A Handicap of the Devil? (26 page)

"We need to find some way to debunk this fellow and his disciples before they cause any more disruption and annoyance. The scene in the mall the other day was disgraceful."

The premier and his spin-doctors would never forgive the people who destroyed the launch of the party's social welfare policy for the election. Instead of the media leading with

PREMIER PROMISES PENSIONER BENEFITS:

they got:

RIOT IN MALL

Apart from stealing the thunder of his election announcement, a disturbance on the streets was a smack in the eye for a government that had run on:

TOUGHER STAND ON LAW AND ORDER

in its last three campaigns.

This was a fact the opposition leader and his party had been quick to exploit. “After nine years of the present government, what have we got? Riots in the streets. Pensioners punched up and trampled in the mall. Religious fanatics running riot.” The opposition leader had waxed as eloquent as he was able in interview after interview, and so had every member of his party. The premier felt vulnerable. The premier felt as though the winds of change were a-blowin’ and the backbench loomed large.

The premier shuffled the notes in front of him and found difficulty finding what he wanted. He decided to speak extempore—or to wing it, as he himself described it. His eyes assumed the slightly glazed look they took on whenever he had to speak from the heart or mind without notes or an auto cue to guide him. At times like these, people felt as though he was not in the same room as they were, and his media coaches had advised him against the practice. There was no choice, as the notes he needed seemed to be missing.

"Well ... err ... what are we going to do about it, that's what I'd like to know. We can't have these people going around performing mayhem.” The premier paused, as that last bit didn't sound quite right. His press secretary saved the day by shuffling the notes on the desk and finding the right place. He continued in more confident vein.

"It has to be nipped in the bud. It must be stopped right now, and the reason I've called you all together this afternoon is to have a brainstorm with you. I'm sure that with the best brains in the state, we can formulate a strategy.” He deliberately looked away from the opposition leader as he said the words
best brains in the state
.

This was not lost on the opposition leader, who seized the opportunity afforded by a slight pause in the premier's delivery, to clear his throat, rise to his feet, and bellow, “Hear hear, we've gotta stop this rot.” He then sat down just as quickly as he had stood and squinted, as if off-into-a-hot-sun-out-there-on-the-vast-limitless-plain. This was a look that had won him many votes in the bush.

The premier was so startled by this unexpected outburst and show of support that he was put completely off his stride. “Err ... yes ... quite ... what's next?” He shuffled the papers once again.

The press secretary saved once more. “What the premier wants to do now is to have a general discussion about the issue and see if we can't come to some agreed course of action. A course of action that will bring credit on us all and not frighten the populace or give anyone the idea that we are...” he giggled slightly, “...in any way curtailing anyone's right to free speech. This chap is capable of causing much dislocation and distress if people start believing his claptrap."

"Hear hear, right on.” The opposition leader clapped, and the premier and his press secretary withered him with a look.

Everyone began speaking at the same time, and the press secretary raised his hands to call a halt. The hubbub subsided. “I'll chair the meeting, and it will help if you address your questions and comments through me. That way everyone will get a go and we'll have some order.” The press secretary was standing in a safe seat at the forthcoming election, and reckoned he was a fair chance for a cabinet post. He also saw himself as a future leader of the party and state premier. Right now he saw a raised hand down the table and indicated the man had the floor. It was the Catholic Archbishop.

"I think it's up to the premier to bring in legislation outlawing false doctrine. There ought to be a law against heresy.” He glared at the Anglican bishop as he banged his fist on the table, causing water jugs, glasses, pens and bowls of mints to jump which emphasised his point.

"Hear hear,” cried the opposition leader, thumping on the table in sympathy.

The Anglican eminence got the nod from the chair. “Yes, a law against heresy.” Sarcasm dripped from every word. “Are we not forgetting a little matter of the separation of church and state?"

It was a point the premier hadn't considered, and he was about to draw the opposition leader's fire by agreeing with the prospect. He quickly changed tack. “Gentlemen, gentlemen, can we keep these internecine disputes for other forums?” The premier was seeking to wrest control of the meeting back from his press secretary whose political ambitions the premier well understood. “Let's consider a concrete course of action. Who's next?"

The press secretary wasn't having any. “Yes, next please. Raise your hands. The Police Commissioner."

The commissioner was a portly grey man. Grey-faced, grey-haired and with greyness about the way he spoke and thought. He seemed to carry a pall of greyness about him wherever he went. He stood, stoop shouldered and favouring his left leg—the legacy of a bullet wound to his right when he was a young Detective Constable. He glared at the assemblage from under his Police Commissioner's hat, which he habitually wore whether indoors or out during every on-duty moment.

"There are two outstanding warrants for this bloke,” he said greyly. “One for handing out pamphlets in the mall without a permit and another for causing a disturbance of the peace at the pensioner's rally. I could send a car to pick him up when he tries his walking on water lark."

"Good idea,” smirked the opposition leader. “Toss him in gaol and throw away the key. That'll teach the bugger."

A leading businessman, whose interests extended clandestinely into prostitution, drug smuggling and gun running to warring Pacific nations, took the floor, “That's not the way. We risk turning him into a martyr if we do that. Imagine the civil liberties idiots having a field day—'I disagree with what you say, but will defend to the death your right to say it'—and all that nonsense."

Jones P. senior was a worried man. So far he had said nothing, but he had been worried since he received Marcie's phone call inviting him to the banks of the Murray to see Jonathan perform his miracle. What if he really could do it? What if Jonathan proved that he was a messenger from God? What if a great religious revival sprang from this one act by one man? Where then his dreams of power—of total power over all of his fellow beings in the world? Where then
The Legal Rulers Society?
Now he rose to his feet without bothering to seek leave from the chair. “I say he must be stopped and hang the do-gooders. We can't have people blaspheming all over the place.” He looked for and received support from the religious leaders. “We can't have these people running loose, creating mayhem, causing affray and disorder in the streets. Surely our Police Commissioner here can think of other more serious charges that might arise from the incident in the mall? How about sedition for a start?"

The Police Commissioner shook his grey head and greyly stood, “No, we'd never make sedition stick and as for any other charges I might formulate ... well.... “He paused and thought greyly before continuing. “It's not so much the problem of finding new or more serious charges; it's the magistrates and judges we have in this town. I can put him in the dock, but those bastards are just as likely to slap him on the wrist, tickle him on the bum and put him straight back on the street again.” He glared at the premier. “It would be a different story if the judiciary got some clear and stern direction from the government in the form of legislation directing them to bring down tough sentences, but that doesn't happen.” The Police Commissioner was two months from his pension and for the first time in his career could really say what he thought.

"Now wait a minute...” glared the premier, but he was cut off in mid-sentence.

"Let him hang himself.” Joanne Knight from the Courier was a powerful speaker. “Let him hang himself, I say. Here's this man claims to have risen from the dead after having a tête-à-tête with God, and also claims he has walked on water and can do it again on demand. Well I say let him try. Give this idiot the rope to hang himself with, and let's all be there when he fails. That way the premier can address any misguided idiots who go there to watch and can debunk the whole thing. Give him his head and he'll lose it."

There was a general hubbub of agreement and disagreement in the room. Joanne's voice rose above it, “I don't have all day to sit around planning how to stop some idiot causing problems. If you take this course of action, then you scotch him for good."

The head of state tourism was on his feet immediately. “I disagree. If we give him his head then what happens? Lots of people will be there to see how he goes. It will be a media circus, and our state can do without the negative publicity we will get from having loonies on the loose. It will harm our image."

"Yes, it will,” Jones P. senior agreed. “Besides, if this Goodfellow fellow has broken any law, large or small, then he must be brought to justice. What about his followers? They caused the riot in the mall. Run them all in. This Mablegrove woman must be brought to heel. She's on your staff. Can't you talk to her?"

Big Jim nodded. “She's a top journalist, and she's always been steady up to now. I can't work out why she's taking on this bloke's cause. He must be very persuasive. I'll talk to her again and try to sort her out."

"I think it's too late for that.” The premier tapped his teeth with his pen. “This thing is getting out of hand. Whatever the outcome, let's get the police to bring them in and bring them to book a couple of days before Goodfellow is due to walk on water. That will disrupt proceedings and keep the T.V. and radio people from committing any crews to the show."

"While we have them in cells, I can get some of our more persuasive staff members to have a little word in their ears about stopping what they're up to.” The Police Commissioner smiled greyly. “This Mablegrove woman seems to be doing the lion's share of the organisation. Someone should explain the career problems for journalists who lose credibility."

Big Jim made a mental note to tell Marcie to disappear for a while if the meeting decided to arrest them. He thought her foolish for the course she had taken but didn't want her in gaol over it. Besides, having her as an insider with Goodfellow and company gave her the edge on everyone else. Whatever else this second coming campaign was, it was certainly newsworthy. Everyone was talking about it, and it was on the front pages and was the lead item for a lot of T.V. and radio news broadcasts.

"Right.” The premier used his most decisive voice. “It's time we moved to a vote on this. We all know the problem, and it seems we have to move one of two ways. Option one is arrest and incarceration and attempt to disrupt their media campaign over this walking-on-water stunt. That way we limit damage to our reputation, nationally and internationally. Option two, we let them go ahead, and I make a speech after they fail pointing out how ludicrous the whole event has been. Perhaps I might take a gentle shot at the media for reporting it in such detail?” He winked at Big Jim and Joanne to soften the blow. He couldn't afford to have the media offside during an election campaign. Neither of them winked back.

The opposition leader saw a chance to score a point. “Hang on, how can we arrest the buggers if we don't know where they are?"

"We know where they are alright. Don't you worry about that. They're on a derelict houseboat just south of Murray Bridge.” The Police Commissioner had ways and means of locating people that had often to do with mobile phones. These devices can pinpoint the whereabouts of anybody at any time if switched on, as Marcie's usually was. So were the mobile phones of several people in the room who would find out about this to their cost in days to come.

One of the two staff members who stood at the back of the room came forward and distributed voting slips. The other staff member collected the slips as they were marked and delivered them to the premier. The press secretary acted first and quickly picked them up and began to count them.

"Tell me the result and I'll do the announcement,” hissed the premier as an aside. Everybody in the room heard it.

The press secretary, who was unaware that his chances of a place on the front bench after the forthcoming election had just nose dived to zero after his actions this afternoon, smiled grimly and said, “Of course, Mister Premier.” He scribbled the result on his pad and passed it to the premier.

"Nine for option One and five for option Two. At this juncture I instruct the Police Commissioner to arrange for the immediate arrest of Goodfellow and his cohorts."

The Police Commissioner, who had spent some years as a naval officer before resigning to enter the police force, stood, saluted, about-turned in a very military manner and marched from the room. One of the staff members hastened to beat him to the door. She flung it open, allowing the commissioner to march right out of the room and execute a military-style left turn. He marched greyly out of sight in a most impressive manner.

The meeting broke up. Big Jim hastened to the privacy of his car in the car park. He rang Marcie on her cell phone and informed her of the imminent arrest of herself and the others.

Jones P. senior repaired quickly back to his office. He used his scrambler phone to ring a trusted cohort on another scrambler phone. Jones P. senior had another solution in mind for Jonathan Goodfellow and his disciples. A final one. Things had gone too far, and he couldn't take the chance that just possibly God had ordained that Jonathan could use miracles to convince people of his bona fides. He knew that the police bureaucracy would take some time to swear out warrants and get a task force together to execute those warrants. When the police did arrive at the houseboat, Jones P. senior intended that they should find a heap of burnt remains and a note telling of a group suicide.