A Trojan Affair

by Michael Smorenburg

  “Your cards won’t save my job or neck. You’re a very likeable guy,” Bruce admitted. “Had my mouth running itself.”

  “I’m intrigued. Your information’s fascinating and timely. There’s a madness here in this town right now that I’m trying to figure out, and what you’ve just told me hints at what I’ve been missing; details I couldn’t know.”

  Bruce fidgeted with a loose thread on the hem of his shirt sleeve, his forehead creased, weighing thoughts.

  “I don’t know why I trust you,” he declared. “I don’t know why I should trust you, but I do. Maybe I’ve been locked into this bullshit world for too long, but I feel like I’ve got to get this burden off my shoulders to a stranger not in it.” Bruce was studying JJ, trying to figure himself out. “I must be nuts.”

  “I don’t want to compromise you. Tell me what you’re comfortable with, I won’t pry. Tell you what… I’ll tell you what I think is going on and you can just ignore it if it puts you in a jeopardized position.”

  “Reckon you have a theory?” Bruce challenged.

  “One’s forming. I’m interested in all kinds of things—this new global evangelism intrigues me. The tie-up with the local church… what’s Broad getting out of it? A publicity stunt?” JJ didn’t want to blunder in this delicate dance; he was working carefully to avoid spooking the man.

  Bruce raised an eyebrow and made a barely perceptible nod to the question indicating limited agreement, its lack of enthusiasm suggesting that there was much more to it.

  “The Answers in Genesis crowd; Broad is affiliated to them?” JJ took it further.

  “In bed with them, and others. Really in bed. They’re his front.”

  “Ahhh… This spearhead effort in South Africa and Carnarvon is to broaden the fight they’re putting up over evolution and science in general, stateside?”

  Bruce nodded. “And…?” he encouraged.

  “And they’ll make the news?”

  “Why? Why’s making the news important?” Bruce countered, coaxing the answer.

  “Attention… a spotlight on them?”

  “Look… Outwardly, Africa’s the newest and most lucrative growth market for evangelism. South Africa’s a gateway, a strong base. Announcing a mission here—and the press that comes with it—legitimizes frequent return visits, no-questions-asked delegations, easy visas, unchecked movements.”

  “I’m sure. And grows their base, sort of an economy of scale situation.”

  “Also… influence. They’ve got a lot of traction now in your government—pushing to pass laws in the legislature influenced by religion, slowly closing the rights to talk against it.”

  “Have you heard of Andy Selbourne?” JJ was connecting dots very quickly.

  “We were supposed to collect him in Cape Town to bring him up here, but he’s busy buying up a church not far from here, so he’ll drive in later.”

  “Buying a church?” JJ was surprised at that.

  “Yes—expanding his little piece of Broad’s empire. Traditional churches that are in decline of membership are under financial pressure as the youth turn away from old-fashioned religions. They want something more with more pizzazz, something… sexier. This is fertile ground for evangelism with its flash and upbeat razzmatazz. You have a little town down here called Swellendam. And another called Oudtshoorn.”

  JJ agreed, “Yes, up on our east coast—the Garden Route. Why?”

  “The main NG Churches there are gone, did you know that? Swallowed up by the Evangelists, and all financed by…”

  “By Broad? You’re kidding?” The pieces were falling into place.

  “That’s what Bud Junior is here to do, oversee the terms of surrender.”

  “What?” JJ was bewildered.

  “Sorry—you probably missed the man, he was in the back of the car; he’s the other party with us. Looks much younger than he is. His name is Bud Junior, travels as the understudy to the preacher. But he’s a lawyer; you’ll never hear him preaching. Broad constantly reminds him to ‘listen and learn’. It sounds like they’re talking preacher speak, but it’s business; code for when Broad has seen something he really wants Bud to take note of. Very cloak and dagger.”

  “Jesus…” JJ exclaimed, “quite a tangle.”

  “More tangled than you imagine. Do you have a vested interest here? In the town?”

  “Not anymore,” JJ declared, and admitting it hit him in the gut. “I grew up here, but have grown far apart from it. I just lost my dad last week and my mom and sister moved to the city with me. I was just up for the funeral and extended my trip to sort out the estate.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Bruce said. “But you’ll be relieved to be out of here with what’s going to go down.”

  “Have you any idea how Broad and Gert, our preacher here, became acquainted?”

  “I know exactly how. Broad wouldn’t have given your preacher or this little town the time of day, but with the SKA coming, well… the potential for PR in the long run is high. As the town becomes a centre for science, he wants a hand on the lever. But there’s more to it…”

  Shadows moved behind Bruce’s eyes—he was calculating something. JJ could see there was something he wanted to share, something that begged to be shared, and he was assessing whether JJ could be trusted.

  JJ picked his moment and prompted him.

  “Sounds like more than evangelism going on…”

  “Broad says he just wants a stake in the ground here, but… Well, anyway… stuff I’m, uhhmm… not supposed to know, much less talk about.”

  Those phantoms were eating at the man and JJ was certain that, with patience, Bruce would crack and reveal them. JJ could see him fumbling for a new tack, trying desperately to divert from the secret he was straining to hold back.

  “If you’re from here,” he was saying, “you’ll know the church attendance is dwindling, losing money.”

  JJ knew it and agreed.

  “It’s a drain on the parent church. Like any business, they’ll only carry it for so long. Broad knows it’s ripe for acquisition, just like those other two towns. Just like the deal Selbourne is cutting right now. They targeted your preacher here, baited up a hook for him, stroked his ego a bit, spoke a lot of bullshit of common goals. They told him to keep it to himself and not elevate it to his superiors or share it with anyone. They got him believing that he could be a hero if he was seen to take the fight against this internationally recognized scientific initiative, this great Satan, single-handedly.”

  “And he swallowed it, hook, line and sinker?”

  “As we speak, they’re probably sinking the gaff in. These guys are laughing at him. It’s small potatoes for Broad.”

  “So, he is being used? The Dominee… the preacher and the folks here are being… used?”

  “Sure. Used.”

  “And Selbourne?”

  “A loyal dog. He’s helping build the empire and thinks he’s a partner in it,” Bruce contended.

  “He isn’t in the inner circle? He talks like he is. I’ve seen some video; he goes on about his ‘meetings with partners abroad’. Claims he’s having all manner of ‘high-level’ talks.”

  “They always do, don’t they? Elevate their own self-importance and imagine they’re in the inner circle. No; Selbourne is oblivious. He’s a stooge. He’ll run himself ragged to bring any dusty corner under the influence of his master. Him, you… they… you’ve no clue of the extent of all of this.”

  As Gert had swung off the highway, he’d seen the first of the placards up on streetlight poles. He’d glimpsed it too late to read it, but every second pole repeated and heralded the forthcoming debate he had only just announced at the tail end of Andre’s funeral. So he read more and more of the details as he passed each pole.

  It spelled out the venue—his own NG church—and the participants: Broad himself, internationally famous evolutionary anthropologist Alok Singh, Andy Selbourne, and Marsha Martin, the famed astrophysicist.

/>   Gert had been urged by Broad on a phone call just before the funeral to announce the debate but assumed that he would be the main participant and hand-pick an opponent, preferably holding the debate in his native Afrikaans. He’d confirmed to Broad that he had made the announcement when they’d last spoken two days earlier.

  As they passed placard after placard on the poles, Broad saw the increasing shock written on Gert’s face so he took the initiative, pointing to the posters. “Our PR folks been good an’ busy,” he acknowledged, knowing that pre-emptive strikes always beat defensive responses.

  “You arranged this?” Gert was outraged, and it showed.

  “We talked ‘bout it, m’ boy.” Broad ignored Gert’s look of indignation and stormed onward. “I get jobs done, and don’t have time t’ waste with chicken-shit jibber-jabber. It’s arranged for this Saturday night; the media invites are out, and we’ve some mighty impressive coverage lined up and the other side’s opponents are in agreement already. I must fly t’ Cape Town for meetings, but I’ll be back for the event.”

  “You did not tell me about this,” Gert was outraged, his mind reeling from the blow, and his voice betraying that.

  “What was there to tell y’all, son? Y’all said we could use the church and Y’all agreed to announce it. I didn’t intend to burden y’all with arrangements at a time of sorrow as y’all have been through. Y’all did your job inviting the good folk o’ the town and I’d like t’ thank y’all by having y’all chair the ‘vent.”

  “This is not how we’d planned it!” Gert blurted.

  “There was no we to do the planning, son,” Broad pointed out. “I planned it. Y’all are just to provide the venue. I mean y’all no disrespect, but this is a tad over the head of a small-town preacher like yerself. These character’s we debating are internationally accredited and I doubt y’all would survive the first round. I’m a pro… do it aaaall the time. You’ll see, it’s the better option. You’ll be relieved to not participate.”

  The impertinence of the man slammed Gert down a slope, into a dungeon of surging wrath. His mind shut down on him and he did not know what to think, much less what to say.

  He drove the rest of the route to the guesthouse, mute, in a world of voices inside his head, while Broad pointed with oblivious indifference to inanities of topography and architecture around the town.

  Gert dropped off his guests without more than grunts and monosyllables escaping the shroud of his icy rage.

  Broad seemed unmoved by the frosty mood. He slapped Gert heartily on the shoulder and assured him that there was “nothing t’ be ‘motional about” and it was “all jus’ business”.

  “All just business!!” Gert repeated bitterly to himself as he drove away. “This is not business, there is only God’s business, and this doesn’t sound like God’s business to me.” And his mood grew yet more bleak and despondent.

  He began to dread the forthcoming hours when he would have to fetch the men after they had freshened up. He’d have to pretend to be a good host, to discuss plans in earnest that were not his plans—plans he was not even part of.

  To extinguish the voices and seek guidance, he withdrew to his church to pray and to ponder what calamity he had unwittingly inspired.

  Chapter 33

  “You never take them at their word, Marsha,” Al cautioned his wife. “When you shake hands with these guys, you count your rings when you get your hand back.”

  “Oh Al, that’s rather melodramatic?” she accused.

  “I’ve been dealing with them for a decade. It’s not at all dramatic. They justify any contravention of ethics or morals with an out-group bias.”

  “Out-group bias?” She frowned.

  “If you’re not in their group, you’re out of it, and therefore beyond any moral or ethical code they need to uphold. You’re either in lockstep with their specific worldview, or they consider you an enemy. They project that you’re trying to bring them down, and that’s how they justify bringing you down with any dirty trick they can.”

  “Come on Al… you’ve been doing this too long. They’re not as bad as you make out.”

  “I’m not saying they’re intrinsically bad people. I’m saying that their outlook allows them to justify unscrupulous behaviour.”

  “Hmmmm,” she replied and bit her lower lip rolling it between her teeth. She always did that when she was thinking. “And how does this manifest?”

  “Well, there’s something that just doesn’t feel right here. Three weeks ago, after a debate put on by the Revelation Institute that this Broad character is tied in with, I got into discussions about your work here, and one of those hicks said some very strange stuff. They said that I’d ‘be s’rpriiised at how the territory’s gonna change’. I didn’t think much of it then, because those types are always making wild predictions. I don’t want to create a false memory for myself here, but there was something in the way he said it that had a knowing to it.”

  “Now you’re psychic,” she challenged with irony.

  “No, it’s just pieces falling into place. I shouldn’t even be here—it’s only because of Dara that I am. It’s suspiciously convenient that we get a call out of the blue challenging us to debate the Evangelists just after the local preacher has announced a debate.”

  She cocked her head. “What’s going on then? What am I missing?”

  “Maybe I’m imagining it, but everything seems to be fitting together too neatly.”

  “You seem to think it’s sinister?” she asked. “You suggesting they knew Dara would be attacked to get you here? It seems farfetched.”

  “No—that’s ridiculous, obviously. The coincidences are just… odd.”

  “You met Broad before?”

  “No, not personally, but I know about him. I’ve debated his colleagues; I know the type. I know he’s got fingers in more pies than you can imagine, Marsha. Extreme right-wing, uber-Republican, pro-oil, pro-coal, anti-renewable, anti-conservation, anti-anything that he can’t exploit.”

  “If he’s such a man of God, why’s he like that?”

  “Why ever? It comes from their philosophy.”

  “Mom, I’ve been telling you this for an age,” Dara chimed in. He had come into the kitchen with Sonja and caught the last bit. “She’s so gullible, Dad. So innocent. Just refuses to believe anything can be sinister.”

  Marsha did not admonish or challenge her son, she knew he was right. She was innocent, she actively wanted to remain innocent and unjaded; she wanted to always give others the benefit of doubt.

  “Everything in their philosophy is about death. ‘Things will be better when we’re dead, we’ll go to a better place. We’ll sit at the side of our Father, we’ll judge the wicked…’ That’s why.”

  “Earth is Satan’s place, it is flawed,” Dara jumped in. “Heaven is perfect, mum, so the sooner this all ends the better.”

  “You two a tag team?” Marsha frowned.

  “He’s right, Marsha; those are their mantras. Dangerous, sick, anti-life obsessions.” Al paraphrased them, running off the list of standard fundamentalist dogmas.

  “Think about it, Mum; every time a natural disaster strikes, they celebrate because it confirms their perception of negativity. They speak in grandiose terms about love, fellowship and charity, but their obsession with humans bringing natural disasters on themselves through their behaviour just erodes their humanity and numbs them to real suffering.”

  “It’s a death cult.” Al amplified it. “It’s all about celebrating death.”

  “I told you, Mum.”

  “You’re just repeating what your father keeps teaching you,” Marsha challenged.

  “No, Marsha. Listen to him. He’s got his own mind,” Al pointed out. “Fault him on the merit of his argument if you can. Why can he see it and you can’t?”

  “I don’t want to,” Marsha admitted. “It’s bleak to think that way. I don’t want to believe that there are still people like that.”

  “But
it’s reality, Marsha. They’re barking mad. Worse than that, they’re in charge because democracy hands the power to politicians who appeal to the lowest common denominator. If you don’t recognize it, you don’t take action to oppose it. You become complacent,” he paused. “As you are.”

  “Oh, I am not… you should’ve seen me on the podium; my Kardashev talk. But I don’t dwell on it. I want to see the best in people.”

  “Oh… Phahhhh, Marsha. Don’t give me that. That’s a cop-out. You’re too smart to claim that defence.”

  She didn’t argue, he was right.

  “And, as to your moral integrity—they’ll attack it from every angle. I can almost guarantee that in the debate they’ll try to put the spin on it that you’re… Satanic.”

  “Oh, Al, you’re such a cynic.”

  “I’m telling you because that is the flavour and tone they’ll try to set.”

  “How can I be Satanic? Satanism’s a superstition, an aspect of religion. I reject superstition, it’s illogical to even suggest it.”

  “But they will. Their world is dominated by the superstition you reject.”

  “There’s only black and white in their minds, Mum. If you’re not sailing under the flag of their version of God, they’ll insist that you’re duped by some sinister force.”

  “You can’t argue logic to persuade someone out of a dogmatic position; if they applied logic they wouldn’t hold the opinions in the first place.”

  “You both sound jaded. Why accept this challenge if it’s all such a lost cause, Al?” She came directly to the point as she always did.

  “You’re right. I’ve been at this too long.” He paced. “We can’t back out; the media was already invited and there’s a PR machine in overdrive, very coordinated. If we’re not in the debate, they win by default.” Al could see that Marsha was very uncomfortable. “I know you’re not keen on the podium, but you’re a natural talker. Look, after the presentation at the school, how long did it take us to leave? People practically wanted your autograph.”

  “Long enough to have our tires slashed,” Marsha said bitterly.