Nothing made sense and Conan suspected he’d soon be back in Sydney and increasingly marginalised – unless he could somehow pull off a huge win from the total fucking shambles of Ord City.
He drained his cup and left the café, ignoring the clamouring street traders and dashing between the hundreds of motorbikes that mostly constituted Ord City traffic.
Just before nine o’clock, he slipped into the Army of God chapter house. The main hall was about a quarter full, some with their heads bowed in prayer and the rest lounging in studied irreverence. At the front of the room, Lieutenant Rice and Captain Roberts – Melodie – sat watching another man in the same black uniform who stood with his palms raised, his eyes closed and finishing some kind of prayer in a sweetly melodious baritone.
‘… and please, Lord, open the hearts and minds of all Australians of all faiths, but especially the non-believers. Let your light into their souls and give them the grace … the peace … the absolute bliss and joy that we, who already bathe in your light and love, get to know every day. Open the gates to your kingdom of heaven and let your love shine forth to bathe the upturned faces of all humanity!’
‘Harr-aruya!’ cried a small Chinese man, rather detracting from the enchantment of the baritone.
‘… give them freedom from doubt,’ continued the Man in Black. ‘Give them your faith, your knowledge, your certainty that there is a life eternal … forever by your side in the Garden … Eden restored.’
‘Harr-aruya!’
Conan took a chair at the back, slightly away from the others and caught Melodie’s eye for a moment. She stared, then turned primly away to watch her colleague finish his prayer. The mellifluous baritone rumbled to a conclusion.
‘Harr-aruya! Harr-aruya!’
The little Chinese man, dressed only in blue checked shorts and a white singlet, was in a world of his own, completely oblivious to the impact of his interjections on the devout spell cast by the voice of the Man in Black. Conan found himself thoroughly amused by the theatre – especially when the Chinese man embraced the speaker, chattering excitedly as the taller man suffered the embrace with obviously strained indulgence.
Then Melodie stood and announced, ‘We will just take a short break before the Great Debate. Please help yourselves to coffee and tea.’
With that she disappeared through a door at the back, followed by the Man in Black. The congregation all stood and shuffled towards the table at the side of the room where a large urn was plugged in and started helping themselves.
‘You were here this morning.’
Conan looked up to see Lieutenant Rice smiling at him.
‘I was.’
‘Would you like a tea or coffee?’
Conan stood and walked towards the back of the queue, followed by Lieutenant Rice, who struck Conan as the sort of bloke who’d be first man eaten in a horror film.
‘Who’s that leading the prayers?’ asked Conan.
‘That would be Major Lammas,’ said Lieutenant Rice, his adoration plain.
‘Major Lammas,’ repeated Conan. ‘He has a nice speaking voice.’
‘And an even nicer message,’ said Rice.
‘If you’re into that kind of thing.’
Rice cocked an eyebrow as they shuffled towards the urn.
‘Not a believer … Mister … erm … ’
‘Tooley. Conan Tooley … but you can call me Tools.’
Rice smiled and said, ‘You spoke with Captain Roberts this morning.’
‘That’s true … not for long.’
It was clear that Melodie had not reported her conversation with Conan to Rice, whose curiosity blazed.
‘Was there anything, perhaps, that I could help you with?’
‘What, like … how to hide from a T-Rex?’
Rice’s eyes widened, as Conan maintained his serious straight face.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Never mind … what’s Major Lammas’s story?’
‘Ah … well, the Major is one of the Ord City War Councillors.’
‘Top brass?’
‘Exactly. General Jessup … Major Maddox, who runs the hospitals … and Major Lammas. They’re the senior officers for the region … although the General’s mainly in Perth.’
The queue had shuffled forward as they spoke and Rice reached for a mug.
‘I love urn coffee,’ he said. ‘I actually prefer it to barista.’
‘That’s fascinating,’ said Conan. ‘So, why is Lammas here tonight? How does he fit into the local picture?’
Rice gave a tight smile in response to Conan’s sarcasm, then said, ‘Our chapter house falls within the eastern division of Ord City … which is Major Lammas’s division.’
‘He’s your boss?’
‘Well, strictly speaking Captain Roberts is my boss … but what about …’
‘Aah yes, Captain Roberts,’ interrupted Conan. ‘What’s her story?’
Conan accepted a mug from Lieutenant Rice and grimaced as he sipped the tepid muck with its nasty tang.
‘Captain Roberts?’ mused Rice. ‘Erm … she’s from Melbourne … went to ANU. She studied Asian Languages and joined the Army of God when she was still in first year.’
‘She seems full of secrets,’ said Conan, watching Rice closely.
‘Secrets?’ echoed Rice, ‘… odd thing to say. Still, she is a captain and head of the chapter. She would learn a lot that doesn’t make it down to my security clearance level.’
‘You have that in the Army of God? Security clearance?’
‘I’m sure they have it in all professional organisations,’ said Rice.
‘But don’t you feel left out?’ pressed Conan, ‘… when they’re having their secrets?’
Most of the people around the table had drifted pack to the seats but the buzz of the hall suddenly stilled. Conan turned to see that Melodie and Major Lammas had resumed their seats at the front of the congregation.
‘Ooh … time to sit down,’ said Rice, grabbing the opportunity to change the suddenly uncomfortable subject. ‘Enjoy the Great Debate.’
‘What about Roberts and Lammas though?’ asked Conan, as Rice tried to scurry away.
‘What about them?’
‘Are they … ’
‘What?’
‘Bonking?’
Lieutenant Rice’s face went white, and then a deep red. He opened his mouth but then turned and strode back to his seat, leaving Conan grinning in his wake.
The first part of the Great Debate was fairly predictable, and not much of a debate. Major Lammas, who would have been late thirties and looked a bit like a young George Clooney, spoke in that hypnotic voice of his about certain moral themes which united all religions.
‘So you say every time,’ interjected a smallish, bearded man in a tee shirt and skull cap. ‘But despite the commonalities … you somehow conclude that Christianity is the one true path.’
‘Hello Razzaq,’ said Lammas, ‘nice to see you back again.