An Honourable Fake, Page 3

CHAPTER 3

  As Mark Dobson checked in at the low-end Airport Hotel in Lagos, Pastor Gabriel Joshua and Solomon were staying in the higher-end luxury of the California State Governor's mansion on Benedict Canyon Drive in Beverley Hills. "Free, gratis," Governor Frank Jameson had told them. "It'll save you some dollars. Enjoy."

  Gabriel was relaxing with coffee. He'd already enjoyed the freshly squeezed orange juice and warm croissants served by a Filipino maid who, he'd discovered, came with the rest of the package of benefits.

  While Dobson slept in a room smelling of stale sweat above a badly soiled carpet and cooled insufficiently by a reluctant AC unit, Gabriel lounged comfortably in a pure white bathrobe.

  This short interlude of luxury was, though, unusual. No, it was extremely rare. It was, in fact, almost unheard of. One and two star hotels and motels were far more typical overnight stays because Solomon organised all travel arrangements. Solomon also took care of expenses and Solomon's job description, if he had one, would have said that economising and saving money was his top priority. Once in a blue moon, though, luxury came free and even Solomon agreed there was no harm in making the most of it.

  So, having just sprayed himself with the Dior for Men aftershave he'd found in the bathroom, Gabriel had one bare foot resting on the soft fabric of the Governor's sofa, the other on the thick Chinese carpet. An hour earlier he'd even been the beneficiary of some energetic sex with Florence - another unexpected part of the free deal - and a few minutes of entertainment watching Florence stroll around the bedroom naked. A dark skinned and buxom girl from Alabama, Florence had then stood on the balcony in full view of anyone with a decent pair of binoculars. Gabriel hadn't enquired where she fitted into the Governor's daily life.

  Gabriel stroked his freshly shaved face and nodded to himself. The previous night's rousing event at the Beverly Hilton to a crowd of mostly black devotees seemed to have reaped a very reasonable profit even after their airfares and other expenses. As he wiped croissant crumbs from around his moustache the door opened and Solomon appeared. Solomon was already dressed for the day in a dark suit and white shirt. No tie yet, but then Solomon was also relaxing a little.

  "Our host, the Bishop, Femi." Solomon handed him a mobile phone.

  Gabriel put it to his ear as Solomon sat and listened, long, slim legs crossed, in an arm chair. "Good morning, sir. So how much did we take?"

  There was a short pause as State Governor Frank Jameson, the man Solomon called the Bishop, passed the information.

  "Nine hundred and eighty-six thousand dollars after expenses is, sir, the sign of a speaker with a reputation. I performed particularly well last night, yes? The Fela Kuti music went down especially well I thought."

  He stood up, the remaining crumbs of croissant tumbling to the carpet and, in bare feet, walked passed Solomon towards the sliding French windows and the dazzling blue reflection off the swimming pool. Reaching into a side pocket he pulled out the pair of Ray Bans he had discovered there, put them on and turned his head with a grin for Solomon to admire.

  "Yes sir. Today we fly to Washington and then back to London. Our followers like the message we bring direct from our Lord, don't you think?" He said it with a smile because the message hadn't really come from anyone but himself and the Governor knew that.

  He sauntered out onto the sunlit terrace where Florence lay on a sun lounger in partial shade. She was lying on her back in a small, white bikini with her own glass of freshly squeezed orange juice standing on a small glass-topped table. Gabriel had no idea if Florence was her real name but it suited her. As he walked towards her, still listening to the Governor, she took off her sunglasses, beckoned him with her little finger and pushed her entire hand into the fold of Gabriel's bathrobe pulling him roughly towards her.

  "Hey, not so rough, Flo......no not you, sir...... but, listen, you're still new to my shows if you'll excuse me for saying so Governor and I reckon you Americans still got a lot to learn about the modern preaching business and the way they link to the troubles of the world."

  Solomon came out onto the patio to listen. The Governor spoke again and Gabriel nodded.

  "Sure. But you know what I mean. In religious terms, I preach prosperity gospel. Prosperity gospel flavoured with a call to action. Why? Because the times they are a'changing, I've said it before but you and your friends up there need to catch up, understand it and get your thinking and forward planning straight. Think strategy, think opportunity, think different, think more like businessmen, OK?"

  He paused briefly, giving the Governor a few seconds to talk but also to reflect on his own manner of speech to certain people.

  Gabriel didn't actually like the way he was speaking right now. It was unnatural but it was deliberate. It was like acting. Preaching was an act as well. He would often change his tone, his accent, his style, to reflect who he was speaking to and why. Right now, he was talking to a high flying, rich, American politician who he knew would not bother listening to soft words, sensitive phrases and politeness. This man wanted to be impressed. It was a time for rough talk some American slang and a tone that suggested impatience, over confidence and brashness. Delivered like that, this man would be far more likely to buy into it. Preaching about prosperity gospel was, after all, pure salesmanship.

  "The preaching business has changed since the Lord Jesus walked amongst us," Gabriel went on. "He may not be happy with what some of the customers of his competitor Mohamed get up to, but I don't blame Mohamed for that. It's his preachers and the millions of disaffected youths who follow them who have a lot to answer for. It must hurt him lots. Mohamed was an OK guy. It's his new brand of messengers that hurt him.

  He paused again to let the Governor speak.

  "So, you'll be getting to know what that message is now, right sir?" he continued. "It's that material and financial betterment now meets with God's full approval. Even he couldn't hold back the tide you see - it's human nature. It's not like it once was. For many black Americans and their African cousins, materialism fits neatly into their lives. The spiritual world still manifests itself in their everyday lives but nowadays it's all about creating wealth. But that's damned hard if your livelihood and personal safety is at risk, if all your hard work is exploited by the rich and the powerful and you've got no confidence in the future.

  "So, you and your friends in Congress need to get with it man. The old Christianity brought to Africa in the 19th Century was Western. As someone once said, the old view was concerned with dualism - the dualism between the mind and the spirit, between this world and?the next, between God and the Devil, between the simple matter of day to day living and surviving and the soul.

  "Africa's where the missionaries went but they didn't finish their job and it's too late now because the world moved on. It ain't as simple as it was. America is stuck. Europe is stuck. They're so stuck they can't change any more. They can't even deal with their own problems because they've bound themselves up in red tape, social support they can't afford and all that human rights shit."

  "But did you hear the cheering last night, Governor? Did you listen deep? I never hide my message. If it makes for uncomfortable listening, then so be it. But if you want to stop this rot, this plague of terrorism, this economic sickness, this epidemic of uncontrolled population growth and unemployment you gotta understand that in African minds that old simple dualism I mentioned is gone. It's gone forever, my friend. It ain't there anymore.

  "They now worship wealth and money like it's the Lord himself. It's why they like my Italian suit, my silk tie and my silky way with words. For me the suits are my uniform. It's what's necessary in modern show business, but they can't get anything for themselves without freedom and they won't get freedom until they get real leadership. They need a different sort of leadership, one that accepts the reality that the world faces genuine threats to its survival without some serious action.

  "You can't fight a plague or a cancer without money to buy a treatment and y
ou need to stop fucking about with all that 18th and 19th century lecturing about soft charity, good deeds and Samaritans and start some fresh listening. Life's tough, man, but no amount of soft talk works. You gotta get tough to deal with it. You gotta give them hope, sir, give them new opportunities to better themselves, protection from economic disaster and terrorism, so they can build their lives with a new sense of optimism.

  "Spiritual leadership works, Governor. It stirs folk into greater optimism. It makes them get up on a morning and go to work because they see a reason. They even work harder. Christian leadership, maybe even Christianity itself, is not cool enough anymore. You gotta make it cool. You gotta match them others - them others who think their way is so fucking cool, they even believe the earth is flat, that the sun rotates around the earth and that God provides virgins for their fulfilment after death. Their only objective is to sow seeds of discord, but that's become so cool they leave home, go pick up a gun and fix a grenade to their underwear. Sowing seeds of discord is now more cool than sowing seeds of liberalism and freedom.

  "You understand my direction, Governor? While you argue about your economy, your jobs, your healthcare, your education, your own local problem over lack of water and while your government reluctantly sends a few US Marines to help stick pins in what remains of Al Qaida and the rest of Bin Laden's legacy, you know what's going on under your noses?

  "Where I come from five years have gone by since they said they'd halted the expansion of terrorist groups like Boko Haram. 'They are defeated' was the call five years ago. Two years later it was 'we are driving them back'. Last year it was 'there are only a few pockets left'. Whoever said all that, sir, was only after one thing - re-election to cloud cuckoo land. Because while they were dreaming up fresh words to pacify the masses, fresh wild fires of terrorism and social unrest were breaking out everywhere - the Middle East, Africa the Far East. It was a mess then and it's a worse mess now and all the West does is hand out aid to make them feel better or pretend that bombing targets works when it really knows that only boots on the ground will be effective. And meanwhile economies stagnate and the poor get poorer.

  "Globalisation is what we've got here, Governor. Globalisation of the economy has led to globalisation of terrorism because globalisation has failed the poor. And you know what the poor do when they got nothing better to do, Governor? They fuck, they breed, they reproduce. And what happens when you fuck and breed and you run out of food and water and you no longer have the means to support yourself? You migrate or you join those that offer jobs with guns. Or you do both - you migrate en masse and take up guns.

  "You and your friends up there in Congress need to start to understand why we're where we are and you can then move to the second question of how to deal with it.

  "And why am I here again - my sincere thanks for the bed, breakfast and other services, by the way, Governor - why? Because my plans for dealing with the how are nearing completion. On my own, Governor. Got it? If I can get this far alone think what the US, the EU or the UN could do if it really put its mind to it. I know you already heard some but it's getting scary now sir 'cause I'm now ready. But Gabriel don't scare too easy.

  "So, Governor, you want part of my scary plan or not? Are you now convinced enough to take the President aside, whisper in his ear and tell him that Africans have no wish to go back five hundred years but that they, too, want to head towards that bright light of the future he keeps on about.

  "Tell him that the world's economic system is failing, sir. Tell him that social unrest, fundamentalism, terrorism and corruption is like a parasite, sir. It's like a tapeworm that grows longer and longer inside and sucks the blood of the wealth created by the innocent poor. Tell him that the only way to kill this parasite is to change the system that widens the gap between the rich and the poor, between the haves and the have nots and provide the protection for people to build their own lives in their own way. That's real freedom, sir, and I once thought the US understood that word."

  Gabriel paused, took an audible, deep breath. Was he going on too long? Probably. But you only ever got one chance. Make an impact or don't bother. He couldn't change because he'd lived like that since he was eleven.

  "Tell him what you learned last night, sir." He went on. "That when Pastor Gabriel speaks they see something out there. It's called optimism. They know they've got a fight on their hands. They know life's a struggle, but they have no wish to go back five hundred years. They wanna go forward. They wanna go there so desperately they'll help do the fighting. But they need the power and the resources to take them there. And for that they need the leadership."

  "But then, Governor, we come back to the same old problem. There ain't any leadership. But I'll leave it to you whether you whisper that in his ear.

  "Instead, you might like to shout loudly in his ear and remind him what happens to the innocent in places where the two parasites of terrorism and economic failure have already spread? If they're not murdered in cold blood, they run away, sir. They run with whatever they can carry in a bundle. As well as the millions of African migrants that head for the promised lands of Europe and America, just look at what was once Syria. You've still got thirty million destitute Syrians who didn't want any part of the carnage spread as far as Canada and still spreading.

  "The Caliphate of California? Now there's a humorous thought that'll cheer your day."

  Solomon had listened throughout. Mostly he admired Gabriel but recently he had felt increasingly embarrassed by Gabriel's rants. The longer Gabriel continued the more uncomfortable he felt. He was sure the Governor wanted to say something but Gabriel was giving him no chance.

  Solomon frowned and waved at him to stop and, finally, Gabriel saw."Yes, Governor. My apologies. It's the adrenaline."

  "All the same, an interesting speech, Gabriel. Nice to hear you're in such fine spirits. I'll do what I can, of course, but if it was me with an arrest warrant hanging over my head I'm not so sure I'd be feeling quite so breezy."