Shrouded Destiny

by Richard William Bates

  Jesus warmed to the gesture and laughed.

  "Certainly, Rebecca.” Jesus always seemed to remember the names of even those he had only met once in passing. “Gather up everyone at the back of the bus and I will be right with you."

  Bubbly Rebecca obeyed with a bounce in her step and Jesus and Susan both watched her return to the back of the bus. Susan quickly returned her attention to the passing countryside outside her window, ignoring Jesus.

  "Do not be so unhappy, Susan. The kingdom I will bring to earth will liberate you in ways you can only imagine.” Jesus smiled and then left his seat to be with Rebecca and the rest of the true believers at the back of the bus.

  The sun was setting in front of them, streaking the horizon with fiery reds and oranges. The sparking appearance of Venus on the horizon told her nightfall was soon to be upon them. Susan was grateful for that. The bus would drive all night so they would be in Des Moines bright and early to get set up for the show tomorrow night. Soon she would be able to sleep and for at least a few hours, pretend this scene was not really happening all around her. Damn that Angelino for leaving her with these maniacs!

  She turned off the overhead light above her seat, tilted her chair back and closed her eyes. She could hear Jesus talking in the background ... “There was a man of great wealth...” Soon she was drifting off into what had become her usual restless sleep.

  * * * *

  "HE'S FUCKING DOING what?” Eugene Crowley bellowed.

  "He's on tour with Armand Mathias. They are barnstorming the Midwest as we speak, Mr. President,” Harvey Thatcher repeated.

  "Un-fucking-believable!” Crowley began pacing angrily back and forth in the Oval Office.

  "Who told him he could go traipsing off into Never-never-land with Armand Mathias?"

  "Told him?” Thatcher raised his eyebrows. “Sir, this is Jesus we're talking about here. He doesn't answer to the President of the United States."

  "The hell he doesn't, damn it.” Crowley snarled.

  "No offense, Mr. President, but the last time you two negotiated, the only thing you had left in your hand when he was through with you was your dick."

  "Yeah. Don't remind me,” Crowley was cooling off slightly. As much as he hated to be reminded, Thatcher was right. Jesus had totally out maneuvered him. Crowley was one of the most bitterly feared negotiators in the world. He was known to be capable of charming the birds out of the trees. Yet, Jesus had taken control of their last short meeting without effort. The reason for that was simple. The political power rested in the hands of Jesus, whether Jesus knew it or not. Crowley was pretty certain he did.

  "That's okay, Mr. President,” Thatcher cracked. “At least you didn't give away Alaska."

  For a second, Crowley was undecided whether he should accept that as the humor it was intended to be. He finally decided it was pretty funny and laughed.

  "We need him here, Harv,” Crowley complained. “That anal retentive sonofabitch, Arnold Wills, still has his boot shoved halfway up my ass. I'm tired of this bullshit. There are too many people I have to protect to let Wills get any sort of hard evidence against me,” Crowley continued pacing, his hands folded behind his back. “But he's a tough fuck, I'll give him that. Relentless. I wish I had a few like him on my team."

  Thatcher, ignoring the oblique insult to him and the rest of the staff, recognized the expression on Crowley's face as he paced back and forth in front of his desk. He was performing some complicated political calculus in his mind. Nobody anticipated his political enemies better than Crowley and there was no better political strategist, either.

  "What are you thinking, Mr. President?” Thatcher asked. Crowley finally sat down behind his desk, indicating to Thatcher he had calculated what he needed to.

  "Let's review what we have here for a moment, Harvey.” Crowley leaned back in his chair. “Our friends in France moved to super-charge our economy through Peter Greely over at the Federal Reserve. That has helped a great deal."

  "I agree, Mr. President. It stopped the movement to open an impeachment investigation, at least."

  "Secondly,” the President continued, “Our administration has successfully been able to convey the image we are tight with Jesus. That makes us ‘good guys’ once again."

  Thatcher nodded.

  "Thirdly, that fuck Arnold Wills won't let up. What's it going to take to rid me of him?” Crowley's face reddened, as it always did when the discussion turned to the Independent Counsel.

  Thatcher attempted to soothe his boss. “Mr. President, the polls show Wills has the support of about 13% of the public. 53% of the people don't trust him, 16% think he's a partisan hack out to get you. Let's see, that leaves, what ... 18% who don't know what to make of him. If we keep doing what we are doing, we should land on our feet. In the end, the people, no matter how much they grouse and grumble, always vote their pocketbooks. I would say the Wills threat has pretty much peaked and is dropping like a rock now."

  "Yes, I agree,” Crowley nodded. He changed the subject. “What have you heard about Bennett's decision for next year?"

  Thatcher paged through his notes. “Ah, here it is, Mr. President. We are told he is conducting some polls now, testing the waters. There's also a rumor he is going to ask Stuart Hatcher to run his campaign."

  This made Crowley sit up in his chair. “What? Hatcher's a Democrat. Is Harold losing his mind?"

  "They've been the best of friends since they both served in the House together, Mr. President and it's no secret Hatcher has no great love for this administration. It's probably just a rumor, but I wouldn't necessarily dismiss the possibility either. Hatcher teaming up with Bennett would send a strong message to many Democrats to jump ship. Hatcher is retiring and he has no political motivation. At least that is how the public will perceive the situation."

  "I see.” Crowley grew thoughtful. Then he perked up. “All that doesn't matter. We've got Jesus on our side. If Bennett wants to run against Jesus, let him."

  "I agree, Mr. President. I know I certainly wouldn't want to go up against him."

  "Get word to Armand Mathias,” Crowley ordered, and then added, “Quietly. I want to see him and Jesus ... and that Susan Morgan woman ... as soon as possible. I want to stage some photo ops. Kids in the ghetto, farmers in depressed counties, you know the kind of stuff I mean. We need to begin the battle for the hearts and minds of the American people now, not later."

  "I'll get on it right away, Mr. President."

  Just then, the intercom on the president's desk buzzed. “Yes, Katherine?” Crowley answered.

  "Mr. President, Tiffany Fullbright is here for her meeting with you.” Crowley grimaced. He had forgotten about the meeting with the president of NWM, The National Women's Movement. They had been instrumental in getting him elected to his first term and would be a strong force in his re-election bid.

  "Ok, Katherine. Tell her I'll be right with her."

  He addressed Thatcher one final time. “Do we have anything else we need to cover here?"

  "No, Mr. President. I'll get word to Mathias as soon as possible and I'll see what I can find out about what Wills has up his sleeve too."

  "Good, Harv. Thank you."

  He followed Thatcher to the door of the oval office. He put on his widest smile when he spotted the NWM president.

  "Tiffany, what a pleasure to see you again. Please, come in...."

  * * * *

  MONSIGNOR RAUL CASSIDY began his workday early, well before the rest of the administrative staff and students arrived. It was a typically cold winter morning in Milwaukee. The rain from the night before had become ice. Cassidy was bundled in a full-length wool topcoat. He walked gingerly up the walkway to the main entrance of the Marquette Law School. His foot skidded over a slick spot and he started to fall. Two strong arms seemed to come out of nowhere to catch him before he hit the ground.

  "Monsignor Cassidy, I presume,” Angelino smiled as he brought the priest back to an upright position.

/>   Cassidy's face bore a look of surprise that quickly gave way to one of recognition. “Father Angelino!"

  "You know me?"

  "Who doesn't know you, Father Angelino? You are probably the second-most well known man in the world."

  "I guess I hadn't noticed,” Angelino smiled. Then he grew serious. “We must talk, Monsignor."

  "Yes, I know why you are here. I've been expecting you,” he nodded. “Let's go to my office. We should be alone for an hour or so before others start arriving."

  "We won't need an hour, Monsignor,” Angelino's eyes twinkled. Cassidy decided he liked this wayward priest.

  Once inside Cassidy's office, the Monsignor pulled the curtains open to let in the dim daylight of the breaking dawn. It was going to be a cold, cloudy day.

  "Can I get you something warm, Father Angelino? Perhaps some coffee or tea?"

  "No, thank you. But I'd love a glass of water, please."

  Cassidy poured a glass of water from the sink in the far corner of his office and gestured for Angelino to take a seat as he handed him the glass.

  Angelino took a healthy drink and then said to Cassidy. “It is time for the Gathering."

  Cassidy nodded knowingly. “The girl ... what's her name ... Susan Morgan, she is the one?"

  Angelino nodded, “Yes, Monsignor, she is."

  "You seem certain of this."

  "I am."

  "I have observed her on television with Jesus and Armand Mathias. She keeps to the background, but she seems timid and frightened."

  "Right now, she is, Monsignor Cassidy. But as you know, that is part of the process she must evolve through. Her role requires she be spiritually cleansed and pure. She must face adversities of the heart to achieve that. She will succeed."

  "At least The Council is unaware of her role. We have that advantage,” Cassidy added.

  "Yes. Her current confused state of mind has the additional benefit of keeping attention off her, as well."

  "Have you contacted any of the others?"

  "No. You were the first."

  They both sat quietly for a moment, while Cassidy waited for Angelino to tell him their next move. Angelino slowly took another drink of water.

  "We must leave immediately, Monsignor Cassidy. I apologize for not being able to allow you more time, but I trust you understand."

  Cassidy frowned, but nodded. “Yes, I understand. My mentor told me my generation would probably be the one called. Once I heard your speech, I knew it was merely a matter of time. I have anticipated this day. My affairs are in order.” He looked around his office and said with some sadness. “It will be hard to leave this place. I have taught here for nearly twenty-five years and it has been a good life. It is difficult to contemplate how completely my life is going to change now."

  Angelino looked directly into Cassidy's eyes and said, “It is difficult to contemplate how completely the entire world is going to change, Monsignor."

  Cassidy was grateful a man like Angelino was going to be directing events. He found he instinctively trusted him.

  "I must warn you, Monsignor, we will be in grave danger from now until we complete our mission. The Council will do all they can to stop us."

  "I understand, Father Angelino. I did not undertake this role to shirk it now that I am called upon to fulfill it. The stakes are high ... the salvation of the entire human race. The true act of irresponsibility would be to know it and do nothing about it."

  Angelino smiled his approval. “For the first time in a long time I am encouraged about our prospects for success. Come. We have much to do."

  "Where do we go from here, Father Angelino?"

  "South Dakota."

  * * * *

  SUSAN WONDERED WHY President Crowley wanted her to accompany Jesus and Mathias to the White House. She didn't have any influence on the tour. Mostly, she was there for show, the closest friend of Father Angelino, the man who had made the presence of Jesus possible, and therefore, a folk hero to many. She knew Mathias regarded Angelino as an old fool. What Jesus thought of Angelino was a mystery to her, however. He never talked about him. As for herself, she was still grappling with some of her realizations about Jesus—concerns she instinctively felt were better kept to herself.

  Crowley's secretary, Katherine Kinney, announced their arrival as soon as they walked in. Crowley was astute enough to understand it was not good form to keep Jesus waiting, and they were immediately led into the Oval Office.

  Susan looked around the office. She had been there many times as a reporter, in the days before her banishment. This time it seemed much darker, almost sinister. The entire world had begun to appear that way to her ... dark, sullen, forbidding. She caught her own reflection in a mirror hanging on a wall off to the side and almost gasped out loud at the image that looked back at her. Only a few months earlier, after her initial encounter with Angelino, she recalled seeing a happy, peaceful, and beautiful young woman in the mirror in her hotel room. This time, there was no trace of that person. The face that looked back at her was drawn and haggard. Her complexion gray. Dark circles hung beneath drooping eyes. Even her hair seemed limp and lifeless. She looked so ... old. She wanted to put her head in her hands and cry.

  Harvey Thatcher and Roger Harmon were also present. Susan noticed Press Secretary Morris hovered in the wings. This in itself was unusual. Crowley was known for keeping his press secretary out of the loop, ostensibly to not put him in the position of having to knowingly lie to the press during the blitzkrieg of scandals that seemed to befall his administration endlessly. Obviously, this meeting was something Crowley intended to use to his own advantage.

  * * * *

  Crowley greeted them with the boisterousness of a true politician. “Jesus. Armand. Ms. Morgan. How nice to see you all,” he smiled broadly. “Thank you for coming on such short notice. Please, be seated.” Crowley beamed.

  "We are honored to be here, Mr. President,” Mathias offered, as he sat down. There was a bare hint of a patronizing tone in his voice. Thatcher caught it and he could tell by Crowley's eyes he'd caught it too.

  Crowley sat down behind his desk.

  "This administration considers itself to be a friend of all of you in this room,” he began. “We have endorsed your ministry as far as the Constitution will allow us to and we have supported you in every way we can."

  Mathias nodded in acknowledgment. “Yes you have, Mr. President, and we are very appreciative of your support.” Thatcher, who was freer than Crowley to watch the visitors carefully, noted with annoyance how Mathias was adopting a posture of smugness, apparently gauging, correctly he had to admit, his affiliation with Jesus bestowed a level of immunity from standard protocol. He worried privately that Mathias might presume his affiliation with Jesus would immunize him from even more. Given Crowley's political problems, Thatcher feared he would be easy game for manipulation by Jesus and Mathias. Crowley appeared to acknowledge this, but he was concerned perhaps Crowley would concede too much unnecessarily.

  Crowley got up and began his patented pacing behind his chair.

  "Armand,” Crowley said with seriousness. Thatcher noticed Crowley was avoiding a confrontation with Jesus directly. He noted, too, Jesus seemed content with that. “You've been a good friend to this administration, and I haven't been very good about giving you enough credit for that."

  "No, Mr. President, you haven't,” Mathias said with a bit more defiance than was necessary.

  Thatcher stiffened in his chair. Crowley stopped in mid-pace for a split second, and then continued, obviously pretending not to notice Mathias’ arrogance.

  "Yes, I know, Armand. I apologize for that.” Crowley was really eating humble pie. Thatcher felt his stomach tighten.

  "I intend to make that up to you, Armand, if you'll let me."

  Through all of this, Jesus sat silent and expressionless, not betraying his thoughts or feelings about the conversation taking place in front of him. Nobody seemed to notice Susan's presence.
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br />   Mathias seemed to perk up. Thatcher almost allowed himself a smile.

  "Armand, Bart Green has just resigned as my Secretary of Education, for personal reasons. I want you to take the job."

  Thatcher almost swallowed his tongue. What the hell was Crowley up to?

  * * * *

  Susan wasn't sure why, but Crowley's offer made her sit up as well. Her street savvy kicked in and she saw what was happening instantly. Crowley was damn good! Mathias was almost peeing his pants, she could see. She turned so she was facing away from Mathias and smiled.

  Mathias looked hesitantly toward Jesus, who remained facing forward. He then won the obvious struggle to remain outwardly calm.

  "I'm flattered, Mr. President,” he said stiffly. “I'm not sure how to respond to that."

  "Well,” Crowley smiled, “you could start by saying, ‘I accept, Mr. President.’ I would have offered a post to Jesus, too, but I felt it would be unseemly. Almost like a bribe for his loyalty. I couldn't do that, now, could I?"

  Susan observed Crowley had just told him that although he didn't think he could bribe Jesus, he had no such doubts about bribing Mathias. What made that particularly amusing was the fact Mathias didn't seem to notice. It was amazing what a lust for power could do to one's vision.

  * * * *

  Thatcher was almost fully recovered from the shock and was starting to understand what Crowley had up his sleeve.

  "What happens to Jesus?” Mathias asked.

  Crowley turned to Jesus and said, “I'm glad you asked me that, Armand. I intended to ask Jesus to join my staff as one of my advisors ... my spiritual advisor.” He tried to read Jesus’ reaction, but there appeared to be absolutely none.

  Jesus finally spoke.

  "May we be frank here, Mr. President?"

  "By all means."

  "Your offer intrigues me, Mr. President,” Jesus said. “I know Armand would welcome the chance to influence the hearts and minds of the young people of America. But what I need to know is what you hope to gain from this move, politically."