The Temple (20 page)

The big day came. A triumphant
Jeremiah was strutting around the stadium making last minute
inspections before the crowds were to be admitted. Huge numbers of
people were already queuing outside the gates and he was nervous
that everything should be perfect. He glanced at his watch. Twelve
minutes to admittance.

His mobile phone rang.

“Yes?”

“We’ve got a problem, Master
Jeremiah,” the show manager said. You’d better come down to the
changing rooms.”

“I’ll be right there,” Jeremiah
said with a sense of foreboding.

When he opened the door to the
changing room he was greeted by a horrendous scene that left him
petrified. The floor was covered in vomit and faeces. Opposite the
door stood one of the lead actors clutching his bowels and throwing
up. Suddenly his bowels erupted and a wet brown substance slid down
his legs. The manager spotted Jeremiah and quickly crossed the
room.

“It’s horrible, I don’t know
what to do and…”

In his haste to reach Jeremiah
he slipped on the wet floor and fell flat in the ghastly stinking
liquid that was sloshing about, splashing brown drops all over
Jeremiah’s suit. Jeremiah turned on the spot and fled.

Outside the stadium the crowd
was getting restive. It was twenty minutes after the gates should
have been opened. Some of the people had been waiting for hours and
their patience was wearing very thin. Their feet and legs were
tired and all they wanted was to be let in so they could get to
their seats and watch the show. Then the unthinkable happened.

There was a ring tone on the
loudspeaker system that meant an announcement was to follow. A hush
fell over the crowd.

“Ladies and gentlemen. It is
with great regret that I must inform you that tonight’s show has
been cancelled. Please remain calm and…”

It was the moment Mark had
instructed the Immortals to wait for. They were dressed in ordinary
clothes like any other member of the crowd and stood in different
places. Then they started to chant:

“The show is a cheat! Fuck
Dryvellism!”

They shouted over and over again
and it wasn’t long before the rest of the crowd fell in. The jovial
mood of half an hour before had turned sour. Then someone threw an
empty bottle at the building. It shattered. For a moment everything
was quiet. Then a furious roar gripped the crowd who threw anything
they could lay their hands on and tried to fight their way into the
stadium.

Instead of a wonderful show on
TV the horrified nation watched a pitched battle between an angry
mob and desperate riot police who suddenly found that the people
they had come to protect had suddenly become their enemies. A
pitched battle raged around the main entrance, but in the end the
strong gates defended by riot police were too much for the unarmed
crowd and after more than an hour of fighting that left scores of
people wounded and rushed off in ambulances, the crowd began to
waver and then slowly withdraw from the stadium.

In view of people’s
disappointment the chief of police wisely decided not to make any
arrests.

No one saw or heard of Mark till
the next day when he called Joan.

“Feel like lunch, Joan?”

“Hell, yea, we’ve all been
waiting to hear from you. Where have you been?”

He laughed. “See you at our
usual place at noon, all right?”

When they were all seated Mark
calmly read the menu and placed his order.

“Oh for God’s sake, Mark. How
did you do it?” Cato asked.

He smiled. “It wasn’t that hard,
really. I’ve got a part-time job at the stadium and I have access
to all the food and drinks that are delivered for performers, so I
laced that with laxatives and some other nasty stuff. Nothing
really dangerous, but enough to give anyone who ate the food the
most horrible and uncontrollable diarrhoea and vomiting. You should
have seen the changing room. It was drenched in puke and shit.” He
grinned. “Not bad for a part-time job, eh? Though I suppose I’d
better start looking for a new job now.”

The others stared at him not
sure whether to feel delighted or sickened.

“That’s great, Mark. But you
know what,” Joan said. “I really don’t feel like eating anymore.
See you later.”

She stood up and left the
restaurant.

The fiasco at the stadium meant
that Jeremiah had to refund all entrance and lottery tickets, as
well as the money he got for auctioning the TV rights. Yet at the
same time he had to pay for the stadium and all the celebrities he
had hired. In fact a number of them were even suing him for food
poisoning.

All in all the biggest event of
the year had turned into the biggest fiasco and Jeremiah suddenly
found himself in a situation where he was unable to pay for
everything.

There was speculation in the
media as to whether the food poisoning was due to sabotage or
illness, but in Jeremiah’s mind there was no doubt: “Those cursed
haters. They’re going to pay.”

War

War never takes a wicked man by
chance,

the good man always.

Sophocles, Philoctetes

In the inky black night of a new
moon four men crossed the border and entered the country. The hilly
woodlands they were crossing were at a considerable distance from
the nearest village and the difficult terrain meant that there were
no roads or border guards. The four men had good reason to enter
the country in secret. Not only were they the murderers of Brother
James, who had tried to blackmail Master Jeremiah, but more
importantly they had undergone clandestine military training during
their stay abroad. Each of them was carrying a large heavy rucksack
filled to the brim with explosives, detonators, ammunition and
other deadly tools in the trade of a terrorist, though they saw
themselves as freedom fighters. The names of these four men, who
were about to enter the annals of Dryvellism, were Bohemon,
Tancred, Herman and Richard. To be able to cross the forest in
total darkness they were wearing night vision goggles. An eerie
silence pervaded the land. Only the wind rose at times to cause a
rustling in the leaves that came and went like the ebbing waters of
the sea. Mostly it was so quiet that the only sound they heard was
their own breathing and twigs snapping under their boots. The
little troupe passed by in silence to avoid detection. The going
was slow and arduous and their secret meeting point still a long
way off. Tancred led the way with a compass, his watchful eyes both
on the luminescent dial and on his surroundings to make sure they
kept on the right track and to avoid falling into an ambush. To
guard against the latter the four men were carrying assault rifles
of a foreign make, the kind favoured by terrorists and guerrilla
groups around the world.

After some ten hours of marching
the exhausted men were inwardly begging for the end of their yomp
when far in the east a little grey line on the horizon heralded the
dawn. Not long after the black sky above the forest changed from
black to grey and as light slowly entered the woodland the men were
able to take off their night vision goggles from their tired eyes.
Bohemon gave the hand signal for a short break in which they wolfed
down some sandwiches and coffee from a thermos flask.

A few minutes later they were
back on their feet again. They had to reach their rendezvous point
by a certain time and there was no time to waste. Feeling confident
they marched through a sparsely wooded area, but they were not
alone. A hunter was out early hoping to shoot some of the deer that
had been causing problems to farmers down in one of the valleys. At
first he thought he had spotted the deer when he saw movement in
the undergrowth, but when he peered through the telescopic lens he
soon recognized the men. Curious about what they were doing he kept
watching them until he saw the assault rifles. Their clothes didn’t
look anything like the uniforms border guards wore. He didn’t know
who they were or what they were up to, but armed men in the border
area could only mean trouble. He waited until the group had
vanished between the trees. Then he took out his mobile phone and
informed the police.

Twenty minutes later the men
found a dirt road used by foresters. They turned west and walked
for a few more minutes until they reached their rendezvous point.
Parked on the dirt road was a dark green van that Jeremiah had
bought cheaply second hand. The license plates were stolen from a
vehicle whose owners he knew were away on a trip. Jeremiah was
sitting in the driver’s seat. When he spotted the four men he
opened the door and walked towards them.

“My dear brothers!” he said
delightedly. “It’s been a long time. Welcome home.”

“It’s good to be home, Master
Jeremiah,” Tancred said, “and better still to see you again.”

“Hear, hear,” Richard said. “But
let’s not hang around. I won’t feel safe till we’ve put some
distance between us and the borderlands and besides, we can talk
all we want while we’re on our way.”

“I second that,” Bohemon
said.

“Very well, very well,” Jeremiah
replied. “I have no particular wish to stay here any longer myself.
The sooner we’re on our way to do the Lord’s work, the better. So
without any further ado I suggest we just get going.”

A few minutes later the van
turned off the dirt track onto a pukka road. After rumbling over
the dirt road Jeremiah was happy to put his foot down on the
accelerator and speed off. Moments later flashing lights appeared
in the rear view mirror. Jeremiah cursed.

“How in devil’s name did the
police get here?” he said.

“Never mind how,” Tancred said.
“Just keep going and drive like hell. We’ll see to the rest.”

The police car pursued the
fleeing van and had soon caught up. Tancred watched it through the
rear window. When it was close enough he kicked open the back door,
pointed his assault rifle at the driver and squeezed the trigger.
The rounds shattered the glass and tore through the driver. The
police car veered off the road and disappeared into a ditch.

“Problem solved,” Tancred
grinned and slammed the door shut.

“Let’s hope it stays that way,”
Bohemon grumbled. “I don’t like the way they turned up so quickly
just when we got onto the road. Something’s not right here, I’m
telling you.”

“Trust in the Lord, my dear
Bohemon,” Jeremiah said, “and the Lord will provide. Now don’t you
worry about the police. We’ll be in town soon enough. Everything’s
been arranged and taken care of.”

A few hours later they arrived
at their destination. A grimy old brick building in a part of town
with a very poor reputation. It suited their purposes admirably.
Jeremiah had been able to rent a small flat for cash without any
questions asked or the need to provide identity. It was on the
first floor and at the back of the building a fire escape allowed
for a line of retreat should there be problems at the main
entrance. They got out of the van and while the four men were
grabbing their gear Jeremiah looked down the road. Not far from
where they were he recognized the Jamaica Inn where he was
shanghaied on the night he first met Sycko. “How very curious,” he
said, “that the Lord should bring me back here. There’s still a
bill waiting to be settled in any case.” He turned and led the way
into the block of flats trying to remember the name of the old man
in the Jamaica Inn who had robbed him. They walked upstairs and
Jeremiah opened the door.

“It may not look like much,”
Jeremiah said, “but I think you’ll find that it suits our purposes
perfectly. No one here cares about who you are or what you do.
People keep to themselves and you won’t find anyone here who’s
friendly with the police. In fact the police never venture into
this part of town unless they really have to.”

Herman smiled. “This place is
great. And when I think where we spent the last few months it’s
almost like paradise.”

“Exactly,” Tancred said. “After
living in a cave or sleeping in ditches any place with running
water and a warm bed is great. But even if folks around here keep
to themselves I think it’s better if you leave now, Master
Jeremiah. We can’t risk having the van spotted in this street by
anyone. In fact, it would be best to get rid of it altogether.”

Jeremiah thought for a moment.
“Yes, I suppose you’re right. I’ll be going then and will contact
you through the agreed channel.”

Jeremiah drove the van to a
garage he knew was involved in dodgy businesses and sold it for a
pittance. He removed the stolen license plates and discarded them
into a small river.

The night the four belligerent
monks crossed the border some of the Immortals were celebrating
their success against Jeremiah. In the four days since the show was
cancelled the public mood had soured. The Immortals suddenly found
themselves appreciated again and the media were full of negative
publicity about the temple, Jeremiah and Dryvellism in general.

One of the Immortals had a large
garden where she had invited everyone for a barbecue. Halfway
through the evening and after a few beers Joan climbed onto a
chair.

“My friends,” she called, “brave
hearts do not back down!”

There were loud cheers and
everyone clapped their hands.

“We’ve had a great victory, but
there’s still much to be done. Tonight we celebrate, tomorrow we’ll
redouble our efforts.”

“Three cheers to that,” someone
shouted.

“Hip-hip hurray! Hip-hip hurray!
Hip-hip hurray!” the crowd cheered.

Joan grinned delightedly. “And
you know what, folks, we’ve got a great surprise coming for the
government and that horrid temple. So all of you, have fun tonight
and tomorrow morning make sure to watch the news. If those bastards
think our little evening flash demos are the best we can do then
they’ve got a big shock coming!”