The Sinner Messiah

Messiah stood in the watch tower thirty feet above the roof of the fortress New Jerusalem on the edge of the Arizona Desert. He trained the binoculars on the approaching vehicles. He studied the tanks, then focused his mad blue eyes on the armored weapons carrier. The Enemy was riding in the weapons carrier.

Small dust clouds rolled up behind the tanks and a smaller dust cloud followed the weapons carrier which was moving out slightly ahead of the line of tanks. Messiah was sweating profusely although the desert had not yet heated up. He brushed a heavy damp forelock of wavy blond hair from his forehead and turned to the young man standing at his side.

'It is the End, Antonio. The time has come for the opening of the Seventh Seal.'

Antonio did not reply. He studied the tanks and the big weapons carrier and cleared his throat. Antonio was dark. His hair and eyes were black. A pencil line mustache traced his upper lip, turning up slightly at the ends, but not enough to suggest that he was smiling. He appeared to be about twenty four, maybe twenty five years old. It is difficult to estimate exactly the age of a man like Antonio.

He had been with Messiah for about a year and a half. In that brief period of time, Antonio had risen through the ranks to first place in Messiah's Band of Angels.

It was simply called Joshua's Band before the personal name was dropped in favor of the title Messiah. And the Band was no longer just a group of musicians. The Band's main function was the enforcement of Messiah's rule in the New Jerusalem. Until the threat came from the outside. Antonio was Messiah's lieutenant in command of the Band of Angels whose primary function had become defense against the threat from the Enemy from the outside.

Now the Enemy, the tanks and the weapons carrier were rolling towards New Jerusalem, with the dust cloud following. With each passing moment they drew nearer to the rectangular concrete block structure. As they drew nearer they seemed to become larger.

Antonio's dark eyes searched Messiah's face. He was trying to read the meaning of the smile that curled Messiah's thin lips. The smile did not extend beyond the mouth. It died out in the creases of his tanned cheeks. The smile never reached the icy blue eyes. Antonio had never seen Messiah's eyes smiling. In Messiah's eyes he saw only the madness.

'The End is at hand,' Messiah repeated. His voice was brittle, metallic. A madness in the voice matched the madness in his eyes.

Antonio spoke with a Latin accent. 'We are ready. As you commanded.' He did not add the customary 'Messiah' as regular Army soldiers would add 'Sir.'

Messiah let the binoculars hang by their strap from his neck. He turned the mad blue eyes directly on Antonio. He had noticed, but he did not say anything. He waited.

'We are ready,' Antonio repeated.

'You have your instructions. Go.'

'I go.' Antonio turned away.

'I want every man at his station.' Messiah raised the glass and studied the approaching tanks and the weapons carrier and the clouds of dust following them. At times the dust cloud almost enveloped them. Then a movement of air on the desert would bring the tanks and the weapons carrier back into focus.

Antonio had turned away and started down the steps of the tower. His boot heels tapped quickly on the boards as he descended to the level where the men waited beside the guns. Antonio held his left arm stiffly against his side and his face muscles winced with the pain when the arm was jarred by his rapid descent. He ignored the pain, mentally steeling himself against it. The pain was no longer important.

Messiah called after him. 'Tell Rosa that I want her and the other women to stay with the children.' Antonio paused. The sound of his boot heels had ceased. Messiah said 'No matter what happens, the women are to stay with the children.'

Antonio did not reply, but the sound of his boots on the tower steps told that he had resumed his descent and would bear Messiah's message to Rosa.

Sending the message to Rosa by the lips of Antonio gave Messiah a special sense of power. An added dimension of control. He could feel it in his loins; his lips smiled at the sensation. He knew Antonio would not dare to look deeply into Rosa's eyes when he spoke to her. Unlike Hector on the walls of doomed Troy, Antonio would not dare to embrace Rosa, nor to hold the children in his arms. Antonio would not bewail their fate nor utter a final farewell to Rosa and the children.