by Bill Myers
“What?”
“I don’t know. But sacrificing your only son …”
Katherine said nothing.
Sarah continued. “Eric still has a free will. Somewhere deep inside of him he must still be able to make decisions. If you could just reach him, talk to him. If you could get him to see that Heylel is wrong and that God’s ways are better. If you could convince him that God’s love is greater than all the —”
“Don’t you dare talk to me about God’s love!” The outburst surprised her. “Not after what I’ve been through.”
“But —”
“No God of love would allow this type of torture. And if he did I certainly wouldn’t want anything to do with him.”
“Katherine …”
“I’m serious. No more!”
Sarah nodded and answered softly, “I’m sorry.”
They walked in silence for several minutes before conversation finally resumed. They talked about how Katherine might convince Eric to go with her tomorrow. Perhaps a tranquilizing drug to sedate him would be helpful. Sarah had some Versed back at the hotel with her medical supplies. She could give her a small vial and show her how to use the syringe if she was interested.
Katherine had agreed.
Eventually the conversation turned back to Heylel — what Sarah should say, how she would have to again stand before his accusations, how she would have to use all of her strength and intelligence to persuade him to let her husband speak. Then again, maybe she wouldn’t have to use her strength and intelligence at all. Maybe she would simply follow her husband’s example and die. Die and let God do it. But how? They were fancy words, but how could she actually put them into practice?
Sarah shook her head. She couldn’t. Not yet. But she could pray. And, as silence again stole over the conversation, that’s what she did.
The elevator doors opened and Tanya stepped into the run-down foyer just outside Channel Two. She nodded to the guard who had been dozing at a small metal desk. She pushed open the double glass doors and entered the newsroom. Compared to this morning’s crowd, there were only two kids working the computers and puffing cigarettes, which almost made the air breathable. No one acknowledged her presence as she headed back to the edit suite where she and Jerry had begun their work.
But Jerry wasn’t there.
The overhead fluorescents were on, but the monitors and computer editing system had been shut down. Tanya scowled. Maybe he was on break. But that wouldn’t explain why he’d turned everything off.
Beside the keyboard, she spotted a stack of three tapes. She crossed to them and read the backs. One was labeled “Brandon Martus, Turkey montage.” It was marked with a red “edited master” sticker. The other two were the original tapes they’d made of Brandon’s speech back in Laodecia.
Tanya was puzzled and angry. She had left clear instructions that Brandon’s speech was the first thing to be cut together. And later, only if he had the time, was he to put together something on his travels through Turkey. But, by the looks of things, Jerry had done just the opposite. He’d wasted valuable hours editing Brandon’s travels and hadn’t even touched his speech.
Something was wrong. This type of incompetence wasn’t like Jerry.
Tanya stepped out into the hallway and poked her head into the next edit suite. A stringy-haired brunette was hunched over the keyboard, mumbling and smoking.
“Excuse me?” Tanya asked. “Excuse me?”
“What?” the girl demanded without looking up.
“The gentleman that was in here with me this afternoon. You don’t happen to know where he went, do you?”
There was no response.
“Excuse me.”
The girl swore at the picture playing on her monitor. She hit a few keys, and tried again.
“Excuse me.”
“Here,” the girl called over her shoulder, “take a look at this.” On the monitor a shaky handheld shot zoomed into a crowd on Temple Mount, then it cut to a closeup of Eric placing his mouth over Ponte’s, lip to lip, and slowly exhaling. Tanya watched with morbid fascination until the picture abruptly ended and the girl turned to her. “So what do you think?”
“It’s fine …”
“Not too weird.”
“You’re using it for tomorrow’s broadcast?”
“Maybe. The director wants tons of prerecorded drop-ins. Probably won’t use half of ’em, but he wants them just in case.”
Tanya nodded. “That’s his style. So tell me, did you happen to know where the guy in the next suite went?”
“How should I know?”
“I just, uh —”
Without a word the girl turned back to the keyboard and resumed working. It was clear the conversation was over. Frustrated, Tanya stepped back to her room and mulled over the situation. The good news was the last take of Brandon’s speech in Laodecia was great. It would only take an hour or so to tighten it up. The bad news was it had been a long time since Tanya had operated the Avid editing system on her own. Still, valuable time was ticking away. So, with a heavy sigh, she eased herself into the sticky vinyl chair, booted up the system, and went to work.
“So tell me, Dr. Martus, how was your meeting?”
Sarah stiffened. “What meeting is that?”
“Come now,” Ponte chided. “As I have told you, there is little I do not know. Your husband, he has gone through many impressive changes, am I correct? Making someone of your filth and immorality even less worthy to remain in his company.”
“I’m not here to talk about my past behavior.”
“Past, future, it is all the same with you, Doctor. You will never change.”
Sarah recognized the ploy. It was the same one Heylel had used in Eric’s room in Nepal, and more recently when she had tried to kill herself. But she would not fall for it. Regardless of her past, regardless of her future, she was forgiven. Maybe she didn’t fully understand it as Brandon did, but she knew it in her head. Just as her husband had forgiven her, so had her God.
She remained standing at the end of the conference table in the north section of the Royal Suite. Lucas Ponte, or what was left of him, sat at the other. He looked as he always had, except for the pair of glasses he now wore. A stack of papers lay on the table before him. It was 10:00 P.M. and they were alone.
Sarah cleared her throat. “If you know about our meeting, then you know what we would like from you.”
“I only know when and where you had the meeting. My associates were forbidden from entering.”
The fact gave Sarah some comfort. It was good to know there were still limits put on his powers. Bracing herself, she went straight to the heart of the matter. “We know who you are and what you plan to —”
“You know nothing of me!”
The shouting surprised her, but she held her ground. “I know what I’ve read.”
“You know only what Oppressor has written. You know only his version of truth. You know nothing of the glory that was mine — of my vast power and majesty. I was his greatest accomplishment, his shining act of creation. I led the stars in their songs, I was the bright and exalted one, directing all of heaven’s host in his worship.”
“Until you got greedy.”
The eyes locked onto hers in icy rage — the hate so intense that she physically felt air pulled from her lungs. “They wanted me to rule! A third chose me as king! A third! And now” — a seething chuckle escaped from his throat — “his beloved children are about to do the same.”
The emotion was so dark and cold that instinctively, Sarah started to pray. Dear Lord —
“Stop it!” He ordered. “Stop it!” The voice echoed through the suite. He took a moment to regain control. “I cannot hurt you. Even now there are forces surrounding you that prevent my approach. But not forever, Sarah Martus. Rest assured, your time is nearly at hand.” Leaning back with the faintest trace of a smile, he began to quote. “When they have finished their testimony, the beast that comes up from t
he Abyss will attack them, and overpower and kill them. Their bodies will lie in the street of the great city … where also their Lord was crucified.”
Sarah steadied herself. She was all too familiar with the prophecy, but that didn’t stop him from continuing. “For three and a half days men from every people, tribe, language and nation will gaze on their bodies and refuse them burial. The inhabitants of the earth will gloat over them and will celebrate by sending each other gifts because these two prophets had tormented those who live on the earth.”
Ponte paused, then shrugged. “An unfortunate ending given your loyal and unswerving commitment. Then again, that’s how Oppressor always operates, making impossible demands upon those he claims to ‘love,’ while offering little in return. But if you were to serve me” — he tilted his head — “well, now, that would be a different story. For I know how to reward my servants.”
Suddenly Sarah’s mind swam with immeasurable pleasures. Feelings, emotions, impressions — gorgeous men desperate to please her every whim, access to the highest powers, unlimited glory, worldwide adoration — pleasures so overwhelming that Sarah had to lean against the table to stand.
And then, just as quickly as they came, they were gone — leaving her gasping in the sudden silence.
“You see.” Lucas chuckled quietly. “I do know how to reward.”
“I thought …” She took a gulp of air and finally managed to look up. “I thought you couldn’t touch me.”
“I can’t, not without your permission.”
“Then what was —”
“Just a few of the doors you’ve left open to me.”
Sarah looked back down at the table, her mind and body still reeling from the assault.
“Those are my promises, Dr. Martus. Those are my truths.”
She knew she couldn’t withstand another attack, not like that. She had to play her card and get out of there. “But … your truths,” she said, “they’re only half-truths. What of the pain they bring, the suffering that follows?” She looked up at him. “What of the whole, the eternal truth?”
Lucas laughed. It wasn’t malicious, just amused. “Eternal truth? Nobody is interested in eternal truth.” He pushed up his glasses with his little finger, just as Eric always had. “The only truth they are concerned with is mine.”
“Is it?”
“Open your eyes, Doctor. Take a look at the world. Nobody cares for the eternal. My truth is all that counts. My pleasures are all they pursue. They have made their decision, Doctor. Through their own free will they have chosen me to rule. By their own volition they have rejected Oppressor and have selected me.”
“You’re wrong.”
Lucas looked at her, waiting for more.
Sarah made her play. “They have chosen you out of ignorance. They have chosen your truth because they know no better.”
“They have always had Oppressor’s Word.”
“Distorted by you.”
“No, my pleasures have distorted many of its teachers. Their teachings have, in turn, distorted the Word.”
Sarah could feel the ground slipping away. His logic was too strong. Dear Jesus, she silently prayed, help me, please help — Instantly, she understood that Heylel was again trying to distract her. She shook her head. “No, that doesn’t matter,” she said. “What matters is that tomorrow the world will be making their choice out of distorted facts and ignorance. And making a choice out of ignorance is not making a choice at all.”
“My dear Doctor, even with all the facts, they would choose me. Even if every man, woman, and child knew every detail, they would still choose my truths over Oppressor.”
“Possibly.”
“Definitely.”
“But you’ll never know, will you? Not for sure. You’ll always wonder if they chose you because you really are the greatest, or simply because they didn’t know better.”
Another smile crossed Lucas’s face. “You are very clever, Doctor.”
She said nothing.
“And your solution to my dilemma is …”
“Let the people make an intelligent choice. Give them all the facts. Then, if they want to follow you, so much the better.”
His smile broadened. “But you’ve forgotten one important fact, Doctor. They will follow me, regardless. Oppressor’s prophecies must be fulfilled.”
“Then you’ll have nothing to lose. They’ll follow you regardless, even when they know the facts. And you can rule with the satisfaction that they truly have rejected God and that they really have chosen you to be their ruler.”
There was a moment’s pause. “You make an intriguing argument, Doctor.” He pushed up his glasses. “So tell me, how would they hear these facts?”
“Let my husband speak from your stage tomorrow.”
Lucas burst out laughing. “You would have Brandon Martus debate me?”
“No, not a debate. Just let him speak from his heart for a few minutes.”
“The boy is terrified to stand in front of the smallest group. He will make an utter fool out of himself. He will completely discredit your cause.”
“Then you’ll have nothing to lose, will you?”
“Except, as you have said, if he embarrasses himself and your position, the people will still be unable to make an intelligent decision.”
Sarah’s mind raced. Had she just defeated her own argument? Suddenly another thought came, another opening. “That’s why we’d also like to play a video. In case Brandon gets tongue-tied.”
“The video he and Tanya Chase made in Turkey.”
Again Sarah was unnerved at how much he knew. “Yes.”
Silence settled over the room. She waited patiently.
Finally Lucas spoke. “You have presented your case well, Doctor. Allow me to think upon it. The prophecies must be fulfilled. The people will choose me and reject Oppressor, this we know. But to have them make this choice with the full knowledge of who they are rejecting and who they are choosing … this would be an even greater triumph.”
Sarah nodded. “Exactly.”
He turned his gaze fully upon her. “I know what you are planning, Doctor. Do not think your cleverness has deceived me. But your proposal has every possibility of making tomorrow’s victory all the sweeter. Through your own wiliness you may have actually made my victory greater. You will have my answer in the morning. Good night, Doctor.” He looked back down to his papers and resumed his work. The meeting was over.
Sarah turned and saw herself to the door. She felt a sense of triumph, but even now, wrapping around it, there was a deeper sense of dread. She’d sensed the Lord sharpening her mind so she could effectively state her case. But had she out-thought herself? Had she inadvertently played into Heylel’s hand, giving him, as he had said, an even greater victory? Only time would tell. And, glancing at her watch, she realized that time was fast approaching.
CHAPTER 19
BRANDON SAT IN THE deep silence of the Garden of Gethsemane. He watched the dappled patterns of moonlight that had filtered through the olive trees as they inched their way across the ground. The stillness was absolute. He wasn’t sure why the Franciscan caretaker had left the gate unlocked, but he knew this is where he wanted to be. This is where his Savior had been.
Earlier he had prayed and paced and cried and prayed some more. Are we doing the right thing … what am I to say … are we stepping out where we shouldn’t … is this really your will? Around and around the questions went. But there had been no answer.
Only silence.
And with the silence came the doubts. What was he thinking? He’d already proven his inability to stand in front of people. He ruined one man’s ministry, destroyed his own. He’d subjected Sarah and himself to unbelievable ridicule and scorn. And now he was expected to do it all over again? This time in front of billions of people? What was he thinking?
And with the doubts came the fear. Memories of glaring television lights, unblinking cameras, a hostile audience yelling and boo
ing him, hating him. And it would be worse tomorrow. Much worse. This was no national broadcast he was appearing on, this was international; it was going to be shown around the world. And this was no televangelist he was going against. This had every appearance of a standoff with Satan himself!
What was he thinking!
Please, Jesus … I’m not ready for this … there has to be some other way … tell me some other way … whatever you want, just tell me …
The silence continued.
He wasn’t sure what he had expected. A word would be nice, another guest appearance by the Lord would be even better. He’d even settle for one of those supernatural impressions he sometimes felt in his spirit.
But there was nothing.
He didn’t know how long he had sat there waiting, listening to the silence — maybe an hour, maybe two. But eventually he heard the faint squeak of the iron gate. He’d finally been discovered. He was about to be thrown out. Not exactly the answer he’d hoped for. The sound of feet crunching gravel approached. He pulled into the shadows with the futile hope that he wouldn’t be noticed. But, of course, he was.
“Brandon … is that you?”
“Sarah?” He rose to see her coming up the path, then quickly moved to her for an embrace. “What are you doing out here? How did you find me?”
“I went to the house. The old lady said you were coming here. And the caretaker, he said he was expecting me.”
Brandon looked at her in surprise. “The caretaker … he knows?”
Sarah shrugged. “He pointed out where you were sitting. Said he was concerned about all your pacing wearing out his grass.”
Astonished, Brandon looked over his shoulder toward the garden gate. There was nothing there but shadows. That’s all he’d ever seen. Pushing aside the thought, he turned back to Sarah. “You shouldn’t be out here, not alone.”
“I talked to Lucas.”
“What did he say?”
“I think he’ll go for it.”
“That’s … good.”
“You don’t sound too excited.”
“No, I think that’s great. It’s … great.”
