Shrouded Destiny

by Richard William Bates

  "What powers might those be?"

  If Angelino was attempting to catch Jesus off guard, Jesus wasn't falling for it. He ignored the question and softened his face into a forced smile.

  "I like you, Angelino."

  Angelino merely smiled without comment.

  "Can you imagine all we could accomplish if we were to team up?” Jesus offered.

  "What sort of things, Jesus?"

  "Think, Angelino,” Jesus said with force. “Think of all the people we could help by pooling our resources and working together. We could eliminate hunger and poverty."

  "And just how would we accomplish this?” Angelino asked.

  "Angelino, you disappoint me. I took you for an intelligent man,” Jesus frowned. “I know you are a man with great powers.” Jesus cut off Angelino's attempt to respond. “There is no point in denying this. Together you and I could combine our powers and bring a true paradise to mankind."

  "'What profit a man if he should gain the world and lose his soul.'” Angelino quoted the words of the man who stood before him.

  "Do not play silly word games with me,” Jesus flared angrily. “How does a man tend to his soul when his belly burns with hunger?"

  "By tending to his soul,” Angelino answered evenly, his eyes boring into those of Jesus. “He will be no more or less hungry by honoring the Divine spark which dwells within him. But once his belly is full, and he has neglected his soul to fill it, what manner of man does he confront in the mirror each morning?"

  Crowley spoke up, attempting to dissipate the tension. “What Jesus is trying to say, Father Angelino, is one need not sacrifice the world to gain his soul, either. And we in this room have the unique advantage of being in a position to influence the entire world to conform to a more equitable distribution of the world's resources. How could anyone object to fairness like that?” Crowley extended his arms, palms facing upward, in a gesture of reconciliation.

  Angelino sat thoughtfully for a few moments. He looked over to Susan, who was waiting expectantly for his response. He smiled and winked at her. She smiled back at him.

  "Gentlemen, you make a compelling case, I must say.” He turned toward Mathias. “Reverend Mathias, you are a man of God. What say you to all of this?"

  Mathias, somewhat taken aback at even being consulted on the matter, squirmed in place before stammering, “Um, uh ... I agree with Jesus and the President."

  Angelino smiled and winked at him. “Good, Armand. You keep on thinking for yourself."

  Mathias glowered back at him. Susan laughed again. She surveyed the faces of the rest of Jesus’ entourage and saw all of them were drawn tight in expressions of anger and irritation.

  Thatcher was the first of them to speak up. “Mr. President. Jesus. Why are we wasting our time with him? No offense, Father,” he said, as an afterthought.

  "Mr. Thatcher, my respect for Father Angelino runs deep. He would make a formidable ally to our cause.” Jesus said.

  "I'm not exactly sure why you think that, Jesus,” Angelino smiled. “You and the Council have spent a great deal of time and money convincing the public I am insane. I fail to see how my endorsement could be of any value to you whatsoever. Why would you want a lunatic like me endorsing your agenda?"

  "Angelino,” Jesus smiled, clearly pleased to have found an adversary who was his equal. “You do not give yourself enough credit. There are many people who love and admire you. Why, there are even groups forming in support of you. It won't be long and you will be competing with me for fans.” Jesus was smiling broadly now.

  It was true. Despite the best efforts of the Council, there were many people who chose to believe Angelino from the beginning. Initially, the Council's initiative was quite effective. At first, only those disenfranchised individuals who had never doubted they were the hapless victims of a massive worldwide conspiracy jumped on the Angelino bandwagon. This gave credence to the “fringe crackpot” theory the Council was propagating via its many agencies. But then, slowly, other respected voices began speaking out in Angelino's defense. Suddenly, the idea of a centuries-old agenda being disseminated through the powerful establishment was not so outlandish.

  Small enclaves of Angelino supporters began cropping up throughout the world ... Angelino Clubs they were informally called. To the chagrin of the administration, their number was increasing. What had been a blip on the political radar grew larger every day. Jesus understood, even if Crowley and his crew did not, that it was wiser to court the Angelino faction than antagonize it. To persuade Angelino to support them would make their job considerably easier. In addition, there was the admonition, keep your friends close, but your enemies even closer.

  "As I said, Jesus, I have no intention of stopping you and your friends. But you will be stopped in the end, nonetheless,” Angelino said, the smile no longer on his face.

  A silence hung in the room for several moments, finally broken by Crowley.

  "Are you aware, Father Angelino, the polls show the people support our initiatives almost unanimously?"

  "Well, I've been out of town, so I haven't had a chance to read a newspaper lately. If you say so, I will take your word for it,” Angelino answered. “I'm not sure what your point is, however."

  "Father Angelino,” the President answered. “The people are behind us. I'm not sure if you fully comprehend the significance of that, not just here in America, but on a global scale, as well."

  "If the people should hold a plebiscite and decide one plus one equaled three, would that make it true?” Angelino responded.

  Thatcher picked up the President's thought, not bothering to address Angelino's question.

  "Father Angelino, when the people are with you, you have true power. The whole art of politics centers around that proposition. You must either win the support of the people so it manifests itself clearly, or you must convince your opponents you have won their support. Once you get the people behind you, even laws cannot stop you."

  Susan could not believe her ears. She knew by its actions this administration did not have much respect for the rule of law, but to hear the chief of staff blatantly say it out loud shocked her. It was a clear indication Crowley considered himself untouchable, if he would allow such thoughts to be spoken openly.

  "Now, I've had a few conversation with Monsignor Cassidy here. He's a pretty good legal mind. You may not realize it, but he has been the Dean of Law at Marquette University for the past eight years. He tells me there are checks and balances on your power, Mr. President.” Angelino smiled at the stern face of Crowley, and then added, with eyes twinkling, “With all due respect, Sir."

  Monsignor Cassidy spoke up as he emerged from the sidelines to stand beside Angelino.

  "Father Angelino is right. You cannot simply railroad your agenda through, despite the poll numbers. Congress has something to say about what you can and cannot do, as does the Constitution."

  Crowley looked toward Thatcher, indicating he wanted his chief of staff to speak for him on this point. It was a subtle thing, but should things blow up in their faces, it could be truthfully reported by all in the room it was Thatcher, not Crowley, who had instigated the end-run around the constitution. Thatcher, not thinking it through quite as deeply as Crowley had, was happy to take center stage for a few moments.

  "Congress must have will in order to offer any opposition. This is where the power of the people comes into play. No matter how controversial the things we propose might be, if the people are behind it, the congress will not go on record as being against the will of the people. There are few in congress who have the character to stand on principle.

  "Oh, sure, there will be a few voices who will speak out. Senators and representatives who are retiring or who have safe seats in their own districts. But the accumulative weight of the people will always be the final determinant, whether it exists or is perceived. In this case, we have actual rather than perceived power because popular will does exist to support us."

  Susan
felt a wave of despair grip her stomach. Although in close proximity to the halls of power the past few months, she was at heart a political naif. Hearing political reality laid out so clearly for her drove home the true seriousness of the situation. She looked to Monsignor Cassidy to refute the reality Thatcher had just laid before them.

  Cassidy's next words did not do much to reassure her. “You could very well be right, Mr. Thatcher. But our short history has demonstrated in times when they are needed, leaders do emerge, often from the most unlikely of places. It is never wise to get too arrogant. Power is often a tiger which can turn on its rider."

  "Where do you get off calling us ‘arrogant?'” Mathias demanded. “Are you people dense? We have the people behind us ... and the Son of God. There has never been a time like this. What earthly power can stop that?"

  Angelino spoke up, looking deeply into the eyes of Jesus. “Is that true, Jesus? Are you the Son of God? Are you The Christ?"

  Susan almost gasped out loud. She had not realized, until Angelino uttered the question, that nobody had dared to directly ask this question to Jesus, not even Ray. Susan watched Jesus’ eyes closely. She thought she saw them flicker for a brief split second. Susan felt a wave of panic flow through her. Just as quickly, she gasped, as she realized the panic she was sensing was not hers, but Jesus'! Why?

  A long silence hung in the room before Jesus merely smiled and turned away, saying, “You know exactly who I am."

  Mathias crossed his arms and smiled to himself, satisfied he had heard the answer he knew was true.

  Susan knew the answer, too, but the answer was, to her, the biggest shock of her young but eventful life. She could not have known at that moment how that shock wave would ripple through the sea of destiny. She barely heard Angelino speak.

  "Well, I guess we all know what we have to do. It is time for us to go, my friends,” he said to the others, rising from his seat.

  Susan almost didn't notice, so lost was she in her thoughts. She jumped to her feet and followed Angelino and the others out the door, turning back one last time to see the stern face of Jesus staring back at her.

  "Oh, by the way,” she said absently, to Crowley. “I resign."

  * * * *

  MAURICE WILLIAM DOWD, bedecked in his finest military dress, arrived to his post with a bit of an extra bounce in his step. His ceremonial saber hung from his waist, its golden handle polished to a dazzling shine, as were each of the gold buttons which ran in parallel vertical lines down his chest. The sunlight reflected brilliantly off the metal as he walked—almost marched—to join the honor guard in front of the United Nations Building. It would be another hour at least before the President of the United States and Jesus would arrive. During that hour, he and the rest of the Honor Guard would be required to stand at attention. On another day, Sergeant Major Maurice Dowd would have dreaded that hour, but not today. It was merely a prelude to his date with destiny and his guaranteed entry into the Kingdom of Heaven, there to perhaps even rule by Jesus’ side.

  Dowd checked the pistol at his side one last time, snapping and unsnapping the holster to get a last minute sense of the motion it would take to draw and fire before anyone would know what was happening, then took his place in line and marched along with the rest of the Guard to its position aligning the red carpet leading up to the entrance, in honor of their expected guest, Jesus. The smallest of smiles crossed his lips, but nobody noticed.

  * * * *

  "I'M BRINGING STUART in on this, Arnold,” Harold Bennett said decisively. “We need as many allies as we can get."

  "Do you think that's wise?” Arnold cautioned. “He's in the President's party."

  Harold almost allowed himself to get angry at that comment, but checked himself. “I've known Stuart for almost thirty years. He is my friend and I trust him. Besides, he's smart and knows how Crowley thinks. We need someone with some insight into this administration."

  "But, Harold,” Ray protested. “Stuart Hatcher has been a loyal Democrat his entire career and he has defended Crowley with passion during the investigations, despite the evidence of corruption which is rampant throughout the administration. What will keep him from spilling the beans to the President?"

  "I think, once Stuart hears what we have to tell him, he will do the right thing. Crowley has relied upon members of congress being too weak-willed to resist his populist appeal. He has forgotten there are men of honor remaining in the senate. Stuart Hatcher is one of them. I trust him,” Harold repeated, with resolve. The others saw the determination in his eyes and capitulated.

  "Alright, Harold,” Arnold sighed. “We'll do it your way. Make the call."

  Thirty minutes later, Stuart joined the rest of them in Arnold's office. Harold welcomed him warmly. “Stuart, thank you for coming so quickly."

  "Well, you said it was important, Harold,” he responded, in his Massachusetts drawl.

  "It is. Very important. Please have a seat and Arnold will fill you in."

  For the next sixty minutes, Arnold laid out the entire story to the honorable and stunned senator from the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. When he was finished, Stuart sat in silence for what seemed like an eternity as the others waited with growing tension for his response. Finally, he spoke.

  "You are certain about your facts?” he asked, knowing the answer before he even asked. Arnold was known for his ability to put together facts like no other prosecutor in the country.

  "Yes. Julian Michaels’ report was consistent with the information I learned from Claude Chambleau. In addition, Chambleau gave me all of his research.” Arnold gestured to the pile of ancient documents strewn across the large table. “It all checks out, as best we can tell."

  Stuart nodded his understanding. “I see. You know, I have always been a good Democrat, even when I was not always happy with the way my party conducted its business. I always reasoned there were bigger issues than a corner cut here or a corner cut there in order to ensure that our larger agenda was advanced. I'm almost relieved now."

  Harold seemed genuinely surprised by that. “Relieved?"

  "Yes, Harold. Relieved. Do you have any idea how fucking maddening it is to have to defend a person like Crowley simply out of party loyalty? There is nothing to agonize over any more. These people must be stopped. And we have to make sure the administration does not find out about this. I'm sure you, of all people, will agree with me on that, Ray."

  "Without a doubt."

  "The real question, it seems to me, is what can we do about it?” Stuart said.

  "There is only one thing we can do."

  "Yes, I suppose you're right, Harold. You up to it?"

  "You goddamned better bet I'm up to it,” he said, cold resolve chiseled on his face.

  * * * *

  THE PRESIDENTIAL MOTORCADE came to a stop in front of the United Nations building. The first car contained both Crowley and Jesus. The crowd assembled along the sidewalk erupted into cheers as they emerged from the vehicles. Both men waved and smiled widely as they were deluged with flashing cameras and shouted questions of reporters. Police had to physically restrain the crowd behind the roped route to the entrance.

  At the top of the stairs, a podium with microphone, surrounded by the United Nations’ welcoming delegation, awaited a few brief words from Crowley and Jesus. The pathway to the podium was lined on either side by the Marine Corps Honor Guard. Fine, handsome men. America's finest, Crowley thought proudly. How he loved the pomp and ceremony of office.

  Crowley and Jesus made their way slowly up the red carpet toward the podium with the rest of his staff, sans Susan, waving and shaking hands with the people, who were delirious with joy at being in such close proximity to the two men. Some literally swooned, so intense was the excitement for them.

  Eventually, they found themselves standing behind the podium. Jesus was the first to approach it. He stood smiling and waving in his dignified manner. As he looked up and down the Honor Guard row, all of them kept their gaze fix
ed forward, as they were trained to do.

  It all happened too fast for the mind to follow. Only the video playback, slowed down to capture events frame by frame, would later reveal what had actually happened. To Maurice William Dowd, time slowed down. He knew, from practice time on the range, it took less than 1.2 seconds for him to slap back his holster flap, pull his weapon and get off two shots. Yet it seemed as if he were moving through water. He could hear his heart beat as he reached for his holster, throwing back the flap and grabbing the pearl handle of his familiar revolver in one swift motion. He raised the gun and pointed it at Jesus from his position no more than five feet away from him. His finger squeezed the trigger three times in quick succession.

  Jesus’ head turned in his direction, his face hardened into a glare. “Not this time,” he said, extending his right hand at arm's length in front of his face. Immediately, as the realization of what was happening hit, the Secret Service agents had thrown both Jesus and Crowley to the ground, covering them with their own bodies as a shield. It had not been fast enough. What happened when the secret service agent blanketed Jesus was part of what was caught on the video playback later that day. Three spent bullets fell from his right as he was pushed to the ground.

  Meanwhile, others of the service, as they were trained to do, drew and pelted Maurice William Dowd with a hail of .38 caliber slugs. His body thrashed wildly as the bullets slammed into him in rapid succession. He was dead before he ever saw if his shots had found their mark. His comrades stared in disbelief that one of them could have done such a thing.

  "He was shooting at Jesus,” a voice called out.

  "Was he hit?” asked another.

  "No. By some miracle he missed him. Praise the Lord,” said a third voice.

  The crowd of observers and delegates was in chaos now. People dove to the ground, others tried to run, stumbling over those who had chosen to huddle on the ground.

  "Was anyone hit?” a secret service agent called out over the crowd. Nobody had been.

  As people began to realize it was over as fast as it had started, a tentative calm descended upon them. Then the tears of release came from some of the bystanders.