Chapter Thirty-seven

“Can you fucking believe this?” Jack asked.

He glanced at Oscar, whose mouth was hanging open.

Three people being . . . Jack could hardly say it in his mind . . . crucified right in front of him and his partner.

But what could they do about it? If they pulled their guns they'd be outnumbered by a hundred to two.

There were two robed and masked guys standing by the crosses. Obviously guards, with their guns under their robes, Jack thought.

“What do we do?” Oscar whispered.

“Wait for our chance. See what the big guy is going to say.”

“Jesus! This is muy malo.”

From in front of them one of the other audience members turned and hissed, “Would you two stop arguing? Some of us are trying to assume a meditative mood.”

“Sorry,” Jack said, turning slightly. “I was having a little trouble seeing the crucifixion.”

“Well, try to have some consideration, young man,” the old voice beside them chastened. “You two aren't the only people in this room!”

Jack looked at Oscar and shook his head.

Up on his cross Johnny Z was learning a new, active definition of the word “pain.” The pain in his palms radiated to his arms, then twisted into his shoulders, back, and neck.

He turned his head slightly and looked at the middle-aged guy next to him.

Who was he? What had he done?

What had the girl done?

What could any of them have done to deserve this?

As Alex Williams took his position in front of the audience, just in front of the three people on trial, he thought of the high seriousness of what was transpiring here tonight.

It was funny how things had started long ago, started as merely an act of revenge against a young man who had killed an older man but that had now grown into so much more.

Out of that first primal instinct for revenge a flower had grown. Hell, more than a flower, a whole garden of flowers.

Here it was in front of him, a visionary company of geniuses, people who enriched the world: a collective, as it were, unlike any other collective that had ever existed.

Alex looked out at them as the last few took the seats in the back of the audience.

A hundred and five of them now and soon to be more. But not too soon. No, they couldn't simply add people. Every single member had to be vetted, carefully considered, and voted on by the inner council.

That was crucial.

Questions had to be asked. Serious questions.

How much had they helped humanity?

If they were accepted, what future good could they do for mankind?

Why should one person be chosen over another person with similar credentials?

What is their concept of “the good”?

And the most important question of all: how much money would they pay?

Not that he was in any way a cheap materialist, but one had to be realistic. What he had to offer them was the most remarkable breakthrough in man's history. The dream of every man and woman who ever lived.

Immortality.

Once the formula was perfected, price would be no object.

He could ask any price he wished. He really would be (and the thought made him blush) the most powerful man in the world.

It was a great day, Alex thought, his mind whirling as he heard the crowd settle down and look up at him. At him, their leader, the visionary among other lesser visionaries. The man who had discovered the secret, the secret that Western science had glossed over.

He who had started long ago and taken a path that revealed the true secrets of life.

As the great folk singer Bob Dylan had once sung (before he sold out), “He who is not busy being born is busy dying.”

How true that was, Alex thought, how true.

There had been a time, long ago, when Alex had thought that his entire generation was busy being born, but it had not been so. They were like all the other generations before them: sellouts. Busy all right. Busy making millions.

Only he and his band of brothers understood the true nature of the magical mystery tour called “Life and Death.” (Such inadequate words.)

Only the chosen few.

But wasn't that the way it had always been?

Jesus, Muhammad, Einstein, and some day soon, Williams.

Just a few, but those were enough. Enough to see that humanity went on to its great destiny.

He turned now and looked at the suffering, twitching, eyeball-popping threesome on their crosses.

He saw the girl look at him with an expression that said, “Please, please, have pity on me and I will suck your cock for all eternity!”

Alex Williams only smiled up at her.

He felt many things toward her—hatred, fury, even gratitude—but sorry, missy, pity didn't make the list.

He looked back at his audience, ready now. Ready for the beginning of the trial.

The trial at which he, Alex Williams, would be judge, jury and . . . immortalist.