Centurion: Mark's Gospel as a Thriller (4 page)

Jude shakes his head. "No, sir. I'm not saying that at all. I'm saying this money belongs to
you."

I look once more at the messy handwriting and read the number slowly in my head.

777,321.40.

The sheer size of the figure hurts my brain. "But...this is a fortune. There must be some mistake. My parents weren't wealthy. They barely had enough money to pay for—"

"There has been no mistake," Jude says, interrupting me. "You can rest assured of that. Now I believe you're also in possession of a key to the safe-deposit box. Do you have it with you?"

The key! I almost forgot.

"Uh...yeah," I say, digging it from my pocket. "I have it right here."

Jude motions to his right. "If you'll give me a moment, I'll meet you by the red door and accompany you to the vault where your box is located."

I nod and Jude disappears. I snatch the sheet of paper with the monstrous number written on it and shove it deep inside my pocket, where it immediately morphs into a fifty-pound weight. On unsteady legs I shuffle toward the red door. Virtually no thoughts run through my mind as I try to come to grips with the fact that I've just won the lottery.

The paper burns hot and heavy against my leg as I wait.

The red door swings open, and I step from the lobby into a long hallway with brown shag carpet. It's deathly quiet. Jude silently leads me to the end of the hallway and through a secured steel door. We're now standing in a small room lined with safe-deposit boxes from floor to ceiling. The room is brightly lit, and there's no furniture, save for a small wooden table. A constant low hum makes the room feel as if it's buried deep underground.

I'm not afraid of small spaces, but if I were, I imagine this would be a distressing room, as it's roughly the size of an oversize elevator. The humming noise grows louder.

Jude presents me his hands, palms up, and asks for the key. I give it to him, and he retrieves another key from his pocket. "Both are needed to open the box," he clarifies. "But there's one last bit of information I'll need from you."

"What?"

"The password," he says, expectancy once again painted on his freckled face.

"I don't have a password. Just the key."

"The password," Jude says deliberately, "will be given by
you
after I've provided the stimulus."

"The what?" I say.

"The stimulus is a question written by your father. I'll repeat the question, verbatim, to you. Then you'll provide me with the password. If not, the box will remain locked."

"Where's the question?"

Jude points at his temple. "Right here."

"You have it memorized?"

He nods.

"OK," I say. "I'll try...but I can't guarantee I'll know the answer."

Jude grins tightly, and I see sweat beads on his forehead. The man clearly knows something I don't. "Are you ready?"

"I have no idea," I say.

"Don't answer until you're positive you know the correct response. You may only offer one reply. If it's incorrect, I'll immediately usher you out of this vault, and you won't receive another opportunity. These are your father's explicit instructions. So
please,
think carefully before you speak." Jude takes a deep breath. "For what purpose have you come home, my son? Speak openly, for I'm your father, and you're my son. There's nothing you can't tell me."

Jude nods when he's finished reciting the stimulus. It's my turn now.

Hearing the words of my father on a stranger's lips unnerves me, as if I'm hearing his voice from the grave. My emotion, however, is soon replaced with fear as I begin to understand the message. Or at least I think I do. That phrase—"Speak openly, for I'm your father and you're my son"—was our secret code of sorts. Whenever I was upset or angry, my father would say that to me and remind me that I could tell him anything, that I was free to express my deepest thoughts and feelings—no matter how dark.

It's a test,
I think,
but for what?

There's no way my father, the construction laborer, ever could have imagined I would come home for the purpose I have. He was a simple man. He would expect me to grieve his and my mother's death then get on with my life as a doctor. The last thing he'd expect was for me to come home to fight in the resistance. So...is
that
the answer?
Because you died.
That must be it. It's the only reason I'd ever find myself standing here with the key to his safe-deposit box.

I take a shallow breath and open my mouth to speak. The words come slowly. "I've...come home because." I freeze. Something is wrong. I know in my gut this isn't the answer.
This is a test.
If the answer were so obvious, my father would have left me the password in his written will. But he didn't. Which means he wasn't sure what my motives would be.

That's it!

He wants a genuine answer. My father is asking me why I have come. He wants an honest answer. He wants a true answer.

Now my fear turns to panic. If I answer honestly, I'll commit treason in the presence of a bank official. And while the Kingdom hasn't formally seized the banks, they're pretty much under its direct control. Jude could have me sent north for simply uttering the words.

He interrupts my thoughts. "You must finish the sentence. Now."

I probe Jude's eyes.
What sort of man are you?

I start to finish my sentence but find there's a lump in my throat. I swallow. My hands are shaking again. Twice in one day. But this time it's not anger ricocheting through me—it's horror.

My father's voice echoes in my mind.
Speak openly...my son.

My father was a straight talker and an honest man. He wants to know why I've come home. I decide to tell him the truth.

"I have come home...to
fight.
I have come home to avenge your death. I have come home to liberate our people in the name of the one true God."

Jude's eyes widen, as if he's seen a ghost. Then he turns sharply on his heel and hurries over to box number forty and inserts both keys. He returns with the metal box and sets it on the wooden table. I watch as he carefully opens the lid, without looking inside, then backs slowly away from the table. My eyes follow him like a mouse dropped in a snake's cage. He is predator and I am prey.

The words I've uttered are punishable by death. I fully expect Jude to inform me that he'll be contacting the Centurion Guard. Or he'll dash out of the room, which will communicate the same thing. I expect him to do something. But he doesn't. Instead he crosses his arms and nods.

When it's clear he won't immediately condemn me, I approach the table gingerly and ask, "Aren't you supposed to leave me alone to do this sort of thing?"

"Please look inside the box."

He unfolds his arms and settles onto the heels of his feet.
Good.
If he's here with me, then he's not out there telling the Kingdom I should be hanged as a
traitor. I look again at the box. The lid is open, and I discover a piece of black felt on top of the contents. I reach down, lift the cloth, and discover what's inside.

Nothing.

I spin around to face Jude, but he's not where he was moments before. I crane my head and spin around quickly, surveying the tiny room. No Jude—Jude is gone.

"Wait...Jude?"

I look confusedly back at the table.
What am I missing?
I lift the metal box and run my hand along the inside, using my fingers to probe every inch of its contours. The lining is soft and feels like suede, but it's empty as a drum. I turn the box over and shake it in my hands. Nothing falls out. I inspect the bottom, thinking there might be some engraving or other kind of marking or message. But there's nothing. The box is as generic and uniform as it could be. There's simply nothing to discover.

The door behind me opens, and Jude returns.

"I don't get it," I say. "It's empty. Is this some kind of a joke?"

Jude walks purposefully toward me. "Your father knew the Kingdom would come here to inspect his holdings. I assured him the money was safe. The Kingdom's takeover of the banking system isn't yet complete. It would take an executive order from King Charles himself to transfer an individual's funds out of our vault. Safe-deposit boxes, however, are another story. The regulations are far more porous. The reasoning is that safe-deposit boxes—unlike vaults, which store only cash—could be used to hide contraband and are thus subject to search and seizure. Basically the property stored in this room, while safe from private theft, is treated like all other private property, which means the Kingdom can take it whenever it wants."

"I'm sorry, but I have no idea what you're talking about."

Jude puts a hand on my shoulder, and I can't help notice how small his hands are; they're the hands of a young girl. "The item your father left for you is in a different box," he says. "There were, of course, a few belongings
in this original box." Jude points to the table. "But the Centurion Guard seized them, just as your father expected they would."

"Centurions came here? They opened this box? But...how did they know the password?"

Jude laughs and puts his other hand on my opposite shoulder. "The password wasn't for them; it was only meant
for you.
And yes, they came here and demanded to see the box. I showed it to them, and they took the contents with them."

"What was in it?"

"Nothing of value," Jude says casually. He takes his little hands off me and puts them in his pockets, which I appreciate. "A few collectors' coins. I think they were old US currency—quarters and dimes and some other worthless junk. Maybe a few dollar bills? I can't recall. The box was worth a thousand Worlds...at most. Chump change to you, rich boy."

"Why would my father think the Kingdom would come to steal his property?"

"He didn't think—he
knew!
And his prediction was dead-solid perfect."

"My father laid brick for forty years," I say, feeling my blood pressure rise, my body heat rolling out from underneath my collar. I turn away from Jude. "He learned to read and understand basic arithmetic before dropping out of school. My mother had even less of an education. They were simple people. This must be some sort of.
misunderstanding."

"There's a lot you don't know about your parents, Deacon."

I turn around. "Like what?"

"Let's start with your opening the box your father left for you—the real one, the box he wanted you to see, if you were up to it."

"You have the key?"

Jude pulls two small keys from his pocket. "After you gave me the correct password, I had you open the empty box so you'd know I can be trusted."

"I don't know that."

Jude smirks. "You will soon." He walks briskly to the corner of the room and opens box number seven. He retrieves the box, carries it to the table, and
places it next to box forty. He opens it and steps back, just as he did before. "Take a peak," he teases.

I eye Jude suspiciously before approaching the table. Just like before, a black cloth covers the contents. I toss it aside and, in one cataclysmic moment, realize I never knew my father.

Lying peacefully in the safe-deposit box is the most forbidden of all forbidden possessions.

reach inside the box and find a handgun crafted of stainless steel.

This is the first time I've ever touched a gun. I run my fingers along its ridges as a surge of adrenaline springs up my arm and shoots directly into my heart, which responds by pumping furiously inside my chest.

A gun. And it's not in the hands of a centurion. It's been hiding in this box, waiting...for me.

The gun's handle is cold and feels much different than I imagined it would. I slip my fingers around the butt and slide a finger onto the trigger. Then I slowly draw it out of its hiding place.

I raise the contraband in front of me and am surprised by its weight, by how wondrously light the thing is. I extend my arm and imagine what it would be like to aim the barrel at the enemy. My arm shakes, and the gun dances small circles before me.

"Careful," Jude says. "It's loaded."