by William Poe
“Are we sure Stanley left of his own free will?” I asked. “His parents are rich enough to have hired deprogrammers.”
“Stanley told his secretary, Dorrit Rydell, that he was going out to run errands. He never returned. Dorrit called the police. They had information that airport parking enforcement discovered Stanley’s car at an airport departure gate and towed it. He had left the engine running with the keys inside.”
“That is strange,” I said.
“If deprogrammers were involved, the police would have found evidence,” Kawasaki noted. “Do you think Stanley will try to contact you?”
“I honestly don’t know. Stanley and I haven’t been close since we joined the family. I’m sure you noticed when we were in Chicago that he mostly avoided me.”
Mitsui and Kawasaki began conversing in Japanese.
I sank deep into thought, pondering the spiritual vortex I seemed to have entered.
CHAPTER 27
Kawasaki needed to understand the legal problems facing the Midwest region. Winning an injunction against Wisconsin’s anti-fundraising law would require a sophisticated legal defense. The lawyer on the case expected me to help draft a memorandum explaining the theology behind fundraising. He was sure that legal precedent was on our side, but in the meantime, police continued to make arrests.
“The lawyers who work for New York headquarters don’t understand how First Amendment issues apply to fundraising,” I explained to Kawasaki. “If they get involved, we won’t win an injunction.”
I studied Kawasaki’s expression to make sure he understood. He looked confused.
“The commander who replaces me needs to work closely with the attorney, Maurice Fender. Maury’s offices are in New Orleans. He has won big cases for religious groups. You should go and meet him.” I thought about what I had sensed when I first met Maury, and added, “His Cajun ancestors are pushing him to help us.”
“You have been around Norman too much,” Kawasaki said with a smile.
“Maybe so.”
Despite the controversy between Mitsui and Norman, I knew that Kawasaki still respected Norman. They had been close during One World Crusade days.
“Maury knows the best restaurants in New Orleans,” I said enticingly, “and he is very likeable.”
“I wish you had time to say good-bye to your members,” Kawasaki said, “but I am concerned about the Texas members.”
“What do they know about the situation?”
“The members want to believe Stanley was kidnapped. That is easier to accept than his leaving the family.” Kawasaki’s downcast tone expressed his sadness.
After a long pause, I mentioned something that worried me. “Don’t take this the wrong way,” I began, “but the Midwest members have gone through a lot. Maury needs to be able to communicate using complex language—you know, legal talk. It might be best for an American to take over for me.”
“No Samurai warrior?” Kawasaki joked, slashing the air with an imaginary sword. He thumped me on the arm cajolingly. My response was to act fast to cover my funny bone. “Do not worry, Simon-san,” Kawasaki added. “I understand what you are trying to say.”
It comforted me to hear it. Although the legal issue was the biggest concern I would leave behind, I also didn’t want my members subjected to the uncaring and strict style of leadership offered by the Japanese commanders.
Kawasaki was the exception. As commander in Chicago, he led with his heart. I never heard him yell at a member or condemn a fundraiser because he or she brought in low results. He knew how to encourage and inspire people.
Members whom Kawasaki sent to my region, because they were about to leave the church after experiencing Japanese leadership, told me volumes about what they had endured. Many of the Japanese commanders forced low-earning members to subject themselves to acts of restitution, often demanding that they fast, other times that they pray for hours standing outside in subzero weather.
The doctrine of Cain submitting to Abel served as justification for terrible atrocities. I never stopped believing that the doctrine worked the other way as well—as an Abel figure, I tried to serve the members. Hadn’t that been the attitude of Jesus when he washed the feet of his disciples?
Kawasaki drove me to La Guardia to catch an early flight to Dallas. “Be careful,” he said, coming to a stop at the curb. He gripped my hand as though it might be the last time we would see each other. Before shutting the door, he promised that Joseph Hale, my second-in-command who had looked out for me when I performed my seven-day fast, would replace me as commander in Chicago. I was pleased. Joseph understood how to treat members with compassion and respect. He had a quick mind and understood the theology of fundraising. I was sure he could work well with Maury.
While waiting for the plane, I tried to read the section in the Divine Principle on Christology, but it was barely six o’clock in the morning. My head rocked like a bobblehead doll as I drifted to sleep and then caught myself. That half-waking state of mind made my dreams seem like hallucinations.
When Ernie entered my thoughts, I felt his presence. We were twelve years old when Ernie had come with my family to Dallas. His parents’ divorce, and his mother’s drunkenness, meant that he didn’t get a chance to go on many vacations. Vivian promised to take us to Six Flags amusement park. Ernie and I slept together in the two-bed motel room. Only, we didn’t sleep. We spent the night exploring each other’s bodies.
I hit my knee to jolt myself awake. I couldn’t allow myself to entertain such memories, especially on the heels of Martin’s death! I needed to repent, but tiredness defeated my efforts. Ghosts of the past kept emerging from the mental haze. My elbow slipped off the arm of the chair and woke me up. I wiped a tear from my cheek.
Vivian and Lenny had been going to Dallas because Lenny boarded a stud horse at a ranch outside the city limits. For two years, the rancher reported that a foal had been born. We would set out for Dallas, but by the time we arrived, the rancher reported that the colt had died. Vivian figured that the man sold the horses and pocketed the money.
“DALLAS PASSENGERS, NOW BOARDING GATE TWELVE.”
A steward tapped me on the arm. “The plane is boarding, sir.”
My thoughts remained in the past. Lenny got rid of my horse, Bride, which had been a Christmas present, after he’d sold its colt, and I got mad. Vivian scrimped and saved to buy me another horse. I loved the old gelding she managed to get for me. I spent hours riding him bareback, exploring the forests around Sibley. I even rode him to school a few times.
The steward woke me again. “Would you like to board a later flight, sir?”
I started awake and caught the plane just before the door closed.
CHAPTER 28
The secretary of the Texas region met me at the terminal. At one time, Dorrit Rydell was the highest-earning fundraiser on the MFT. Her career ended when a car struck her at a stoplight while selling flowers.
I had last seen Dorrit when, as Kawasaki’s representative, I visited her in a Detroit hospital. Dorrit’s parents had sued the church for damages related to her accident. She had been on the run from them since she left the hospital.
Dorrit held out her hand as she balanced on wooden crutches. “Welcome to Texas, Commander.”
“The famous Dorrit Rydell,” I said.
Dorrit blushed.
“The last time we met, you were in traction, and here you are getting around on your own.”
“I wish I could fundraise,” Dorrit said, “but I’m doing good to drive a car with these legs.”
Dorrit’s legs were not entirely straight.
I loaded my few belongings into a brown station wagon covered almost completely with yellow pollen dust.
“I’d be glad to drive,” I offered.
“I won’t argue,” Dorrit said, sliding with difficulty to the passenger side. Her knees had limited flexibility.
Two miles separated the building where I had arrived from the north exit. As
we drove past one of the larger terminals, Dorrit pointed and said, “That’s where they found the car. I’d like to think Stanley was kidnapped, but it doesn’t add up.” She opened a heart-shaped locket that hung around her neck. Inside were images of Father and Mother. “I thought I knew Stanley,” Dorrit sighed, closing the locket and pressing it to her heart.
“Stanley told you that we were friends before joining the family, right?”
“Oh, sure. Stanley thought the world of you. He used to tell the funniest stories about the things you two did before joining. I could barely believe the stories about the acid trips.”
“He told you about that?”
Dorrit laughed. “He said you were pretty spaced out when you heard the lectures. He told me about your long hair.”
I glanced in the rearview mirror to look at my short-cropped hair and black-rimmed glasses.
“Did Stanley tell you what he looked like back then? When I first met him on campus, I thought he was a mad monk with that long red hair and full beard. His eyes were what really got me, though. They were as green as peridot, the birthstone of August. That’s when he was born, too.” I was talking about Stanley as though he were dead.
“God brought you and Stanley together,” Dorrit said. “Now, God has brought you here to help the members understand what’s going on.”
“But first,” I said, “I need to understand.”
Dorrit moaned when I hit a pothole and rubbed the side of her knee.
“What do members know about Stanley’s disappearance?”
“Only that he’s missing. Most think deprogrammers got him.”
“That doesn’t seem likely, though, does it? The simplest explanation is that Stanley left of his own accord.”
Dorrit nodded, resigned to the probability.
The ranch-style house used as the MFT regional headquarters was located near the city of Grapevine. A three-acre field of grass and shrubs stretched behind it. Around the house itself, a dozen or so pine trees carpeted the ground with needles. A derelict farmhouse stood next door. Triangle fragments of glass jutted from its window jambs, and a single hinge supported the front door.
“Does someone live up that road?” I asked, pointing to a dirt trail across the street that disappeared into a mesquite grove.
“I’ve never seen anyone,” Dorrit said. “It’s probably an old cattle trail. When they widened the highway, they tore down most of the old houses. I wish they’d get rid of that dump over there.” Dorrit motioned toward the derelict farmhouse.
Dorrit took me out the back door, where a concrete slap served as a patio and the one oak tree in the yard provided shade. “We need a bigger septic tank,” she said, holding her nose against the odors rising from a wet spot on the ground about twenty feet from the patio. “That’s a hundred flushes a day you smell.” Dorrit pointed toward a butane tank shaped like a torpedo. “That needs to be recharged. And up there”—she indicated a patch of roof near the back porch—“the shingles are starting to rot. The pine needles get into the gutters and soak up the rainwater like a sponge.”
I wondered why Stanley hadn’t addressed all these problems.
Just then, we heard the kitchen phone ring. Dorrit adjusted herself on her crutches and made her way toward the house.
“Maybe I should get it,” I said, following close behind.
“Oh, no, it’s all right. The captains ring for a long time before giving up. They know it takes me a while sometimes.”
Dorrit listened to the person on the phone for a few minutes before putting her hand over the receiver and saying, “It’s Brenda, one of the captains in Houston. She has some information about Stanley. Maybe you should talk to her.”
I reached for the phone as Dorrit said, “Brenda, I’m turning you over to our new commander. He just arrived.”
The voice, immediately familiar, nearly brought tears to my eyes. It was the sister who had set me straight as an arrogant young team captain in Chicago. When Mitsui first divided Kawasaki’s Midwest region, Brenda wound up in the Mountain State region. Eventually, she became a team captain, but I had not known about her transfer to Texas. Brenda was one of the most sacrificial members I knew. If God were going to work through anyone in this situation, it would be her.
“Brenda? When did you arrive in Hades—I mean Texas?”
“Commander Powell? It’s so good to hear your voice! You know how Mitsui likes to shuffle people around. I came to Texas a few months ago. Anyway, I’ll take this heat over a Chicago or Utah winter any day.”
I wanted to reminisce, but the situation was urgent. “Dorrit says you heard something, Brenda.”
“I think so. First, let me tell you, Captain—I mean, Commander. Since coming to Texas, I have gotten to know Stanley pretty well. I hadn’t thought much about it before now, but for some time, he’s been speaking a lot about Jesus.”
“Jesus?”
“Every time he visited Houston, his morning services were about Jesus and how we were following in his footsteps by sacrificing for humanity. I think Stanley’s parents have been putting pressure on him to return to his Christian roots. I heard him on the phone talking to them a few times.”
“He struggled a lot when he was in Chicago,” I said. “I feel like I haven’t been a good friend since we joined the church.”
“Stanley’s parents came to visit him the last time he was in Houston. I dropped him off at a Denny’s restaurant. He insisted I come back to get him in an hour. He sounded nervous. Later, when I heard he was gone, I thought maybe his parents had something to do with it.”
Dorrit strained to hear Brenda’s side of the conversation, but I held the receiver tight against my ear.
“Something happened this afternoon,” Brenda said, her voice growing tense. “I was fundraising at a convenience store in a little town called Humble. I approached a woman, who started accusing me of being in league with the Devil. She told me she had just come from a church service, where a former member of our group had spoken. When I asked his name, she said it was Stanley.”
“Do you think it was our Stanley?” I asked, but who else could it be?
“The woman knew that he had been a leader in Dallas. She said he told the congregation that the Lord had saved him.”
“And that was this morning?”
“That’s what she said.”
“Don’t say anything to the members just yet. First, let me see what I can find out.”
“I can’t believe you just arrived, and then this happens. God works in amazing ways.”
“I’d say so.”
Brenda gave me the name of the church where the woman had heard Stanley speak, and asked, “Do you want me to find out the church’s address and drive by to see what’s up?”
“No, just keep fundraising. In fact, take the team back to Houston. If Stanley’s visit disturbed people in Humble, they might be more prone to call the police. Better not take a chance.”
“Will do, Commander. I feel so much better knowing you’re here.”
“Are you okay?” Dorrit asked when I hung up the phone. “You look pale. What did Brenda say?”
Before telling her, I got myself a glass of water and sat for a few minutes at the kitchen table. “You won’t believe this,” I said, summarizing the story. “Stanley and I must truly have a spiritual connection. This is the sort of synchronicity that used to happen when we did acid together.”
“Well, God’s behind it this time,” Dorrit said. She picked up the paper, read what I had scribbled, and called long-distance information to get the number of the church in Humble. “Let’s see what I can find out,” Dorrit said.
When the minister answered, Dorrit held the phone so we both could hear. At first, the man was suspicious, but Dorrit wooed him. “I was chatting with my neighbor, and she mentioned that a former member of the same group my sister joined had spoken at your church this morning. And here I was, praying for help to get my sister away from those people.”
&n
bsp; “Well, we surely would like to help you,” the minister said with a heavy drawl. “The fellow who spoke came in last night from Dallas.”
“I’d like to invite him to speak at my church,” Dorrit said. “Do you know how I can reach him? Is he still in town?”
“No,” the man said, “he’s heading back this afternoon. I’m sure you can reach him tomorrow. Let me look up his number in my Rolodex.” The man put down the receiver for a moment, then returned. “He just started school at Southern Methodist University. Says he wants to become a preacher. Here’s the number for the organization that arranged his visit. It’s called the Cult Education Group.”
Dorrit thanked the minister and hung up. “Looks like we have a lead, Commander. He may have hooked up with those anti-cult people.”
The Cult Education Group was associated with deprogrammers who used the organization as a way to locate clients. Connie and Derek had spoken at their conferences. Dorrit and I mulled over what to do next.
“Let’s call the airlines,” Dorrit suggested. “You pretend to be Stanley’s brother. Say that you forgot his arrival time.”
“Wouldn’t that be a shocker, if I met him at the airport?”
We called every airline that flew in from Houston. Some had policies preventing them from giving out information. Others didn’t have him in their records. Then Texas Air, a small commuter outfit, gave me flight details. Stanley would arrive in less than an hour at Love Field in Dallas.
I arrived minutes before the plane was to land and blended in with the crowd waiting at the gate. Dozens of passengers got off the plane, but Stanley didn’t appear. Just when I was about to give up and the gateway door began to close, he appeared with a suitcase on rollers. Two oily-looking men in pin-striped suits shoved through behind him. I kept my distance until the trio entered the main lobby. Then I tapped my old friend on the shoulder.
“Stanley?” I said, trying to sound surprised. “Is that you?”
