Roskov book 14, p.18
Roskov, Book 14, page 18
‘What problem?’ Ross worried.
‘Some had miraculous recoveries, others displayed no benefit at all, which could mean that the water is Holy Water.’
‘Fuck me.’
‘And … the Vatican held a bottle of water next to the gold crucifix and the cross glowed.’
‘Double fuck me! What … what will they say to the media?’
‘They’ll sing its praises, yes, but not mention the fact that some of their staff are … less than worthy.’
‘That would be a hard conversation to have with a patient. Here’s some Holy Water, but if you had sex with the altar boys it won’t work!’
‘Seems to be just that, at least for the Vatican, water that judges people.’
‘The cured man in Corsica, he was a paramedic all his life.’
‘So he earned his wings then,’ I noted. ‘And when the Vatican makes an announcement then the Mandoch Valley Champagne will go up in price, again.’
‘At ten Euro a bottle we’ll make a killing from it. That would be a hundred million dollar summer trade.’
‘It all helps, because forty percent goes to the Corsican taxpayer.’
‘The coffers are full at the moment, the Prefect happy, money pouring in when usually in the winter it’s pouring out - on road repairs.’
‘And the local council work gangs?’ I asked.
‘Are all flat out busy, working six days a week while they can. Their wives have never been happier.’
Call ended, and Rolf called me on my mobile. ‘I spoke with Stan, and he is still in Corsica with his family. He has been drinking the water in excess and now claims great health – and for the first time in a while he has strong erections.’
I laughed. ‘Good for him, his young wife to be kept happy. The Vatican has seen good results, so too the test subjects in Florida. But … there’s an issue.’
‘What’s that?’ Rolf worried.
‘The Vatican have noticed that some people react very well to the water, on others it has no effect, and … the golden crucifix glows when placed next to the water.’
‘My God, it is Holy Water, it only helps good people.’
‘Might be the case, yes, but we can’t market it like that, and … we’ll have mixed results always, and some complaints.’
‘It will sell well, and for a great deal of money, yet some of the people buying it may well be disappointed, yes,’ he noted.
‘We can send it free to our enemies.’
‘That would be cruel. But yes, we must do that, it will confound them. Oh, your seagull was seen on Swedish news, and they showed the rat and the sparrow as well. You are more popular in the Faroe Islands, again.’
‘I need to go visit the club in Copenhagen.’
‘We visited last week, the family, so we showed our faces and were photographed.’
‘Good, we need to keep putting in appearances. Oh, contact the Italian beds company, a quote for me for a thousand beds delivered to Felixstowe.’
At 5pm David Hutton stepped in. ‘The warehouse site seems suitable, good road connections and plenty of space, so we have the offer in, and we have a company that does the metal sheds like the warehouse in Corsica, quick to raise them.’
‘It will need to be insulated in this country, it’s fucking cold this time of year to be working in a warehouse.’
‘The company said it was two layers with insulation, yes.’
‘Start looking for a warehouse manager and staff. And get Felixstowe sorted in a week, beds will arrive after that.’
‘We spoke with Felixstowe Port and they have the sheds sat ready for us, and can loan us staff if we pay them, they have crews.’
‘Great, local crews are needed. But to start they won’t be that busy.’
‘They can be hired per day or week or month apparently.’
‘That could help us, they can start with the beds. Oh, Mandoch Spring Water is proving to be mixed, some great reactions some … non-reactions.’
He shrugged. ‘Different people with different physiologies, same with other drugs. Oh, Martin got the prototype wristband for pensioners, works well he said.’
‘Find a few willing volunteers and test it quickly, I want to sell it with the alarms. And I want residents in the nursing homes to use them, some may fall down. If someone was undiscovered for days we’d be murdered in the Press.’
‘It would work well in a small apartment, it would set off the call for assistance,’ David noted.
‘We’d want them for Phase Zero as well, and … any pensioner that felt they wanted one. Oh, what happened on Sunday, at Traffic Jam?’
‘It all worked as planned more or less, a few late messages noted.’
‘Late?’
‘We sent the messages to the mobile operators but the devices only received them ten minutes later. Supposed to be thirty seconds later. In the afternoon the messages were quicker, a minute or less.’
‘Let’s go have a look, grab Glen.’
At the Traffic Jam building we found a traffic jam, no parking, so we parked on the street. Inside and past the main gate, we found the building busy.
I noted two police officers with headsets on, both staring up at the main screen. They nodded as I past, many of the offices now containing warm bodies.
Upstairs, I glanced up at the big screen, a few red sections noted for accidents, a few pink sections for slow traffic, we even had blue sections – heavy rain.
In with the two test girls, nice smiles for me, I heard, ‘Warning, M1 Junction 12, heavy rain, traffic slowing both ways.’
I then heard, ‘Update. M25, Junction 13, traffic clear after accident, some delays eastbound.’
‘Seems to be working,’ I told the girls.
‘Had some message delays, but it seems OK today.’
Next door I was introduced to a man from BBC Radio, and his job was to send out messages to various radio stations with updates, not real time messages but summary messages every half hour, for the regional BBC Radio news broadcasts.
The first message had gone out after midday, people listening in as they drove, so we had already started the process of helping the poor old British motorist.
I found Martin walking in. ‘You must be proud of yourself today.’
He blew out. ‘It’s been a long road, starting with just an idea.’
‘I’ll have them pay you a bonus, it’s great to see it working, motoring time saved, and maybe lives saved as well.’
I called the CEO of Northern Logistics. ‘Are you getting what you want from the system?’
‘Yes, it’s working as it was before, just that we now get messages for trucks around the M25, as well as weather updates, and now these gantry warnings of slow traffic.’
‘So there’s nothing left on your wish list…’
‘Fewer stupid drivers, if you can arrange that.’
‘That would be a hard task, yes, since British drivers are born to drive like Italians.’
I sat and listened in, reports of accidents taken and entered to the computer, messages sent out, the main screen updated, and I was proud of what they had done here.
Downstairs, I greeted a senior police officer from The Met. ‘Not come to shoot me?’ I teased.
‘Hope we’ve seen the last of those idiots, the damage done to the force is immeasurable, and morale is shite.’
‘They need to stop closing ranks.’
‘It’s in the blood, to help each other, and bend and break a few rules.’
‘What are you here for?’
‘An assessment, since we want a mini version of this for the M25 and inside. Your people say that we could get just the relevant messages, a different display.’
‘Anything you want, ask, we want to save the motorist all those delays and wasted hours.’
‘Costs the nation billions in wasted hours, trust me.’
‘I’ll ask the Government to part-fund this place, a million a year.’
‘Cheap, damn cheap for what it does.’
‘I’m not out to waste taxpayers’ money.’
‘So … all these local idiots like to shoot at your bullet proof glass?’
‘They do, and get hit in the face.’
‘A 9mm bullet is disfigured and doesn’t bounce back much, but shotgun pellets do bounce. I had a guy fire at me with a shotgun once, in my patrol car, and it bounced off the windscreen well enough, he was not front on or close up - thankfully.’
‘And your view on soft prisons?’
‘Thatcher was a damn fool to let the prisons fall into disrepair, two or three men to a cell designed for one, damn foolish. Your soft prisons can’t come fast enough, and the local bobbies here in Leicester are said to be sat around and not busy now.’
I told him, ‘We took the top one hundred repeat offenders, and we took them off the streets, the same idiots being arrested each week before I came along.’
‘Same everywhere, the same faces, but soon in for a shock around here when you open up more soft prisons.’
‘We’ll have a third one open in weeks, six hundred men.’
‘That should make a difference, yes, wipe the smirks off their faces, it’s been bloody ridiculous these past few years, no one sent to prison unless they kill someone.’
I nodded at that. ‘No more.’
New recruits
In the morning, Dick Klein reported a truck full of bottled Mandoch water now in the UK and at Nottingham University Hospital, samples to be sent to many labs around the UK, water to be tested on arthritis sufferers.
I was hopeful yet worried, worried that the results would be a mixed bag and that a very unscientific gap would exist between those responding well and those not affected – the sinners.
‘Sinners,’ I thought out loud.
‘Sinners?’ Dick Klein repeated.
‘The Vatican think it Holy Water, given the artefacts found near it.’
‘They would, it helps their narrative and dogma,’ he complained.
‘People not reacting to the water might be seen as sinners.’
‘Only by an idiot,’ he firmly stated. ‘The rest of us would look for physiological differences.’
I nodded at that. ‘We all see it our own way, the Vatican to see it their way. And the guy in Corsica has been proven correct by external doctors, up and jogging after ten years of chronic arthritis.’
‘Minerals suppressing the pain, yes. Nothing wrong with his legs or the muscles or blood supply, just the pain. It was in his mind, not in his legs.’
‘Well now he has sore knees from jogging,’ I quipped, making Dick smile. ‘And my old Swedish investor, Stan, has been drinking the water day and night and reports sudden great erections.’
‘Really? That could sell well, an alternative to Viagra, a natural one. But there are so many minerals in the water that we don’t know where to start.’
‘First, test a patient’s soul,’ I left him with.
Armani called, so I booked a flight for today and set off quickly after packing a small bag at the house. Pat and Dingle would stay at the house, and they would pretend that I had told them I would be back in the morning.
At a cold and snow-covered Stockholm Airport I led Bonza off with Bill and Ted, Bill and Ted soon armed and ready, but we had the usual police escort anyhow – and were now on first name terms with many of them.
At the snow-covered and now picturesque Christmas card photo old house, we found Rolf just leaving, and he had dropped off a few supplies, the fire raging. And as usual Rolf had not lit the fire.
Half an hour later our guest landed, Father Perez, and forty minutes later the police let the man in, but he was not in his robes, he was dressed sensibly for a cold Swedish winter.
I shook his hand, the man looking young for a priest, maybe thirty, dark hair and dark features. ‘You’re younger than most of your fellow priests…’
‘I am thirty-five, sir,’ came in a Spanish accent.
‘Don’t call me sir, I’m and atheist and a sinner.’
His brow furrowed. ‘You were … reincarnated many times?’ he puzzled.
‘I was.’ I led him to the lounge, Bonza introduced, Bill and Ted pointed at. ‘These men know all my secrets, and your secret, so you can talk freely here. And if you had any dark secrets the house would have killed you by now.’
‘The … house?’
‘There’s an angel resident here.’
He gasped, and peered up and around.
‘Relax, it’s a sarcastic angel not a religious one.’
‘Not … a religious angel?’ the man puzzled.
I studied him for a moment. ‘Things are not what you think they are, and the angels don’t care about us that much, and don’t want us to be sat in church. Sit and stare into the flames, and your memories will come back.’
Puzzled, he did as asked as the rest of us whispered comments or drank our tea.
Perez finally turned to me. ‘I … saw myself in another life, I was a stable hand. I saved lives in a fire and was then imprisoned and executed for a crime I did not commit.’
‘The more you study the flames, the more you’ll remember, but … you don’t have to, if the memories are painful.’ My chest heaved a breath all by itself. ‘I … had wives and children in past lives, a few descendants still alive, some in contact with me. And yes … it hurts.’
‘How many times were you reincarnated?’
‘At least ten.’ I pointed at Bonza. ‘We fought in the Crusades together, at least three times.’
Perez gasped. ‘The Crusades?’
Bonza snarled, ‘Men of God raping and stealing! Hardly a good one amongst the fuckers!’
‘I have read much about the Crusades, and some of what I read was … unpleasant, yes.’
‘Being there was more fucking unpleasant,’ Bonza loudly complained.
‘And … what is your purpose?’ Perez asked me.
‘It was written in this house, that I would inherit riches and build hospitals, and that’s what I’m doing.’
‘And others like us?’
‘I don’t know who they are or where they are, but the Vatican now has a way to test for them.’
‘I have drunk of the Holy Water of Mandoch Valley -’
‘I hope it’s not Holy Water, and you should not call it that, it will draw attention to us.’
He nodded. ‘I feel much better after drinking it.’
‘You were unwell?’ I asked.
‘No, in good health.’
I exchanged a puzzled look with Bonza. Sending Ted off into the snow, he had some water to collect from Rolf.
Ted returned half an hour later, Perez sat staring into the fire, a tear in his eye wiped.
Bottles opened, Bonza and myself drank the bland water, a pint each.
I felt dizzy, and the tingling started, then I felt good. ‘Shit, that’s like Lucozade on steroids. You?’
‘It feels good, yeah, a bit of a rush.’
Bill and Ted tried some, and they reported feeling good as well.
Perez suggested, from where he sat, ‘It helps the worthy.’
I told him, ‘My health is fine, so we’ll hand it to the sick, the worthy sick I guess because it doesn’t work on everyone.’
Walking over the street, I handed a bottle to the surprised old lady diplomat, and she would drink some. And I would check if it had an effect on her.
Back in the house, Bonza had boiled a kettle of the water, fresh brews made from it.
‘Holy Tea?’ I quipped, the lads laughing loudly as biscuits and cake were brought out and issued.
‘What is it that you wish me to do?’ Perez finally asked me.
‘I don’t have a clue … what you’re supposed to do. And I can’t think of anything that you can do to assist me, not as a priest. What are you good at?’
He took in the faces. ‘I studied geology in college, my passion.’
‘Really? Then get the Vatican to get you a ticket to Corsica, to join Donno, I want the rocks around Mandoch Valley studied.’
‘That would be a pleasure, yes, but … for what practical gain?’
‘I want to know what else is hidden there.’
‘Ah. Then I shall begin my search soon, and discretely of course.’
‘You … need to know the truth before you find something in the ground that may shake your faith.’
‘Shake my faith. You stand before me, nothing could shake my faith.’
I glanced at Bonza. ‘Mary was married to Jesus, they had kids. We found the evidence and … we hid it.’
He nodded. ‘I have often considered the words to be less important than the message, and it would have been odd for Jesus to live alone and cook for himself.’
I led him outside, coats placed on.
Perez studied me, worried, as we stood in the cold, our breath misted.
I finally told him, ‘Mary wrote the speeches of Jesus, and Jesus was never reincarnated as far as I know.’
He glanced at the police van. ‘Oh.’ A glance down the cold wet street, and he began, ‘The bottle contains beer, pure beer, yet the label is wrong. Who created the beer is known, not why, but mankind changed the label for their own purposes.’
He nodded to himself. ‘It is … a great disappointment, but not completely unexpected; God’s message was corrupted by those he sought to help.’
‘Power and money.’
‘Always, sir, always,’ he sighed out. ‘Even in the church.’
‘It will affect you?’
He smiled. ‘No, because you stand before me, and because I was born again. To consider that the popes of old and men like Constantine distorted the message is for all but a simpleton to understand.
‘The truth is plain to see, that men will always want power and control and wealth, and will conspire to control other men, and conspire to change the words of the Bible.’
‘You’ve seen Constantine’s Arch in Rome?’ I asked.
‘Yes, and it has pagan symbols, no crucifix. It is a living lie cast in stone.’
‘Seek out the truth, not the words written down,’ I told him.
He nodded with a smile. ‘With joy, yes, not with my head down.’
