The crowd pulled back out of respect and security men handcuffed the Ukrainian who stared silently at the floor, awaiting an opportunity to dodge his fate.

  Joe cradled Sophie in his arms. Everyone could see that she was already dead as her head rolled loosely against his shoulder, her face as white as an alabaster statue.

  Across the world, people sat in the darkness and stared at whatever screens they had, unable to take in the shock of witnessing a murder taking place. Billions felt as if they knew Sophie personally, as if she were a personal friend. They had seen her next to Joe whenever there were cameras around, almost as if she were their representative in Heaven, an ordinary woman raised up to dwell amongst the gods. Through her obvious adoration of him they had been able to channel their own feelings and now her life had been ended, their most human bond with Joe had been cruelly severed.

  Joe said nothing, merely placing his hand across the wound in her chest and pressing gently. After a few seconds, the blood stopped bubbling through his fingers and the crowd watched in silent awe as a delicate pinkness began to flow back into Sophie’s cheeks.

  The rest of the world watched via the cameras as her lips parted and she took in several gasps of air, her body trembled, and her heart restarted. Joe kissed her gently on the mouth and slowly straightened up with her in his arms, his clothes drenched in her blood. He placed her on her feet, steadying her for a few seconds as she found her balance. Her eyes opened and a small, shy smile flickered across her face.

  As she stood in the middle of the room, holding Joe’s hand and shivering with shock, everyone in the room fell to their knees, the
security men pulling the Ukrainian down with them, forcing him to bow his head and give thanks to God. Sophie draped her arms around Joe’s neck, partly to show her gratitude and her forgiveness for the hurt he had caused her, partly to ask for forgiveness for her own self-centred behaviour and partly to support her trembling legs.

  Having demonstrated his abilities to end the world, Joe allowed the sun to shine once more on the other side of the globe and the leaders’ screens went dark, one by one. None of them could think of anything else they could say that would ever discredit Joe in the eyes of a world which they had, over the years, come to believe was their own personal fiefdom.

  Fifty-Two

  The Ukrainian had always known that the day would eventually come when he would slip up on a job and his career would be over. He knew he had enjoyed more than his fair share of luck over the years and he was more than ready to deal with that eventuality when it arose. He knew exactly the value of the information he held in his memory and he knew who would be the highest potential payers. Now, however, the price he would be haggling over would not just be financial, it would include his life and his freedom.

  He knew all the people who had hired him over the years for a variety of jobs, including for the assassination of Joe, and he was more than happy to exchange that information for a package which included money, freedom and a new identity. Since he had obviously failed to carry out the final mission successfully and would not be paid all that he had been promised, he was going to have to drive a hard bargain. He needed to be sure that he would be able to live as he wanted for the rest of his life.

  Within a few days he had disappeared from sight as far as the public and the media were concerned, and the CIA had all the proof they needed that he had been hired by the Russians for this and many other jobs. They ensured that there was no record that he had also been paid by them for the same job, nor did his contact with the pharmaceutical companies leak out into the public domain. Everyone agreed that it was best if the Russians shouldered all the blame. It was a far more credible story, given their history of arranging political assassinations.

  The Russian President said nothing on the subject. He was not entirely averse to the idea of letting the world believe that he was a dangerous enemy who was willing to do anything to protect the interests of his people, even to the extent of committing murder.

  While the Ukrainian was having his appearance changed by a plastic surgeon, the CIA released their version of the assassination story onto the internet. By the time they had leaked enough of the details for the public to get the picture, the media was already halfway to confirming the whole story through their own sources. While the Russians were seen as the ones who pulled the trigger, it was clear to those who read a little further on the subject that all the leaders had been aware that the plan was being hatched and were happy to turn a blind eye to the ethics of ordering a political assassination of the Son of God.

  The story went global instantly and the security forces in every country realised that the leaders they had sworn to serve could no longer hope to hold on to power and that it was time to switch their allegiances to other places. They too started to leak details of other plans which had been laid to dispose of Joe. They talked of attempts that were made to bribe kitchen staff at the hotel to poison his food and payments to drivers to arrange road accidents. Some of the plans were so ludicrous they simply brought more derision down on the heads of the politicians who ordered them and their security services who went along with them, confirming in the minds of the public that they were being ruled over by an incompetent bunch of old men.

  The Prime Minister of New Zealand, one of the few leaders to escape with her reputation intact, found herself bombarded with calls from other leaders hoping to shore up their crumbling images and wanting to fly to New Zealand in order to be seen with her and with Joe. Most of the approaches went unanswered, while some were refused directly and without explanation. Old world diplomacy no longer held any value when everything was about to change and no one knew who would still be in power in a few hours’ time.

  “Our leaders have been behaving like gangsters,” the anchor man on CNN was saying, “and we have been allowing them to get away with it for years. They have been building up personal fortunes, doing favours for one another, ordering executions, stealing and misusing information, torturing and bombing anyone who disagreed with them, using the armed forces and the central banks to carry out their dirty work for them.”

  His words were being amplified and echoed in a billion tweets and messages.

  “We believe our way is a better way to run the world,” Joe told every journalist who was able to get close enough to ask questions, “but it needs to be a democratic choice. The people of the whole world have to demand that it happens.”

  “What can people do?” he was asked, over and over again.

  “In this digital age it is perfectly possible to arrange a global referendum,” he would reply each time, “with every person voting as to whether they want to continue living as they have done for centuries, or whether they would prefer to follow the new path that I and my apostles have laid out for them.”

  “And where will this path lead us?” the journalists would ask.

  “Towards the creation of a paradise for mankind on Earth. A place where everyone is equal and no one starves or is allowed to live in poverty, a place where there is no more threat of self-inflicted extinction.”

  “And what will happen with all the armies?”

  “Every soldier and sailor must look deep into their own heart,” Joe said, “and decide what they can do that will be most beneficial to the common good. They must put aside their fears, just as they have been trained to do in battle, and do what is right for everyone, not just for the people who pay their wages – be they governments or big corporations.”

  Fifty-Three

  Joe informed the Twelve that he would like to meet them again at Yung’s house. The atmosphere was subdued when he arrived, as if it was just dawning on them that soon it would be confirmed that for the rest of their lives they were going to be responsible for running the world. Dreams and plans and intellectual exercises, which they had been hatching and polishing for years, were actually going to become realities and would be tested in the heat of the real world. They were going to have to oversee the building of new cities, the creation of new legal and financial structures in order to avoid chaos, the re-routing of rivers, the re-stocking of the oceans and the replanting of forests. Above all else, they were going to have to communicate openly and transparently with every citizen on every subject because openness and trust would be paramount. All the necessary social media platforms were already in place for this to happen.

  “My work is done now,” Joe said once they were all gathered in front of Yung’s picture window. “It is now time for you to move forward with all your plans. I believe the world is now ready to pay attention to our agreement based on your SWOT analysis, Simon.”

  Simon nodded his understanding but said nothing.

  “Hugo tells me that there are a lot of rumours online about someone on the inside of this group working with the Ukrainian,” Yung said. “Is that true? Is that the betrayal that you predicted?”

  Silence descended on the room and everyone turned to look at Joe, each of them avoiding everyone else’s eyes.

  “I told you,” Joe said, “I forgive them. No more needs to be said on the subject.”

  “So one of us was leaking information all the time that we were meeting and drawing up plans?” Simon asked. “I think it would be helpful if we knew who it was. It is important that we all trust one another a hundred per cent going forward.”

  “Perhaps the traitor had a good reason for the choices they made,” Joe suggested. “Perhaps they were tricked into it and believed they were making the right choice at the time and then were unable to stop e
vents from unfolding. Perhaps they had no idea what they were actually being asked to do. Perhaps they were caught up in the corruption of the old system and now that things are changing they too will be changing. There are a lot of possibilities which would make it reasonable to forgive them and move on.”

  “I agree with Simon,” Lalit joined in. “We need to know, otherwise there will be a cloud of suspicion hanging over everything we do. How can we all talk openly and honestly with each other if we don’t know that we can trust one another?”

  “But if Joe is willing to forgive them,” Yung said, “perhaps we could too.”

  “How do you forgive someone if you don’t know who they are?” Tanzeel asked.

  “Could we perhaps take collective responsibility for the act?” Minenhle suggested. “After all, that is pretty much what we are advocating for the rest of the world to do.”

  “Is there something you want to confess, Minenhle?” Sofia, the botanist from South America, asked.

  “What do you mean?” Minenhle seemed to rise in her seat, like a cobra about to strike.

  “I’m just saying that I don’t feel inclined to share responsibility for an act of betrayal.” She turned to Joe. “Was it really one of us that allowed the assassin to get that close to you?”

  “When I first started building clinics in Africa” – Amelia spoke so quietly that it was a few moments before some of them realised the importance of her words – “I went to every international organisation that exists, begging for funds. I went to every government in Africa and every former colonial power. All of them told me I was doing great work and that I had their full support. They all wished me luck but none of them offered me any actual assistance, not a single cent.