Centurion: Mark's Gospel as a Thriller (10 page)

I don't like these brothers very much.

These men know Maria; they share bonds and memories I'm not privy to. The thought of it drives me wild, which I know is unreasonable. But I can't help it. I've never felt this way before.

These men are so ecstatic to see Maria that I recognize at once how inexplicably bound to this ragtag team she is. I'm clearly not the only man who understands her value. This sets off an alarm in my head, but I do my best to ignore it.

The men file past me, one by one, and introduce themselves. They're kind and polite, each man saying he's been eager to meet me. I'm taken aback by their enthusiasm—and their knowledge of me—and can offer only a simple "Thank you" in return. I try to keep up with the names, but beyond Miles and Jude, I catch only a "John" and a "Lucas."

Miles greets me with a bear hug. "I see you've met our Maria!" he practically screams. He sets me down and wags a long finger. "Behave yourself with her, young man. We're quite the protective group of big brothers. She's our
princesa,
and we're her
caballeros.
Isn't that right, boys?"

The men cheer in affirmation.

Jude has waited to greet me last. We shake hands firmly. He leans close to my ear and whispers, "What in the name of the gods was that stunt about?"

Through clenched teeth I say, "I reacted to the situation. It's not like you gave me time to prepare."

"I told you to walk out of the bank, not start a war in the streets. You could have gotten us both killed."

"I did what I thought was best. Are they searching for Maria and me?"

Jude pulls away. Up ahead the group has begun to drift farther into the park. Maria has joined them, walking arm in arm with one of the guys whose name I can't remember. We move slowly in their direction but linger back so we can speak in private.

"No," Jude says. "I told the bank manager about your parents. Explained that you're a distraught kid who's already being watched closely by the Kingdom. Lucky for you, I convinced him not to file a report with your supervisor at the Office of Record. I had to call in all my favors to avoid it. You broke that guard's nose. The other one has a concussion, says he barely remembers what happened."

"Thank you," I say.

"Men have been hanged for much less than you did today."

"I know."

"If you're going to survive long enough to get this war off the ground, you'll have to be smarter. No more flying off the handle. There's ample time for fighting. You'll get your revenge. But for now you must be patient. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Good."

"Did the guard say anything about the gun?" I ask him.

Jude stops walking. "Did he
see
the gun?"

I nod. "I hit him with it. That's how he got the concussion. It was our only chance out of there."

"Lord have mercy," Jude says, wiping something invisible from the corners of his mouth.

"I threatened him," I confess. "I told him if he breathed a word, I would come for him."

Jude's eyes search me. "You're a feisty one, aren't you?" He chuckles. "Your father chose well."

"Chose?"
I say.

"The guard is a pathetically fearful man—not much of a spine in that one. If he hasn't mentioned it by now, he probably won't. He's probably faking the amnesia, which is a smart move on his part."

"He knew I wasn't bluffing. He'll be happy never to see my face again."

"I think you're right about that, but I'll keep an eye on him nonetheless." Jude spits and says, "Now listen. This is important. Does Maria know about the gun?"

"Yes."

"OK," he says softly, the wheels in his head spinning fast. "I'll talk with her about it. Not everyone is on board with our method. This group..." Jude waves his hand at the men in front of us. "These men are a mixed bag. Some aren't convinced yet about the war."

"Why not?"

"They believe there's another way to freedom."

"Maria mentioned this ridiculous notion. She isn't too keen on the idea herself."

Jude rolls his eyes. "Tell me about it. Just keep the gun to yourself, OK? Mention it to no one else."

"Fine. What's this supposed other way?"

"It's the Teacher," Jude says dismissively. "He puts all these ideas in everyone's heads. Has them thinking all sorts of things, getting people confused about the war."

"But he's a Southerner?"

"Yes, and he wants freedom for his people, but he goes about it in the strangest ways. Some days I'm convinced he'll lead the battle charge himself. Other times I feel he detests the very notion of war. It's a mess, and it's incredibly distracting." Jude spits again. "Whatever. What's important is that you're here now. The men are buzzing to meet you."

"The men? I thought I just met them."

Jude shakes his head. "You met the students. Now it's time to meet the men." He arches an eyebrow. "Or...I should say,
your
men."

We find the group lounging near a small lake, passing a bottle of wine and a basket of rye bread. My stomach rumbles at the sight of food, reminding me I haven't eaten since long before sunrise.

Maria is on the ground next to Miles, and she waves me over when she sees me. The brothers take notice, and I swell with pride.

Yes, you may have known her longer, but I'm the one she just kissed. I'm the one she wants at her side.
An elementary level of pride consumes me.
She wants me. Which means she doesn't want you.

Jude says, "Wait. We need to discuss the money."

"What about it?"

"Your little stunt will make a large transfer significantly more challenging. You're a marked man—no more flying under the radar."

"Tell me something I don't know. I'm beginning to think I was marked long before I arrived in the South."

"Not like this. I'll be shocked if there's not an audit requested on you in the morning. The red flags are everywhere."

"But it's
my
money," I say. "I can do with it what I want."

Jude laughs as one of the men passes him the wine. He tips the bottle to his lips and says, "And King Charles has me over for tea on Sundays." He takes a long pull on the bottle and passes it to me. I take a sip and pass the bottle to the guy standing closest, a tall man with tree-trunk arms and curly blond hair. He snatches the bottle and drains the rest of it, drawing groans from the others. The curly-haired man laughs and promises to find more. He promptly hops up to make good on the offer.

"What's his story?" I ask Jude.

Through a yawn he says, "They call him 'Petra.'"

"Rock?"

Jude nods. "A nickname the Teacher gave him. The guy's a real beating. but he's on our side, which is good. Petra's the kind of man who can make life difficult when you don't see eye to eye with him. But as long as he's with us, he'll do more than carry his weight. He's as fearless as they come, a natural-born leader."

"We'll need men like that." I lower my voice and add, "So what do we do about the money?"

"I'm not sure, but whatever we do must happen sooner than later. We can't sit on this. If we wait too long, the money will be gone."

"Come on. The Kingdom can't just steal my money."

"How'd that work out for your parents?"

Jude's words hit me like a shot to the gut.

"I'm sorry," he says, exasperated. "But they took your parents, OK? They can do whatever they want, Deacon. You need to get that through your skull. These people don't mess around.
They make people disappear.
Money is a total no-brainer for them."

I think for a long moment before saying, "I'll come back to the bank tomorrow and withdraw all of it. There's got to be somewhere else we can stash it."

"Out of the question. You can never step foot in the bank again. Those guards may not be members of the Centurion Guard, but that doesn't make them teddy bears. You got the jump on them once. It won't happen again."

"Then how can I get the money if I can't go to the bank?"

"By proxy," Jude says. "You can authorize someone else to access your account."

"How would I do that?"

"Not easily. You'll have to return to the Office of Record and make the request with your supervisor."

"That's out of the question."

"Why?"

"Because my supervisor is a psycho."

"You can't be serious."

"As a heart attack. She nearly choked me to death."

A few of the students have noticed our conference and are now craning their heads to get a better look at us.

"Calm down," Jude says. "None of this will be easy, but you'll have to keep your emotions in check. Otherwise you're already dead."

"Fine," I say. "But don't be surprised if I don't make it out of that building."

"I have faith in you."

Maria calls out to me. "Deacon! Stop acting so serious, and come sit with me."

"Go tomorrow," Jude orders. "First thing in the morning, and tell her to add my name to the account."

"You? But won't that be suspicious? I was thinking Maria ought to be the one."

"No. It has to be me. Maria won't understand. And I'm not sure I trust her."

"You can trust Maria," I say defensively. "If there's one thing I know, it's that she can be trusted."

Jude glares at Maria then me. "Not the time to go falling in love, kid."

"That's not your concern."

"In the morning." Jude says, eyeing Maria. Then he looks at me. "...make the request. My last name is Iscariot. I'll secure the funds, and we'll rally the men and make the necessary procurements."

"When can I meet them?"

"Tomorrow night."

"How many are there?"

Jude smiles. "Many. I'll let the precise number be a surprise, but rest assured that we have enough to make a serious assault."

The mere thought of this enthralls me—Southerners willing and armed to do battle with the Kingdom. "I can't wait to join their ranks," I say. "I just hope I'm ready to play my role—whatever it may be."

Jude issues an anxious breath of air. "You'll play your role; trust me. Now go to her." He flicks his chin toward Maria. "While you still can."

settle down next to Maria and replay the conversation with Jude in my head. The man knows more than he's letting on, but he's guided me well so far, which leads me to believe he can be trusted. After all, my father trusted him.

My father's wealth remains the most unfathomable of mysteries to me. Where did this money come from? He and my mother barely had enough to send me away to school. It doesn't make sense.

But Jude is the one with the answers.

The bread comes around, and Maria and I both take large slices that have been soaked in almond butter. I inhale the first slice and immediately ask Miles for another. He hands the basket to me and says, "Be careful with that one."

"Who? Jude?"

"He's a hawk," Miles says, his trademark smile gone.

Through a mouthful of bread, I say, "Aren't we all?"

"Yes, but we can also be diplomatic. There are many paths for the revolution. We can't rush anything."

"He's not," I say. "As far as I can tell, he's the only one with a plan—at least one he's willing to share."

"Just be careful. Keep your mind open. He isn't the only voice worth listening to."

I shove another piece of bread in my mouth and say, "I'll listen to anyone, as long as they're willing to fight."

Maria pokes her head between us. "No more scheming today," she says. "It's all so exhausting. The sun is down, and it is time for peace. So...let us have peace."

Miles laughs in agreement. "Yes...and look! Petra has found the Teacher."

"And more wine!" Maria says.

I look up to find two men walking slowly toward us. The curly-haired Petra marches proudly, holding gigantic bottles of red wine in each hand. He raises them like trophies above his head, and the group cheers in reply. More wine!

Beside Petra is a slightly built man with dark skin and short-cropped black hair. He's dressed simply, in dark trousers and a black T-shirt. Petra walks with such exuberance that the smaller man is practically absorbed into his energy. If I weren't intentionally looking for the Teacher, I don't think I would have noticed him at all. As they approach I regard the Teacher further and discover his face to be completely unremarkable. He's neither handsome nor unattractive. For a man of such fame, I expected more.