Chapter 1

Matthew 10:34
"Do not suppose that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I did not come to bring peace, but a sword.

Matthew 18:3
And he said: "I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.


2/8/2001
Rotorua District Court,
Rotorua,
New Zealand

The book landed on the table with a hefty ‘thump.’ A sleeping male in the back of the courtroom jerked awake but as for the sleeping Judge, it was to no avail. It was the middle of the court case and the defendant by the name of Patrick Schellings was getting increasingly agitated. He had heard a dozen times over that this judge suffered from chronic drowsiness and was no reflection on the judge’s character. All the same, he wasn’t prepared for this blatant waste of his time.
Mr. Schellings considered himself ruthless, others in his field considered him rather brash. In any case, he had deep ties and one of his associates had already found him a guaranteed way out. Mr. Schellings was getting bored with the sleeping proceedings, pun intended, and really wanted his associate to hurry up.

All in all though, it was rather amusing to him that they were only in a district courthouse because all they could pin him for was a couple of minor robberies. He was way to smart for the authorities. However the fact that he looked and acted like an American gangster did not go in his favour and he had been the main suspect for a very long time. He hoped that however his associate would hurry up. If he was a gambling man, which he would be if he didn’t find it so utterly boring, he would say that the group of five men had something to do with the plan. Hmm, he decided when he escaped he would go to Fiji. Yes, he rather deserved a holiday didn’t he? He certainly felt like one.

* * * *

William A. Withers rushed into the courthouse. He immediately went to the nearest security guard and red-faced, dishevelled hair and puffing lungs asked: “hey do you have a toilet around here?” The guard looked at his appearance and stared for a little bit more than what was called for and pointed to a door with a GENTLEMEN sign on it. “Thanks,” gasped the man and he rushed up to the door and slammed the cubicle door with a loud bang. The guard chuckled and moved his attention to the next person in line.

Withers squatted down (so as to avoid the wooden frame), put all of his weight on his shoulder against the wall beside him at the same time as slamming the door and stumbled through the plaster wall to the office next to it. Although by no means as easy as Hollywood made it out to be, it was definitely within the realms of possibility for someone as highly trained as William. William found it amazing how easy it was to pass the security point if they pity what they think of you. A thin administrator with glasses stared at him with complete shock and William Withers seized that moment to lunge at him, knife extended and slit his throat before his feet touched the ground.
William took the time alone to comb his hair a bit and reverse his reversible jacket. William shook his head to himself and he mused that some of the planners must be getting pretty eccentric these days to create a plan such as this. This was certainly not how soldiers such as William himself think, although maybe that’s not such a bad thing sometimes so as to avert yelling in effect: ‘HEY PROFFESIONALS DID THIS!’ This probably had something to do with gang wars- and apparently one side hired the right sort of people.

William finished changing his appearance after quickly removing some of his stage make-up he screwed a silencer on his gun and walked out of the room straight towards the courtroom beaming purpose and confidence as he strode along. He wasn’t sure if the guard that directed him to the toilets saw him now, but if he did he didn’t make any correlation between the guy who was busting to go to the toilet earlier and the guy who’s just about to bust a guy out of a trial. In a manner of speaking.

He opened the double doors, step inside and asked: “May I approach, you honour?” William’s men looked just as surprised as everyone else. Will Withers didn’t know they were such good actors. Suspiciously, the judge agreed. All eyes were focused him now, as he thanked the Judge and moved towards the bench. Murmurs spread throughout the courtroom. When he got there, he turned towards the defendant whose face he had memorised, the only difference now, was that the defendant had an evil grin fixed on his face.

Nearby one of his men put his jacket over the window, smashed the window and rolled out leaving the way for the William and the rest of his men. The target stood up and Withers let a chuckle escape his lips. “Not you my friend,” he said. Withers took out his gun. Boom! Boom! His silenced gun went as the target fell to his knees.

He walked swiftly towards the window went suddenly one man broke the silence and changed it into pandemonium in one moment when he rushed towards him. Unfortunately for him, his way was barred by two men, who both punched him hard, one in the head in the other in the gut. He doubled over and Withers wondered absently if the fact that the silenced gun not sounding like they expected really would add to the confusion like they said it would and that the man who had been pinched would probably die from his injuries if they didn’t get them treated soon.

He then jumped out the window followed by the rest of his men. They jumped into the rusty old (albeit upgraded) blue van without a number plate and sped off into the horizon before any sense of order was accomplished. William observed that it must look a lot like gangster wars to an outside. Mission accomplished.

* * * * *


3/8/2001
Royal Christchurch
Theatre,
Christchurch,
New Zealand

“Don’t worry Mary, our son will become great. You’ll see.”
“Said Joseph. And indeed he did. Their son grew up to be the light of the world forever showing us the way.”

The rest of the juvenile actors rushed onto the stage and they all formed a line, joined hands and bowed to the audience. The audience applauded loudly and the curtain closed. Little-year-old 8 Micah, who played Joseph, hurriedly changed out of his costume and rushed to a group of adults who were talking. “It’s so good that finally a school’s doing a nativity play, you just don’t see enough of those these days.”
“Yea””Hey Susan, your kid did great, you should be proud.”
“Yea, believe me, I am!”
Micah’s chest swelled as he heard this and rushed his Mum and gave her a big hug. “Mum, mum, did I do well?”
“You did great!”
“Thanks, are you sure nobody noticed that I missed a line?”
“No, what line?”
“Oh, well, never mind then!”

His mum chuckled and said: “Now go along and celebrate with your friends!” Micah nodded and ran off only to feel a cold draught against his face. Micah saw that the side door was open so he went to shut it. For some reason though the sight of the pub across the road caught his attention and he stared at it for a little bit.
Micah?
Yes?
I want you to go there.
Pardon?
Micah felt a hand on his shoulder and he gasped. “Micah?” it was only his friend Phillip, “What are you doing?” Micah recovered from his shock and said: “oh, I was shutting the door!”
“Um, okay then. Want to hang out with us then?”
“Yea, of course”
“Cool.” Micah followed Phillip and joined his friends.
30 minutes later though most of his friends had left with their parents as it was already getting late when it started. Micah once again felt the draught on his face and he realised that in his haste to leave he had forgotten to shut the door. He went to shut it again but again the pub caught his eye.
Go there Micah.
Micah glanced around the room. There was nobody watching he could slip outside than back in again. Why not? So Micah went outside the Christchurch Royal Theatre and stared at the pub. Without really meaning to, he walked up to the door of the pub.
Keep on going.
Micah took a deep breath and entered. Unfamiliar sights and sounds entered, but Micah was a brave boy so he continued. Micah sort of, knew where to go and sat down to a rather well built man. Was it just him or was everybody talking quieter than they should be? “Hello,” he said. The man looked rather surprised, but he composed himself and said: “This is no place for you son.”
What was he talking about? Micah had never even seen this man before and he definitely wasn’t his father. “What’s your name?” Taken unawares by Micah’s boldness, he said, rather hesitatingly: “Um, William.” Then William looked like he didn’t mean to say that and looked around to make sure nobody heard what he said.

“William, it’s nearly Christmas time did you know that?” Did he? Sort of, he just didn’t really think about public holidays if he needed to. They don’t pay him triple to work on public holidays. Will chuckled. Now there was an idea.
“William, do you know Christ?”
Micah saw that William obviously wasn’t expecting that question but he carried on regardless. “Because I do William, and he’s worth knowing,” Still no reaction to speak of, so Micah took it as a sign to continue. “I’m going to be frank with you William,” somehow William Withers doubted that he was never anything but frank, Micah continued: “I came from doing a nativity show from across the road at the Christchurch Royal Theatre. I had no particular reason to come here. But I think God told me to come here to talk to you. His ways are mysterious I know but I think you would like them.
William?”
“Yes?” William was starting to regret more than before every telling his name to this boy. “William,” said Micah as William visibly winced, “I do believe you are been called.” And with that Micah picked himself up and left.

Prelude

09/07/1966
Haven House
For Elderly People

‘Albert Cutler ran over the details in his mind of ‘his’ assassination plot to shoot one of the most powerful targets in history of our humble organisation to date,’ Dr. Darcy Cowling ran over this sentence in his mind. Unoriginal and clichéd, the doctor was nonetheless proud of his work. He had been writing history for most of his adult life, a cliché or two while he chronicled it hardly seemed to matter.

Dr. Cowling was in a small elderly home chain that was very exclusive. The owners insisted on every member going through a rigorous psychology test to make sure ‘everyone was compatible.’ The fees were so high for such measly service anyway that nobody seemed to mind, as nobody wanted to go there. Albert Cutler was one of the one of the main writers and he pursued his hobby with passion day in, day out.

Pitying once again the end he chose for his books once he died, Dr. Cowling picked up his quill (nothing was as satisfying for him as chronicling in style) and began to write once more:
‘As he was on his way to the Dealey Plaza, he convinced himself that the plan was flawless. It wasn’t the first time The Business had assassinated an American president, however they were still pretty poor efforts considering the capability of The Business now, and procedures should have improved since 1881.

Of course, Albert Cutler only saw an associate that wanted to bring president Kennedy down, so they might just have the FBI or Mafia on their side to muck things up. Or it could have been an eccentric billionaire who had strong beliefs about politics. It didn’t really matter to Albert who had no cares for politics, if there was anything he needed to know, it would be given to him in his mission briefing.

So Albert got into position, and took the real, actual shot. A pawn (or indeed, a patsy to put it in his own words) by the name of Lee Harvey Oswald took the first shot, which was followed up by Albert’s. Lee had no idea about a second shot. Lee had no idea about Albert. Lee really did have no idea about the organisation that just made him take that shot and ruin his life.’

* * * *

‘Got him,’ thought Cutler, ‘of course.’ Cutler looked over to the window from where the poor pawn was. Cutler was proud to be one of the few ‘in the know,’ although admittedly deep down inside he knew he was been used just as much as the guy across the street.

Still, he liked been who he was and considered himself at least a Knight, or possibly even a Rook? He knew that the game was never so simple as that but he was allowed to dream just as he supposed everybody else did, right? Hope, desire, delusion… they were all powers the ‘bosses’ bestowed upon their subjects. Surely he was aloud his fair share.

A small girl however cut his musing short apparently oblivious to the noise, singing. He thought she must be deaf not to hear the commotion or, judging by her voice, she must think they’re playing a little game in her sugarcoated world.
‘Jesus loves me this I know,
for the bible tells me so,
Little ones to he belong,
They are weak but he is strong,
Yes, Jesus Loves me…’

He caught himself focusing on the little girl instead of the task at hand- getting out of here before whomever thinks they are in charge recover from their shock and find him.