Authors: Phil Kurthausen
Tags: #Fiction, #Thrillers, #Crime, #Mystery & Detective, #Traditional British
The Pastor was quick. He punched Erasmus hard in the face before he could react. He fell to his knees.
‘Silence, sinner!’ said the Pastor.
‘You should be happy I am giving you the opportunity to enter into the kingdom of heaven. God will look kindly on you for today's actions. You will be a true Christian soldier.’
‘He told you that, did he?’ said Erasmus. He spat out some bloody spit from his mouth. ‘You know voices in your head are a sure sign of schizophrenia.’
The Pastor kicked Erasmus in the arm.
The pain was intense but Erasmus wasn't going to show it to the Pastor. ‘You kick like a girl,’ he said. He steeled himself for another blow.
‘Enough!’ said Bovind, getting to his feet.
‘We have work to do. Pastor, can you show him his equipment?’
‘With pleasure,’ said the Pastor. He walked to a cupboard and removed what looked like a bulletproof vest. Erasmus recognised it for what it really was immediately.
‘Ah, the weapon of choice of religious murders the world over. You really are taking lessons from the worst.’
The Pastor brought the vest over to Erasmus.
‘Put your arms above your head,’ he ordered.
‘You are really going to do this, aren't you?’ said Erasmus, looking directly at Bovind.
‘Remember your family. It is you who is going to do this.’
Erasmus put his arms in the air and the Pastor slipped the vest over his arms and around his torso. He pulled the straps tight.
‘This is explosive packed with ball bearings, enough to kill everything within a radius of 50 m. Here,’ he handed Erasmus a ballpoint pen that was linked by a wire to the vest. ‘The police jammers will require you to manually detonate the bomb. When you get close to Mayor Lynch you press the top of the pen and that arms the bomb, you keep it pressed down until you are close to the target and then you release the button and all your worries in this life, Erasmus, will be gone. Do you understand?’
‘I understand that you two are fucking insane.’
‘The Pastor will take you to the demonstrations now. Remember if you do this, your family go free. Think of Abby.’
Erasmus sucked in a gulp of air. He needed to keep his focus.
‘My family are innocent, and Tomas was innocent. I know what you did. I thought the Third Wave frowned on that sort of behaviour?’
Bovind's tight face seemed to sag. ‘Get him out of here!’ he screamed at the Pastor.
Anthony was going to get a fucking rocket. On the most important day of his career the little shit had gone missing leaving the Mayor to face the crowds alone. He wondered whether Anthony had told Bovind of his plans, no matter if he had, his mind was made up. They could publish all the pictures they liked, they could show him for the he was a cowardly, adulterous drug addict he was. He didn't care. Released from the fear of discovery he felt fifteen years younger. Who knew, maybe he would come out of this with some integrity preserved.
The night before the Mayor had returned Dr Grey's call and had refused his request to come into his office the next day to discuss his biopsy results. The Mayor had felt calm and a peace he rarely knew had descended on him. He had asked to hear the results there and then and the doctor had obliged. He was apologetic but careful to remind the Mayor that his preliminary diagnosis had been subject to the biopsy result. The Mayor had asked him to cut to the chase and he had: there were malignant cells. It was bowel cancer. He would need surgery and chemotherapy. Nothing was certain other than he would have to give up his position during his treatment. The Mayor had thanked Dr Grey and then put down the phone on that part of his life.
The Mayor had slept in his office. He had rung Daphne and told her about Elena. There hadn't been any great drama, she had suspected for a few years and their marriage, like so many, had absorbed the reality of the situation long before it was ever actually discussed. She asked for some time to think and he had agreed. He thought they may separate, maybe not. Tomorrow was a new day and he felt for the first time in years that he could face that day.
He dressed in his best navy blue Ozwald Boateng suit and ironed a shirt. When he was done he looked in the mirror and for the first time in many months he liked what he saw.
The Vicodin box was on the side of the sink. He picked it up. Maybe he could do without today? No, that was tomorrow's battle and he needed a steady nerve today. He ran the tap and filled a glass with water and then swallowed the pill.
Now he was ready.
He rang down to check his car was ready, took a last breath and then left the building to address the marchers.
‘You see the routes of the marches bring the atheists and monkey boys up Mount Pleasant and then they turn right into Hope Street which has been blocked off at the corner of the Philharmonic Pub by the police. Our march is due to come down Mount Pleasant and then they swing a left into Hope Street going the opposite way. Both marches will be addressed by speakers at midday.
‘There will be the usual troublemakers trying to get at each other and the police line will unfortunately disappear due to an order being misunderstood by the commander on the ground.’
The Pastor had a map of the city up on an iPad and his bony fingers traced the streets as he described the routes to Erasmus.
‘One of your men?’ said Erasmus.
The Pastor ignored him.
‘When this happens, fights will break out and in the chaos you will make your way along Hope Street to where the Mayor will be speaking to the faithful. Use this pass to get through his security cordon.’ The Pastor handed him a laminated card. ‘If they stop you, detonate the bomb. It should take him out but we want to make sure so get as close as you can and remember I will be watching you and any deviation from the plan or non-detonation will mean your family dies. Do you understand?’
‘I understand.’
The Pastor opened the door of the car. ‘Go, go and fulfil your destiny.’
Erasmus stepped out of the car and into the surge of a crowd moving uphill.
He looked at the protestors. They were the atheists, humanists and those who just wanted science taught as science not religion. Placards proclaiming ‘It's evolution stupid!’, ‘Fossils, the silver bullet!’ and ‘The Third Wave are Doctor Killers’ were being carried and a song was being sung that had the chorus ‘Keep it at church!’
The mood was good-natured at the moment but Erasmus knew that these things could turn ugly very quickly. A man in a green woolly jumper handed him a leaflet. He took it and then let it drop to the floor.
Erasmus was wearing a heavy overcoat that the Pastor had given him to cover the suicide bomber vest. It wasn't out of place at this time of year but even in the cool air of a November morning he was sweating as the crowd reached the top of Mount Pleasant and turned right at the Everyman Theatre into Hope Street.
At the end of the street there was a line of policemen in riot gear cordoning off any access to the rest of the street. Beyond them Erasmus could see the wooden stage maybe three hundred yards away where the Mayor would be giving his keynote speech.
There was a smaller stage erected before the line of police. It was nothing more than a few crates upon which an elderly man stood shouting into a microphone. This was the secularists’ platform, supposed Erasmus. Promises of an afterlife always attracted more funding. The bigger the promise the more people wanted to get in on it. Ponzi schemes for the faithful.
Erasmus made his way to the front of the crowd and arrived just as the head of the Third Wavers march arrived on the other side of the police line and began streaming towards the larger stage. Either side of the police line the demonstrators surged forward to shout abuse at each other and Erasmus could not help but marvel at the sight of so many ordinary people enraged and eager for violence on either side of the divide. It didn't seem to matter what you believed in, people were united in hatred of each other.
Erasmus was pushed forward by the crowd and had to duck to narrowly avoid being hit by a rather over enthusiastic young constable swinging his baton in front of him to keep the secularists back. He dodged the swinging baton and it hit the man with the green jumper who had given him a leaflet moments earlier. Leaflets went flying like confetti as the man collapsed to the ground.
From the other side of the police lines there were similar scenes as the police struggled to keep both sides apart. The Third Wavers were making monkey noises at the unbelievers, mocking their belief that man was descended from apes.
Erasmus squeezed back against the crowd and took a place at the side of the ramshackle stage. He fingered the trigger device in his pocket. He looked around. He could see no sign of the Pastor or his men but he knew that they were watching. He tried to push any despairing thoughts out of his mind. If he let them take hold he knew panic wouldn't be far behind. He wasn't a believer but Erasmus couldn't help think that he needed a miracle.
Somebody squeezed his arm.
He turned around and came face to a demonstrator whose face was covered by a hoodie, carrying a skateboard. It took a second for Erasmus to realise it was Heather.
‘Raz! How are things with you? Isn't this just the shit?’
The noise of the crowd was deafening and Erasmus had to stoop down to speak to her. ‘Listen, this is urgent. I can't explain but I, my family are in danger and I need your help. Will you help me?’
Heather grinned. ‘I owe you big time. What do you need me to do?’
‘You need to go and get Pete Cross, he will be in the Grapes. You know the Grapes?’
‘Sure, it's only two minutes away down the hill on my board.’
‘It's a matter of life and death, go and get him and bring him to me right away. Tell him to wear a hoodie like yours so his face is covered.’
Erasmus’ life depended on Pete's habits. If he had chosen to go to another pub on a Saturday, or more unlikely, but possible, had decided to engage in some other Saturday activity, then Erasmus would have to detonate the bomb. A choice between innocent people he didn't know and his innocent family was no choice.
‘You got it, Raz!’
Heather dropped her skateboard and took off.
Pete was enjoying what he considered to be the king, the ultimate, in drinks. It was the magic third pint of the early afternoon. The third pint heralded what Pete had read the Greeks called
entheos
, that almost magical feeling of well-being, creativity and looseness. He looked at the golden creamy-headed drink and felt content. Entheos
here I come
, he thought.
A day spent in the Grapes was a day well spent in his humble opinion and today was no different. There was sweet soul music from the stereo in the corner and Cains on draft. What else could he possibly want? Definitely not on the list was a young scally bursting into the pub shouting, ‘Is there a Pete Cross in here?’
He downed his pint and stood up. ‘Who's asking?’
The young girl grabbed him by the arm. ‘I'm Heather. Erasmus needs you. It's a matter of life and death. You need to come with me right away and, oh, and you need to wear a hoodie.’
Dave the barman had been watching proceedings. Without hesitation he pulled off his beer stained green hooded top and handed it to Pete. ‘Der you go, la.’
‘A fucking hoodie. Can today get any worse?’ said Pete.
***
Eramus was getting desperate. At the rear of the police lines he noticed an argument breaking out between two policemen. He assumed that the order had come down to abandon their positions and someone was questioning it.
Chain of command was very rarely successfully challenged. Erasmus reckoned he had maybe two or three minutes top before the junior officer was browbeaten and threatened, before the lines broke and he had to move forward.
From the crowd a large man in a scruffy green hooded jacket approached him. His hood was firmly pulled up over his head and it wasn't until he was right on top of him that Erasmus recognised Pete.
‘Manchester and now hoodies. You owe me big time.’
Erasmus looked away from Pete, back towards the police lines.
‘I can't look as though I'm talking to you, I'm being watched. They've got Abby and Miranda and if I don't detonate this suicide vest and kill the Mayor they are going to kill them.’
‘A fucking suicide bomb? What the fuck is going on, Raz?’
‘Publicity for the Third Wave as martyrs or bombers, it doesn't matter. Bovind wants a religious war, he wants the Third Wave to be at the top of every news agenda and I know too much, I had evidence that Frank Burns didn't kill Tomas that it was Bovind. You have to help me.’
‘ I didn't rat you out, you know that, don't you?’
‘I know and I'm sorry. I didn't realise just how far Bovind could reach. I'm sorry.’
‘OK. What do you want me to do?’
‘This police cordon is about to disappear and I've got to blow up the Mayor. We've got one chance. You need to find the Bovind's men, they're watching me, they will be somewhere high up. If I don't get a signal from you I will have to detonate or they will kill Abby and Miranda.’
In front of them the police line was dispersing. The protestors around him started to cheer and whoop in delight, a man on a loudspeaker appealed for calm. The crowd ignored him and bled into Hope Street towards the Third Wave rally.
‘I have to go, they are watching.’
‘Leave it with me, Raz. I will find them.’
Erasmus gave an almost imperceptible nod of his head.
He was swept along a few feet behind the front row and was able to watch the reactions of the rival demonstrators when they came together. The demonstrators had been happy to scream and abuse each other but now they were face to face there was a pause, a moment when they saw the absurdity of what they were doing, and their civil pretensions kicked in. They hesitated at crossing the line. That is how it played out for a few moments at least. Men and women around him were trading insults with increasing passion, the monkey noises were deafening. And then someone threw a punch and everything went crazy.