The men broke into laughter, which ebbed quickly into a cheerless silence.
“It is always difficult for a prodigal son to utter the first words to a welcoming father,” said the Reverend. “And knowing he has been forgiven only makes it harder.”
“It’s pretty much the way you put it.”
“The last time we met I recall you were in the police force.”
“You have a good memory, Reverend. I still am.”
“May I ask if your job is part of the reason?”
“Everything.” John polished his face wearily in his hands. “I can’t get out of it and I can’t really speak about it. Nothing else would give me that kind of insurance for Ginn and Fanny.”
“It’s hard,” the Reverend agreed. “And I’m not talking you out of it as long as it’s legitimate. Render unto Caesar what’s Caesar’s, and to God what is God’s. You are doing a beautiful thing for your family.”
“Thank you,” said John. “Ginn told me you’ve got two sons yourself.”
“Missionaries,” the Reverend replied. “They have families in Delhi and Bangalore. Both are earning peanuts but the Lord provides.”
John smiled with him, nodding. “I admire your passion. It’s a small church, so I don’t suppose we give much in offerings.”
“It works better,” said the Reverend. “I prefer many small churches to a large one; that way you get to know your church more intimately. Money’s not such a big thing once you learn to live humbly. It’s actually quite liberating.”
“Just the other day,” John said, thumbing across his shoulder at an imaginary person, “a colleague told me he spent thirty-K on a wine appreciation trip to a Grand Crux vineyard in Bordeaux,” he interrupted himself with a laugh. “I didn’t tell him I spent thirty-K on Fanny’s fourth surgery.
“Another told me about the northern lights he saw at Ivalo, Finland. That’s his third vacation in a year. He went to Santorini in spring and the Bahamas in summer. Ginn reminded me last week that we haven’t been to the cinema in three years.”
The Reverend listened.
“The faith is inside me.” John bit his lower lip in careful thought. “I know it all comes to that at the end—faith alone, however you try to reason. I have no qualms in accepting the love Christ has for me but I can’t stop myself from questioning. Why us? Why Fanny?” John exhaled lengthily. “I overcame my doubts, Reverend. But I can’t overcome my bitterness.”
The Reverend spent a moment in thought before he spoke. “Ginn is a very wise woman. There are things in life that bring out the unseen strength in people. It is such strength that stirs and inspires courage and hope, and above all these people reflect a love that the world doesn’t recognise. There are those who think we’re comforting ourselves by saying such things but seriously what do they know?”
“If I had the choice I’d gladly give this strength to others,” said John.
“It is a profound subject, Bowen,” said the Reverend. “People think they rule fate by making choices; they think they must always be allowed to choose even though they don’t have a clue how their life will turn out or how it must end. But you can do something about it while you’re at it. In that way you can’t blame everything on a predestined life. It’s like being assured of your salvation and not being complacent about it.
“Instead you work at it because you know it has to be that way, because you know about gratitude. When it comes to predestination you either condemn yourself right from the beginning or work the best out of uncertainties.”
“Working out your salvation.” John surprised himself with his ability to conjure a vague memory of it. “Philippians.”
“With fear and trembling,” the Reverend added approvingly. “Philippians two-twelve. It’s about being certain of what you’ve been assured of.”
“With my family and the job I have I don’t know what I’m assured of anymore.”
The Reverend regarded John with a tilt of his head and an air of paternal fondness. “I see tons of courage and strength in you, Bowen. You keep going despite the odds; a day, a minute, a second at a time, never expecting too much and hoping for nothing in return except an assurance of joy at the end of everything. The one who spurns such simple faith as religious nonsense will never learn of its strength. And the one who lives by it touches hearts and souls. Believe me. I’ve seen so many.”
John gave a contemplative nod. “Thank you, Reverend.”
“Now with your permission, Bowen, allow me pray to with you.”
John adjusts a spherical device at the corner of Landon’s bedroom where the walls and ceiling meet. One of the components of his surveillance system that disperses a nano-cloud around the property, allowing John to remotely scan every detail of any intruders within a half-mile search radius.
The bedroom is poorly lit from the single bulb. He surveys the room and studies the old bookshelf from which he had nicked a journal on his first night here. It holds Landon’s collected consciousness, saved on ink and paper. And that consciousness contains the answers to many secrets if one knows where to look. It suddenly occurs to him that whoever left the message had wanted him to know that CODEX might have already found what it was looking for.
He comes down the ladder to find Landon crouching by his poster bed, lighting his kerosene lamp. The wavering flame throws strange shadows across his face. The filmy curtains by the shuttered window sway to a night breeze that carries the scent of rain.
“The whole place could go up in flame with that,” says John.
“I don’t know why you’re doing this if you’re not staying.” Landon carefully replaces the glass vitrine. “Where will you be when they go off? I’d be long dead by then.”
“Someone will be here.” John rummages through his backpack, replaces a few coils of wiring, and starts running diagnostics on his egg-shaped chromium device. It is now lit with many colours, and a part of it bleeds into a touchpad with numbers and dials.
“I recall someone pricking my finger with that thing,” says Landon.
John looks up at him. “What did he look like?”
“Burly fellow. Think he’s got a bad eye. Sorry, can’t remember beyond that.”
John holds up the chromium egg as if to scan the air around him. “Whoever possesses this thing is a CODEX operative,” he says. “It means someone else has made contact.”
“From the Other Side?”
“Possibly.”
“What is it?”
“An omnicron.” John answers. The smallness of the device makes him look like a hunched ogre in the shadowy illumination.
“It records everything within a sphere of influence—like a black box. Chronicles events three-dimensionally through a nanocloud that picks up unseen details a video recording doesn’t, like the stuff in pockets and whoever’s standing behind you, around you. Serum technology.”
“How exactly does the Serum work?”
“It embeds itself in the host body and alters its cellular composition. Then it starts a morphological process that spreads like a cancer. But instead of killing you it renews your cellular composition and ends up slowing the ageing process.”
Landon stares at the glimmering piece. “You could make good money with it.”
John puts away the omnicron. “With the right programming the Serum has been observed to reverse the effects of many deadly ailments. Cancers, tumours, you name it. If I had the choice I’d put my daughter through the trials. But it’s so hushed up we can’t roll out its medical benefits despite knowing about them.”
“What happened to your daughter?”
“Neuroblastoma.”
“What’s that?”
“Check it up on the internet.” John makes it clear from his tone that the conversation ends here.