Silenced

by Jerry B. Jenkins

  “That’s the second time I’ve heard that today, not in so many words.”

  “People come to faith through the truth of the Bible,” Enzo said. “Many of our members find us that way.”

  “How about you?” Paul said. “What’s your story?”

  The driver had pulled into the apartment-complex parking lot and turned off the engine. The rain pelted the van and the wind whistled. Despite the unparalleled insulation of European-made vehicles, Paul felt the draft. The temperature was dropping, and the men seemed to close in upon themselves, sitting on their hands or folding their arms.

  “It was my wife,” Enzo began, “whom you will meet tonight. She’s one of the bravest women I’ve ever known.”

  “And one of the most beautiful,” Calvino said, giggling. “If I may say.”

  “I won’t argue with you, Cal,” Fabrizio said, “but that was not what attracted me to her. It was her smile and her infectious radiance. We met at the university fifteen years ago.”

  “My wife and I also met in school,” Paul said.

  “We hit it off right away,” Enzo said, “and once she got to know me and believed I really cared for her as a person, she came right out and told me. Or I should say, she asked me. She said, ‘What would you say if I told you I was a secret believer in God?’

  “I said, ‘Tell me where to sign up.’

  “She said, ‘Don’t be facetious because I’m serious, and the fact is, you’d have to sign up if there’s a future for us. Or you could turn me in and that would be the end of me and us.’

  “Well, I told her I wouldn’t turn her in, but I’d like the opportunity to try to talk her out of this dangerous craziness. Dr. Stepola, she didn’t even get mad at me. When I think back about how important this had to have been to her—because, of course, it’s as important to me now—I can hardly imagine the chance she took. But she was just in my face about it. She told me she loved me but that she could never be unequally yoked. I had never heard the expression before. And she told me that as much as she loved me, God loved me more.

  “I’ve got to tell you, the only thing I knew about God was that He was not real and did not exist. I didn’t know what people who believed in Him thought about Him, other than that He was real and did exist. I had never even heard the idea that they believed He also loved them. I had always had the impression that He probably didn’t love anybody. If He was real, He was a grumpy old guy, always frowning on people and holding them to a standard they couldn’t live up to.”

  “I can identify with that,” Paul said.

  “Maura was raised by her grandparents after her parents were killed in the war when she was a baby. She’s a few years older than I am. I was born just after the war. Anyway, her grandparents were Christians, and they resisted the effort to ban religion, at least in their own home. I don’t know where Maura got her courage, because they were very secretive and warned her never to tell another soul that she was a believer. They had a Bible they locked in a cabinet in the basement, but when she was allowed to hear it read and then read it for herself, she did not, she said, find anything in it about keeping your faith a secret. As she grew up she became judicious, of course. That’s why she didn’t tell me about herself until we were serious about each other.

  “But then she put the pressure on. We argued, we debated, we discussed, but mostly she prayed. Doctor, I can’t even tell you when or why I went from not believing in God to believing that He was pursuing me. All I know is that when that happened, it was as if He was as relentless as she. I felt chased, pursued, wooed. Eventually, when I ran out of arguments, I confessed my sins and received Christ. God and Jesus became as real to me as they were to Maura. It has been quite an experience, raising a family, holding a job—I am a tour guide by day—and being trained to be a spiritual leader in a society that makes such a goal punishable by death.”

  “How have you done it?”

  “Technology, brother. The greatest resource of theological works and instruction is housed in the Detroit underground.”

  “I’ve been there.”

  “So I’ve heard. You saw it? The collection of discs.”

  Paul nodded.

  “They transmit those all over the world to students who can be verified as worthy candidates,” Enzo said. “It’s taken me more than ten years, but it’s as if I have a seminary education.”

  Baldassare cleared his throat. “Beg your pardon, boss, but it’s coming up on midnight.”

  “Yes, we’d better get going,” Enzo said. “You three go ahead, five minutes apart. Then I’ll send Dr. Stepola, and I’ll bring up the rear.”

  Five minutes after the last of the other three had left the van, Enzo instructed Paul on how to get to the compound. “When you get to the edge of the parking lot, slip through that row of trees and look to your right. You’ll be able to see the transformer station two and a half blocks away. Being sure no one is around, following or watching, walk past the station, turn left, and circle back to it.”

  Enzo handed Paul a key. “There is a dead-bolt lock on the door that puzzles even electrical workers. It unlocks in the opposite direction of a conventional lock, and it must first be triggered from inside. If you are not expected, your key will not work. Once inside, immediately shut the door behind you. It will relock automatically. Don’t make the mistake of moving too quickly in the dark. You will be standing on a wood ledge, about a half-meter platform at the top of narrow wood stairs.

  “Obviously, we can’t risk anyone seeing light from inside, so the passageway to the compound is unlit all the way. You’ll find it harrowing, especially the first time. The steps will take you about twenty feet belowground. Eventually you’ll come to another heavy metal door with even more warnings on it, but these can be seen only if someone has brought a flashlight, which you will not. Feel around the right side of that door for an intercom, press the button, and hold it as you say your name in a conversational tone. Watch for a tiny green light to shine, indicating you have five seconds to open the door. You will hear no response or buzz, so be alert.

  “Shortly after you have passed through that second door, the tunnel makes a ninety-degree right turn and leads two blocks to beneath the Baths of Caracalla. We meet in an area far from where the tourists visit, and it’s insulated by several feet of earth and stone.”

  Paul raised his eyebrows. “Well, it’s not the abandoned salt mines of Detroit, but it’s something. And that one cop is as close as you’ve been to being found out?”

  Enzo nodded. “As far as we know. On the other hand, we could have been infiltrated. We give polygraph tests and we ask the right questions. Normally people are associated with us and working with us a full year before they are allowed to join us in the compound. That’s why there are those who believe what I am doing with you tonight is suicidal.”

  11

  JAE FOUND STRAIGHT MADDENINGLY CIRCUMSPECT on the phone that evening. She couldn’t tell if he was upset because she had ignored his advice and wishes about her move to Washington—and surely he and Paul had discussed the fact that Paul didn’t want her to go either—or if he simply thought she was calling him too much. After all, he was also coming for dinner Thursday night.

  The kids were down and she had asked if he had some time. Though he said he did, his answers were short and noncommittal, almost curt. If she didn’t know better, she’d have wondered if he had something to hide. Was it possible he actually worried that she would get the wrong impression because he seemed to know a thing or two about the Bible? Even if she thought he knew too much to be a loyal atheist, it wasn’t as if she would have him investigated. Of course, with her connections, she could. She certainly, however, did not view Straight as a threat to the USSA.

  She told him what she had been listening to and asked whether he knew if the Bible was considered a nonfiction historical record.

  “I thought we were going to discuss this Thursday night,” he said.

  “Well, we are, but
that’s just been bugging me all day. What do you think?”

  “I don’t know what I think. Are you asking if I believe it’s true, or . . . ?”

  “I’m asking if you know whether people who are believers see the Bible as truth or just some sort of allegorical guideline or something. Because it’s sure different than what I expected.”

  “What had you expected?”

  He’s stalling! “Well, I don’t know, sir. I guess I always thought the Bible was full of legends and poetry and psalms, hymns, that kind of thing.”

  “I don’t think there are hymns, outside the Psalms, of course.”

  “And so?”

  “Well, I don’t see how I can speak for what other people think. Who knows whether they took it literally or figuratively?”

  Jae was actually growing irritated with him. She had assumed he would have been the type of professor she would have enjoyed. Until this. Jae tried her postulation on him that if it were not true, it shouldn’t have stood the test of time that it did. “I mean, in just the few chapters I’ve listened to, there’s some pretty bizarre stuff. Unless there’s some deeper meaning, people either had to buy this stuff whole or pass it off as a joke.”

  “They didn’t seem to do that, if history is a barometer.”

  “My point exactly, Straight. So this is a true, historical record.”

  “I can’t decide that for you.”

  “But it was for them?”

  “For whom?”

  “For believers!”

  “Well,” he said, “I think you just answered your own question.”

  Jae was tempted to ask him flat out what he personally believed. Why else would he be so elusive? She was off the phone with him much more quickly than she had expected, but she got the impression he was relieved when they were through. She hadn’t even followed through on broaching the subject of mysterious cars and people in the neighborhood.

  Jae hoped he wouldn’t change his mind about coming for dinner. Brie and Connor could talk about nothing else.

  She sat to read but couldn’t concentrate. She tried TV and quickly tired of it. She wasn’t in the mood for more from the New Testament right then, but she had to wonder why this had become so important to her. Just because it was strange? Novel? Phrases and verses and stories had come to her mind throughout the day. There was something magnetic about it, though she could not imagine ever buying into it. People who did intrigued her. Maybe that was it. She was gaining insight into the minds of people from a whole other culture.

  No way in the world Paul would have ever gotten near the transformer station in central Rome had he not known what was waiting for him underground. The signs began on the sidewalk and the fence and were pervasive every step of the way toward the door: Danger. Keep Out. High Voltage. Fatal or Debilitating Injury Possible. Authorized Personnel Only.

  He checked his watch. Knowing he was expected, he inserted the key Enzo Fabrizio had given him and at first turned it the wrong way. Was his memory getting that bad? No. He was just a creature of habit. Quickly turning it the other way, the door popped open.

  He stepped in gingerly, careful to not move too far as he shut the door behind him. Paul had experienced darkness before, but never anything like this. There were no handrails on either side, so as he carefully reached out with his toes, he rested his hand on the cold concrete at the right side of the staircase. With nearly every step, he imagined the next would be the bottom, but he didn’t dare walk ahead as if on flat ground. Each succeeding step seemed a surprise. And if it was possible, the darkness in the shaft seemed to grow thicker—and colder—the deeper he got.

  Finally he found flat ground. What came next? He should have memorized it. Moving along in pitch-black, not knowing when he might run into something, was just as harrowing as going down steps and not knowing which was the last. He moved slowly, hands in front of him, as if sleepwalking.

  Finally Paul felt something solid and metallic. Though he was expecting it, feeling for it, it still jolted him. He felt around on the wall to the right and finally located a button. He pressed it and leaned close, and not knowing why, felt the need to whisper his name. Almost immediately a tiny dot of green appeared, and he opened the door.

  Enzo had told him that soon after he passed through that door he would have to take a right turn, but he did not tell him how soon. With one step Paul hit a concrete wall. He felt to his left and found the same. The door shut and he suddenly felt claustrophobic. There was space to the right, and he would take Enzo’s word for it that it was at a ninety-degree angle.

  As he carefully moved that way, hands in front of him again, Paul felt panic rise. Nobody had told him the reason only one person entered at a time was that there was room for no more. His plastic rain gear scraped both sides of the tunnel, and unless it was only his imagination, the walls seemed to get closer in spots. Even at their widest, he was still brushing both sides. If he met another barrier, he feared he would not have room to turn around. He would have to back all the way out, and he had no idea how far he had come since the second door. It was supposed to be two city blocks, but how could he tell how far he had come without counting his furtive, baby steps, which he had not thought to do?

  Paul knew it was only his imagination, but he was certain the air was getting thinner too. Besides his racing heart, his respiration increased. Despite how cold it was this far belowground, his plastic cover made his body overheat. He was miserable, blind, and scared. Just when he was about to cry out for help or just stop and wait for Enzo to catch up with him, Paul reached another door.

  Now what? He felt a knob, which was locked tight. He felt a keyhole, for which he had not been instructed to use his key. He felt for a button but found none. Was he to knock? Call out? He clumsily tried his key, and while it fit, the lock would not turn either way. He knocked quietly.

  “Identify yourself,” he heard. A woman’s voice.

  “Paul Stepola,” he said, a frog in his throat.

  “Say again, please.”

  He nearly shouted it and the door swung open, the light from inside, though relatively dim, making him squint. The woman embraced him and he held her tight, mostly from relief. “I’m Maura Fabrizio,” she said, “and you look terrified.”

  “I’m all right now,” Paul said as she helped him shed his rain gear. He was soaked through his clothes. “Enzo told me about you.”

  About thirty people milled around in a generous-size, concrete-walled room with rudimentary lightbulbs strung about the ceiling. Enzo had told him that hundreds could congregate down here, so Paul knew it had to lead into other larger areas. Cheap folding chairs were grouped here and there, but few were using them. Large coffee urns sat on card tables in two corners, and the aroma of strong, black espresso overwhelmed Paul.

  The chilly reception Paul was warned of began immediately. A few people asked to be introduced and seemed warm. But most kept their distance, eyeing him warily, mostly when they thought he wasn’t looking. Paul had developed a technique that allowed him to quickly shift focus and catch someone staring. He found it strangely comforting to see Baldassare, Calvino, and the unnamed driver. They nodded, clearly not claiming him as a friend just because they had been responsible for getting him here. Paul hoped Enzo’s endorsement would go a long way with this understandably suspicious crowd.

  The leader arrived a few minutes later, put his arm around Paul, and led him through the anteroom to a larger area, where a hundred or so people were waiting. It was furnished the same as the other room, sans the coffee stations.

  Here were the ones who didn’t even care to get a peek at him when he first arrived. And Paul had thought the Rome detectives were tough. These were supposed to be brothers and sisters. Of course, he couldn’t blame them. If they themselves were not allowed here until they’d proved themselves for a year, who in the world did he think he was?

  Enzo called everyone around and asked them to find a seat. There were not chairs for all, so the
younger and hardier sat on the cold, unforgiving floor. Enzo and Paul had not discussed what was to happen here, and Paul wished he had a little more time to compose himself. He had no idea what he looked like to these people. Disheveled, he assumed. And what if Enzo called on him to encourage them? He had planned nothing to say. Straight had made a big deal about how with his trip to Europe he could mirror the ministry of his namesake, the apostle Paul, and minister to the church in its various forms. “You could build them up,” Straight had said.

  Well, here he was and here they were, and he was the one who needed encouraging. For one thing, he wasn’t the apostle Paul. He was a baby Christian who didn’t have the history or the training of Maura Fabrizio, let alone Enzo. These people didn’t need him, and he had nothing to offer. Paul had never felt so inadequate.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Enzo began, “let us welcome in the name of Christ our brother and compatriot from the United Seven States of America, Dr. Paul Stepola.”

  There was zero applause, and as far as Paul could tell, not even a smile, except from the pleasant-looking Mrs. Fabrizio. He could tell she had been a knockout in her day, but years of living a double life in an atheistic society had worn itself into the lines of her face. She looked radiant but tired. And Paul missed Jae all the more.

  He had calculated that Maura was not quite forty yet, but she looked fifty. Paul tucked her welcoming look into the back of his mind, hoping it would carry him through this frigid reception.

  “As you know,” Enzo continued, “Dr. Stepola is a new believer and remains an operative with the National Peace Organization. USSA underground assures us that he is the highest-placed mole we could have, and possibly our only one. Neither he nor I are unaware of the suspicion with which many of you must view him. I thought it would be good to start by allowing you to ask him anything you want. Anyone?”