Perfect People

67

The Disciple was happy. That fear in the infidel woman’s voice had felt so good. Be thou in the fear of the Lord all the day long. Proverbs 23: 17.

Her fear was still flowing through him, energizing him like fuel. It gave him strength, power; it was so good he was tempted to call her again and release some more from her, let that flow into him as well. But that would be greed; and greed was a sin. God had been good to him, leading him to where the infidels lived. He must not reward Him with indulgence.

So now, his head swimming with the pleasures of Mrs Naomi Klaesson’s fear, he sat at his desk, his laptop open, logged on to the internet, on to Google Earth. He saw the globe of the planet.

He moved the cursor, entered the name Sussex, hit a key and zoomed in until the screen was entirely filled by Sussex and parts of surrounding counties. Eagerly, he devoured the names of the towns near to the infidels’ home.

Worthing. Brighton. Lewes. Eastbourne.

He had never been to England. There was a Brighton in America, a Brighton Beach, he recalled. But otherwise, these names meant nothing to him. This place, Sussex, these towns, their names came out of the screen so solidly, so real, he felt he could hold them inside his heart.

He then entered: Caibourne.

Caibourne! He held the name, said it aloud to himself, then repeated it. ‘Caibourne!’ At this moment, it was the sweetest sound in the world.

He zoomed in, until he could see the aerial views of a small cluster of houses. One of these houses belonged to John and Naomi Klaesson. He typed in their postcode, and instantly zoomed in closer still.

The Disciple punched the air in excitement. Then his face flushed with guilt. This was a bad thing, to let himself get carried away by his feelings like this. He had to restrain himself. For now, all emotions were forbidden. Joy would come later.

Those who sow in tears will reap with songs of joy. Psalm 126.

But a small amount of pleasure, that could not be a sin, surely? And here, in this studio apartment God had found for him, in the low-rise building inhabited mostly by elderly people who kept to themselves, in this quiet suburban backwater of the town of Rochester in New York State, this is what Timon Cort was feeling now.

God’s pleasure.

It had been a long time since he had come down from the mountain in Colorado, into the sewer of the valleys below and the plains beyond. Two and a half years since he had first gone to that internet cafe in Boulder, Colorado, to download the instructions that awaited him. The names of the first couple and their spawn he was to kill, and where he was to go to collect his next instructions.

Now there was just one more act of the Great Rite to be carried out. And then he would become a true Disciple, and God would give him the beautiful, loving Lara, who had waited patiently for two and a half long years for him, and would continue to wait for however much longer was needed, as a reward. And then they would live for the rest of their lives in Paradise in the right hand of God.

Time had passed since then, but time had also stood still. He continued to wear his hair shaven to a light fuzz. He was dressed in the same simple uniform that all Disciples wore. A loose white T-shirt, grey chinos and plastic sandals. He passed his days in prayer, reading the Bible, eating frugal meals, biding his time, repeating each of the Forty Tracts he had learned by heart.

He possessed a business suit, a shirt, a tie and black loafers for when he needed to blend in with people, but other than his clothes and his Bible, his one possession was his sturdy laptop, through which he maintained contact with his Master. And through which he was kept informed of progress in the Great Mission of Salvation.

All the technology inside the computer gave him power. God’s hand was in this machine. God understood that man needed weapons to fight Satan.

I will send destroyers against you, each man with his weapons and they will cut up your fine cedar beams and throw them into the fire. Jeremiah 22: 7.

England was where Naomi Klaesson came from. England was where the Infidels had begun their life together. Now the Infidels would end it there!

In the county of Sussex. In the village of Caibourne.

In the house he was staring down at.

Timon Cort knelt and closed his hands in front of his face in supplication. His eyes ran with tears of joy.

‘Thank you, God, for showing me where they live.’

He brings princes to naught and reduces the rulers of this world to nothing. No sooner are they planted, no sooner are they sown, no sooner do they take root in the ground, than he

blows on them and they wither, and a whirlwind sweeps them away like chaff. Isaiah 40: 23, 24.