by Bill Myers
“Is that why you drove your husband to humiliate himself on national television? Is that why you destroyed the clinic? Is that why you destroyed your own marriage? Because you are a new creature?”
Sarah had no defense. And still the blows came, so relentless she grew weak at the knees. “Is that why you’re here, because you’ve changed? Is that why you’re Lucas Ponte’s concubine?”
“Please …” She could barely hear herself speak. She could barely think. There was only the voice and its awful truth.
“Is that why you’re an adulteress? Tell me, Dr. Martus, is there anybody you won’t sleep with to further your goals? Is there anyone you will not prostitute yourself to?”
She shook her head. “I am not —”
“Of course you are. You always have been — you always will be. The whore of Babylon.”
Her body convulsed in a stifled sob.
“You have not changed. You never will change. That is why Oppressor selected you. The whore of Babylon. That is what you are. The harlot full of ambition … adultery and ambition, that is all you ever will be. Admit it! Who better to symbolize the prostitute! ADMIT IT!”
Another sob escaped.
“Who better to be the whore! ADMIT IT!” The entire room vibrated with his roar. “ADMIT IT! THAT IS ALL YOU ARE. THAT IS ALL YOU WILL EVER BE!
“ADMIT IT!”
“ADMIT IT!”
Almost imperceptibly, Sarah began to nod. She could no longer deny the truth. A truth she’d been running from for months, for her entire life. There was no change. She’d tried, but it had done no good. There’d never be change. Not for her.
“Sarah Weintraub …” the voice sneered, spitting out the words. “Liar, cheater, thief, adulterer … killer of her marriage, killer of her children, killer of all she touches … You’re pathetic. Disgusting. You’re worse than Eric ever could be. At least Eric is honest enough to admit what he wants. But you … the whore of Babylon. THE WHORE OF BABYLON!”
Sarah continued to sob, uncontrollably now. She felt Katherine at her side, heard her speaking words of comfort. But it didn’t matter. Words no longer mattered. Truth was truth. There was no hope. Not for her. Not even God could help her. Not now, not ever …
The remains of Laodicea were so isolated and so desolate that the mere act of walking through them made Brandon’s heart heavy. There were no glimmering marble ruins here, no towering columns or arches. There were only broken-down walls and scattered piles of brick and rubble. There were no trees, not even brush — just one barren hill after another covered in dry, dead grass. For one of the richest cities in the Roman empire, it was now one of the most forsaken. For one of the wealthiest of the seven churches, its physical remains were the least.
The sun had just dropped behind the hills as Brandon stretched out his blanket beside the ruins of what a faded metal sign claimed to have been the actual church building. Earlier he had given in. He had finally agreed that tomorrow he would make the videotape for Tanya. Granted, a tape wasn’t exactly the same as standing up to the Cartel in a dramatic confrontation, but it was better than nothing.
That was scheduled for the morning. But tonight, he had just wanted to be alone, to spend time out in these deserted hills, meditating on the last of the seven letters. He had no idea what the future held. Perhaps he’d take Tanya up on her offer to go to Jerusalem. He didn’t know.
But that was okay, dead men don’t need to know anything. They don’t have to do anything. They don’t have to be anything.
As the wisdom continued to take root, the peace continued to grow. If there was a battle, it would not be his. If there was a confrontation, it would only be as the Lord directed. He was merely along for the ride.
He reached for his pocket Bible. Although he planned to turn to Revelation, Psalm 37 caught his attention. He glanced down at the first few verses and began to read.
Do not fret because of evil men
or be envious of those who do wrong;
for like the grass they will soon wither,
like green plants they will soon die away.
Brandon paused to look out over the hills of dead brown grass. Hills that had once been so full of commerce and life were now withered and dead.
Trust in the Lord and do good;
dwell in the land and enjoy safe pasture.
Delight yourself in the Lord
and he will give you the desires of your heart.
Commit your way to the Lord;
trust in him and he will do this:
He will make your righteousness shine like the dawn,
the justice of your cause like the noonday sun.
Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for him;
do not fret when men succeed in their ways,
when they carry out their wicked schemes.
Refrain from anger and turn from wrath;
do not fret — it leads only to evil.
For evil men will be cut off,
but those who hope in the Lord will inherit the land.
A little while, and the wicked will be no more;
though you look for them, they will not be found.
But the meek will inherit the land
and enjoy great peace.
“Peace, great peace.” That was his inheritance. It was not up to him to fret or worry about evil. God would take care of it in His time. He had promised to use Brandon and that was fine, but only as He chose, not as Brandon schemed or planned or worried.
Dead men don’t worry.
He rested against one of the ancient stone blocks of the church. Behind him, in the distance, he heard a pack of wild dogs. They sounded like they were near the remains of the Laodicean stadium. He had visited that area a little earlier and had sensed, just as he had in Ephesus and in Pergamum, that such a place would be part of his future, maybe part of his physical death. But that was okay.
Dead men don’t die.
Ahead of him stretched one rolling hill after another. He could hear the distant tinkling of sheep bells as a shepherd guided his flock to safety for the night. The symbolism was not lost on him: the barking dogs versus the gentle shepherd protecting his flock from approaching night. And night was approaching … faster than he’d imagined. In the dimming light he quickly turned to Revelation, to the final letter to the final church:
To the angel of the church in Laodicea write:
These are the words of the Amen, the faithful and true witness, the ruler of God’s creation. I know your deeds, that you are neither cold nor hot. I wish you were either one or the other! So, because you are lukewarm — neither hot nor cold — I am about to spit you out of my mouth. You say, “I am rich; I have acquired wealth and do not need a thing.” But you do not realize that you are wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked. I counsel you to buy from me gold refined in the fire, so you can become rich; and white clothes to wear, so you can cover your shameful nakedness; and salve to put on your eyes, so you can see.
Those whom I love I rebuke and discipline. So be earnest, and repent. Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with him, and he with me.
To him who overcomes, I will give the right to sit with me on my throne, just as I overcame and sat down with my Father on his throne. He who has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches.
It was darker now. And Brandon’s heart was heavier. He looked out over the bleak, forsaken hills. It was obvious the church had not paid attention to the warning. According to the guidebooks, there had been a major textile center here — so successful that apparently they had no need for Christ’s garments. A medical center so famous for its eye balm that they didn’t need Christ to help them see. A church so wealthy that they didn’t realize they were “wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked.” And, because they felt no need to repent, Christ had apparently spit them out of His mouth. As Brandon scanned the stark desolation before him, he wondered how d
ifferent today’s church, in all of its affluence, was. He also wondered how different, if any, its fate would be.
As he thought of today’s church his mind drifted to Sarah. Their fates were so intertwined, he saw that now. As always, Gerty had been right. Sarah’s actions symbolized a portion of the church — her ambition, her wanderings, her … He swallowed back the thought, but knew it was true … her adultery. Yet, even this knowledge hadn’t stopped his love and longing for her. Nor did he suspect it stopped the Lord’s love for His bride. If anything, her unfaithfulness only increased His desire to hold and console her.
With a quiet sigh, Brandon closed the book and stuffed it into his back pocket. He lay down and watched the stars begin to appear. But sleep would not come. Eventually he threw off the blanket and rose to his feet. He started to pace. He started to pray. Before long, he was wandering the deserted hills, praying and pacing.
He prayed as the last light of evening faded … and he would still be praying at the first light of dawn.
Sarah sat alone in the dark.
It was her last evening in Nepal. She’d agreed to accompany Lucas and his entourage to Jerusalem. What other choice did she have? Heylel had been right. She couldn’t return to Brandon. She was not worthy of him. And this business of being an end-time prophet? Who was she kidding? She wasn’t qualified to serve God, she wasn’t even qualified to be a Christian. What had Katherine said about actions speaking louder than words? She could claim to be whatever she wanted. But the truth was in what she did. And what she did proved her to be nothing but an ambitious, manipulating … adulterer.
“The whore of Babylon”? Not a bad description. But instead of selling her favors for money, she’d held out for a higher currency: power.
She’d not slept with Lucas again; in fact she’d barely seen him. But she knew it was just a matter of time. Word had already spread that the two of them were “an item.” Not that it mattered. Not now. Now that she’d finally seen the truth.
Sarah looked around the room. All her bags were packed except for the notebook computer which she’d left charging on the table for tomorrow’s trip. But its tiny light was already glowing green indicating its battery was charged. She rose and crossed to it. For the briefest moment she thought of turning it on, of seeing if there was any e-mail from Brandon. But she fought off the temptation. It didn’t matter. Not anymore.
She unplugged the power cord and packed it away.
“Okay. Stop tape, please.”
For what must have been the hundredth time, the red light went off from Jerry’s camera, and for the hundredth time he lowered it from his shoulder.
“I’m sorry, guys,” Brandon apologized.
“No, that’s okay,” Tanya said, though there was no missing the weariness in her voice. “Just take a couple minutes to gather your thoughts and we’ll start again. Do you want some water or anything?”
Brandon shook his head.
“Okay, let’s just relax a couple minutes then.”
Brandon sat on a nearby pile of stones and rolled his head, trying to stretch the stiffening muscles in his neck. They’d been at it all morning, and as far as he could tell they were no closer to getting it right than when they had started. But it was understandable. How do you condense a month’s worth of learning into a single speech … especially when the person giving the speech doesn’t know the first thing about speaking?
Brandon had so much to say, messages from each of the seven letters, and it all wanted to come out at once. From Ephesus, the warning for Christians to return to their first love. From Smyrna, to prepare them for possible persecution. From Pergamum, that they could cut through the distracting voices with the sword of Christ’s mouth. From Thyatira, the insistence upon holiness. From Sartis, to wake up and quit resting on past accomplishments. From Philadelphia, the opportunities opening up to proclaim the gospel. And finally, from Laodecia, that wealth and strength will be the church’s downfall if she doesn’t humble herself and receive Christ’s real riches.
And, if that wasn’t enough, there was his knowledge of the Cartel — how the organization of peace would eventually turn into another Imperial Cult whose ruler would set himself up to be worshiped as God.
How could someone like Brandon say all of this? Sure, he’d jotted down notes and had practiced, but everything he said still came out jumbled and confused.
“Don’t worry,” Tanya had assured him earlier, “we can save it in the editing.”
Maybe she was telling the truth, maybe she wasn’t. Still, it would be nice to get it right at least once.
“Brandon?” He looked up as she knelt next to him. “Can I make a suggestion?”
“Sure, anything.”
“I’ve got bits and pieces of what you’re trying to say —”
“I know and I’m sorry. I’ve got an outline, but —”
“Why don’t we try another approach?”
“Another approach? Like what?”
“Do you remember back in L.A. how easy the words came for you, how you said they were like fire?”
He nodded. “They burned so hot I couldn’t hold them back.”
“So let’s do that. Instead of trying to remember everything, just relax and let the fire come.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what —”
“I mean get out of the way. Stop trying to do it on your own.”
Brandon frowned.
“You’ve been talking about being this dead man, right?”
“Right.”
“So be dead. Stop trying. I’ll tell Jerry to stand by while you pray or do whatever you do. And if you feel this fire stuff starting to come, just let us know and we’ll turn on the camera.”
“And if it doesn’t come?”
“Well, no offense, my friend, but we couldn’t be any worse off than we are now.” She flashed him a grin, which he couldn’t help but return. She patted his shoulder, then rose to go speak with Jerry.
Waves of heat shimmered off the tarmac at Tribhuvan International Airport. The temperature outside was insufferable, but it dropped a good twenty degrees as soon as Sarah stepped into the Cartel’s Gulfstream Five corporate jet. Toward the front of the cabin was a plush sofa, a handful of overstuffed swivel chairs, a wet bar, and a large mahogany table. Beyond that was an office meeting area, and past that what looked like quarters for sleeping.
“Sarah.” Lucas glanced up from his paperwork and motioned for her to sit in one of the chairs beside him. As usual he was all charm and attention. Gesturing around the plane, he asked, “What do you think? It’s on loan to us for a trial run.”
She continued looking around the cabin, taking in the rich wood paneling, the communication center behind them with its phones, faxes, and computers, and the royal blue curtains tied back from the windows with gold rope. “It’s …” She couldn’t quite find the words. “Nice. Very nice.”
“You don’t think it’s too much?”
She joined him and took a seat. The upholstery was leather, probably calfskin. “A person could get used to it.”
“Good.” He grinned. “How was your ride to the airport?”
“A little bumpy. But I’m sure we managed to miss a few potholes along the way.”
He chuckled while reaching out and patting her hand. “Well, that shall all be changing. Very shortly we will leave behind the potholes and all the other joys of life in the wilderness.”
“You’re not going to return?”
He shook his head and sighed. “I don’t think so. The work before me is too great. I am afraid the days of semi-seclusion have finally come to an end.”
Unable to miss the sadness in his voice, Sarah was about to comment when something outside the window caught her eye. A police jeep had pulled up just past the jet’s white wing. Two officers had emerged and were now intercepting Katherine and Eric on their walk from the car to the plane.
Eric had won the argument with his mother about remaining with Lucas and the Cart
el … at least for now. Not that Katherine had much say in the matter. Just the same, she took great pains to stay glued to her son’s side every available second. Sarah had barely spoken to her since the encounter in his room. Except for the not-so-subtle warning about getting too close to Lucas, Katherine had returned to her usual distant and aloof self.
Outside, the argument grew more animated. It appeared the police were trying to escort Eric away.
Sarah turned to Lucas. “Do you see this?”
He had returned to his work. “Hmm?”
“The police, it looks like they’re trying to arrest Eric.”
He glanced over at the window. “You’re not serious?”
“Take a look.” They watched as the altercation grew more physical, until the officers were actually pulling Eric toward their jeep. “Shouldn’t you do something?”
“Mr. Chairman?” An aide knelt at Lucas’s side. “The American secretary of state is on the phone.”
“Now?”
“Yes, sir.”
He rose from his seat and turned to Sarah. “I am afraid I must handle this.”
“What about Eric?”
“I think …” He gave a slight smile. “I think Eric can take care of himself.”
“But —” Sarah motioned toward the window, confused.
“Trust me, he will be fine.” And after another smile, Lucas was gone.
Sarah turned back to the window. Now the larger of the two officers was stumbling backwards. He was grabbing his collar, ripping at it, trying to loosen it. Others looked on, not understanding. He motioned wildly, clawing his neck. He stumbled against the jeep, then dropped to his knees, tearing at his throat. His partner raced to his side, shouting, trying to understand what was happening. Other members of the party moved in to try and help.
But not Eric. He had simply turned and started toward the plane again. For the briefest second he glanced up, and his eyes locked onto Sarah’s. They were filled with smirking amusement. She looked away and over to Katherine. The woman was ashen white, watching with a hand over her mouth. Sarah turned back to the officer. He was sprawled out on the concrete, his body heaving, gasping for air.
