Centurion: Mark's Gospel as a Thriller (5 page)

Another rush of adrenaline explodes in my brain. "Loaded?" I say, astonished at the savage thought—at the reality that I'm holding a tool capable of doling out death. With one pull of this trigger, I could...I've never experienced such a high, such a rush of unadulterated possibility. I feel dizzy.

"Yes," Jude says. "Loaded. There are nine bullets in the clip waiting to be pumped into Kingdom sympathizers."

I lower the gun. "You're part of the resistance?"

Jude flinches. "This room isn't monitored, but it's best if we say nothing more."

He collects box forty from the table and returns it to its cubbyhole in the wall. As he slides the box into place, he says, "It's illegal for me to allow someone to retrieve contraband from a safe-deposit box. The penalty for storing is
minimal but not for allowing retrieval. Should I, or any other bank employee, permit someone to leave these premises with a banned object, the punishment would be death—for you and me." Jude locks the box in the wall. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"I do. But I don't understand why or how this—"

He walks back toward me. "If we stay in this room any longer, it'll raise suspicion. I can answer most of your questions but not now. Right now you need to ensure this gun is hidden when you walk through the lobby."

I take the gun and shove it down the back of my pants and pull my jacket over it, like I've seen outlaws do in the old movies. I turn my back to Jude for inspection.

"Not bad," he says. "Just be sure to hold it securely when you start running."

More adrenaline floods my blood. "Why would I be running?"

"Because there's something I haven't told you."

Jude moves decisively for the door.

"What?" I say. "What haven't you told me?"

"Time to go."

"Jude, what haven't you told me?"

"When you walk out of the bank, the metal detector will sound. But I'm not worried, because you'll get a good jump on the guards."

"The alarm will go off!"

Jude nods. "Yes, of course. Weapons aren't allowed inside the bank. But fortunately for you, the alarm is basically our only line of defense. I don't think you'll have any problem escaping."

Escaping.
The word hits me hard and fast. "But what about the guards?"

Jude waves his hand as if swatting a bee. "Centurion rejects. Total incompetents. You'll be out the door before the alarm sounds, which will give you the head start you'll need. Since you'll be leaving the bank, the guards won't give chase beyond a few yards. They'll worry it's a trap designed to lure them away from their posts. I'll reassure the guards and my manager that you took nothing from the box, as it was already empty, and then I'll volunteer to file the official report to the Office of Record, which I'll forget to do. That should be the end of it. Just a false alarm. Nothing more and nothing less.
Happens all the time. The Kingdom won't pay much attention to a small bank alarm in Oxford."

The word
escape
bangs around in my head. Half an hour ago, a madwoman was strangling me, and now I'm being asked to smuggle contraband from a Kingdom bank. If my stay in the South keeps up this frenetic pace, I'll be dead before sunset.

I examine Jude carefully. He appears trustworthy...sort of. He seems to have all the answers, but something about him unsettles me, though I can't put my finger on it. If this is an elaborate trap, he's done a convincing job. Perhaps that's exactly what this is—a ruse to have me arrested. Put a gun in my hand, then take me down. My stomach drops at the thought.

"How do I know I can trust you?"

Jude looks me dead in the eyes. "You don't."

"Then why should I?"

"What other choice do you have?"

"I can put the gun back in the safe-deposit box and pretend this conversation never happened," I tell him. "Or I can put this gun to your head and pull the trigger."

"And then what?"

"Do what I came home to do."

"And you're prepared to shoot your way out of here?"

"I'm prepared to do whatever it takes to see the Kingdom overthrown."

Jude sighs. "Do you know how difficult it is to secure a gun in the South?"

I nod, which is a lie. I have no idea.

"That gun gives you power," Jude says. "The real kind."

"To do what? Take on the Centurion Guard with a single handgun and nine bullets? That's ridiculous."

Jude rolls his eyes. "There's so much you don't understand. That gun is your entry into the game. With that gun and your money...don't you see, Deacon? This is the beginning. Right here and right now. The true beginning of the final resistance, the one that will break the Kingdom's back."

"I don't know what you're talking about. All of this...it's a lot to absorb. I thought...well, I don't know what I thought."

Jude steps forward and once again places his weird little hand on my shoulder. "I know. That's why I'm asking you to trust me. Get out of here with that gun, and I promise your questions will be answered. The hopes of an entire people will die right here and now if you're unwilling to take this next step. The South needs you, Deacon." He laughs darkly.
"I
need you."

A voice screams in my head, telling me that if I walk out the bank door with a gun, I won't live to see any of what Jude is talking about. The alarm will sound and that will be the end.

This is a suicide mission.

But another voice tells me this is the moment I've waited for my whole life. The time has come; my decision is made.

"How do I contact you?"

Jude smiles. "You don't. I'll find you."

"How?"

"You're scheduled to meet Miles tonight, correct?"

I arch my eyebrows. "How did you.?"

"See you at the park."

Jude winks and opens the vault door.

his is the first near-death experience of my life, and so far I hate it. My heart races as I follow Jude out from the safe-deposit room, down the hallway, and back through the red door that leads directly into the bank lobby. Once there, we find two armed men who now have legal cause to arrest me and send me north to the camps or, if Dr. Stone is so inclined, have me shot.

But I'd never be that lucky. From what I know of Dr. Stone, she'd opt for a hanging, which is far more dramatic. And she'd hope my neck wouldn't break so I'd suffer a slow, agonizing death by asphyxiation. I imagine wrapping my hands around
her
neck.

The lunch hour is over, and the lobby is all but empty. Two people are waiting in line for the teller, but other than that, the bank is deserted—except for the guards of course. The steady hum of the airconditioner registers too loudly in my ears. No music plays in the background.

The two guards in the lobby sport Kingdom police uniforms and stand on either side of the bank's doors. Both men brandish guns on their hips, and both glare at Jude and me. Or maybe it's just me?

Jude turns to me and, in an exaggerated voice, says, "I'm sorry we couldn't be of further assistance to you today, Mr. Larsen. But I hope this disappointment won't deter you from continuing to bank with us. We'd hate to lose your business." He smiles and reaches to shake my hand. I smile blankly at him and offer a flimsy shake in return. My legs are noodles, and my stomach feels queasy as we approach the door.

I hold Jude's hand for a moment too long and say, "No problem at all."

I release my sweaty palm and step between the two guards, one of whom moves to open the door for me. He swings the door wide, smiles tightly, and says, "Good afternoon, young man."

"Thanks," I stutter.

There's nothing to do now but walk through the open door. But the rare gesture of kindness from the guard isn't a fortuitous thing. When the alarm sounds, he'll be within reaching distance of me. There's no way for me to slip out the door without him snatching hold of me.

But I have no other option. I swallow hard and walk through the door.

My shoulder brushes the guard's chest, and he says, "May the gods of our Kingdom protect you."

The words have just left his mouth when my fist shatters his nose.

Blood spews brilliantly from the guard's face, but I'm out the door before a drop of it stains the floor. And then I'm gone.

As I tear away from the bank, the sensation of cartilage crunching beneath my hand sends a fresh round of adrenaline through my veins. It's the first time I've inflicted pain on my enemy. During my training I'd wondered whether I could actually do it. Was it in me to torment another human? Would I be capable of...killing? These questions haunted me. I had countless nightmares of traveling home only to discover I was born a coward.

But now I'm baptized, with blood on my hands to prove it.

A dry smile rolls across my face as my legs carry me to safety, or to wherever it is I'm headed.
I've joined the fight! I'm
not a coward. Quite the contrary, I'm a violent man. I feel it deep in my bones.

I make a hard turn and slide around a dusty street corner, taking a moment to look behind me. Jude was wrong. Both guards have given chase. We're separated by less than a hundred yards. Either man could easily gun me down. I consider drawing my weapon and firing at them. The mantra "Kill or be killed" flashes brightly across my brain.

I'm in a full sprint when my brain registers the howl of the bank's alarm. It screams an ear-deafening call to arms for any Kingdom centurion who hears it. This is when the gravity of what I've done sinks in, working to erase the rush of adrenaline. There's no way for me to escape Oxford. Even if I manage to kill both of these men, more will come for me. I've committed one of the most severe crimes—defiance of authority. If that isn't bad enough, if they arrest me, they'll discover my gun. For that offense I'll be assured the slowest and most
painful of Kingdom deaths—death on a cross. Getting shot or hanged sounds like a vacation by comparison.

These truths hit me like a cold bucket of water, and my legs fold beneath my body. As I tumble forward, concrete rips the skin off my outstretched hands before my chin collides with the ground and splits wide open.

But the truth burns far worse than the gash on my chin. I've attacked a Kingdom guard...and I'll be executed.

Searing pain fires from my chin into the back of my jaw. But there's no time to afford myself a moment of pity. I use my bloody hands to scramble back to my feet and keep running hard and fast, willing my body to find one final gear of speed.

The streets and the people on them are a blur. The siren wails. The guards close in. I'm a strong runner, but the adrenaline has my heart beating entirely too fast for me to find a sustainable pace. My lungs cry out for oxygen, demanding my legs slow down. A dagger-like pain cuts jaggedly across my chest. My legs are gassed. It's only a matter of seconds before they give out and I'll be back on the ground.

I'm slowing down. My body is crashing. There will be no escape.

I look behind me. There's now only one guard in pursuit, and it's not the one I struck in the face.
Good. If I'm going to die today, at least I made one of them suffer.
This cruel thought gives me a surprising amount of joy in my last moments.

That's when the guard gets down to business. A shot rings out, and the whoosh of a bullet screams past my ear. I hit the ground. In a panic I flip my aching body over and meet the end of a steel barrel.

"Freeze! Don't move!" The guard comes closer and kicks my inner thigh with a tremendous amount of force. "Roll onto your stomach, and place your hands on your back.
Slowly"

I do precisely as he says, resting my bloody hands on top of the gun I've concealed beneath my jacket. The guard's boots click-clack against the concrete as he circles me. He speaks breathlessly into his radio, calling for backup. I have only seconds to react.

I make my move the moment he gets close to my legs and not a second later. Kicking out hard, I sweep his boots from underneath him. An errant
gunshot cracks out, and the guard falls backward, landing hard on the ground. He tries to retrain his weapon on me, but I'm too fast. Like a silver wolf pouncing on prey, I leap on him and jam my knee hard on his throat.