Enzo turned and beckoned Paul to his side. He stood there awkwardly, wishing he could will them to accept him. But he would have responded the same way to an interloper who could get them all executed.
A middle-aged woman raised her hand. “Assuming you are who and what you say you are, how long before NPO International discovers you’re a turncoat? I mean, they are—”
“The best espionage outfits in the world, yes. Frankly, I don’t know. So far I have been able to keep them off my track by succeeding in rooting out underground charlatans that appear like people of faith only to the uninitiated. NPO doesn’t know the difference, painting all of us with the same brush. Our hope and prayer should be that Styr Magnor is not a true believer and that I will be able to apprehend him.”
“Magnor?” a young man said. “He’s done more for our cause than you have.”
“I haven’t done much yet, I confess,” Paul said. “But I respectfully disagree that Magnor has done us any good. Terrorist acts like those for which he takes credit are not of God. If we can succeed in bringing him down, that will be a benefit to the underground church here. It will take the spotlight off you.”
The room fell silent. Then a man: “Can you give us any inside information, something that will persuade us you’re not loyal to your employers?”
Paul had to think twice about simply bad-mouthing the NPO. He looked down, then hit upon a strategy. “Let me tell you two inside things. These might show you I’m on your side.” He spoke both of the highly confidential lipstick warning in the women’s toilet at the Bio Park and of the plan to require all citizens to pledge their loyalty in writing on Monday.
“We’re dead,” someone said.
“Wait,” another said. “What’s the significance, in your view, of the lipstick warning?”
“To me it shows that Magnor is not one of us. Had any of us heard of him before? No one in the USSA had. Then when he tries to identify with us he shows no more discernment than the NPO. He lauds the L.A. drought, which was clearly an act of God. Yet he also identifies with Jonah, the phony in Las Vegas whose philosophy of free love and drugs caused several deaths. This is not a man we want to embrace or have embrace us.”
Paul hoped it wasn’t wishful thinking, but he sensed a different tone and body language from these people already. How long had it been since he had been in the presence of this many brothers and sisters? Without even knowing them, he longed to connect with them.
“What do we do about next Monday’s announcement?” someone called out.
“Well, I for one will not be signing it,” Paul said.
“None of us can, of course,” someone else said. “But then we become instant fugitives.”
Others began jumping into the discussion.
“Does the government have the manpower to track down everyone who refuses to sign?”
“Depends on how many there are.”
“We need a miracle like they had in Los Angeles.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We’re taking this man’s word for this so-called inside information, and we haven’t even confirmed he’s legitimate.”
Paul was wounded to see how many in the crowd seemed to agree.
“Can I speak to you a moment from a personal standpoint rather than as a Christian mole within the government? I know you may still not choose to believe me, and I can’t say I’d be any different if I were in your shoes. But maybe we can begin getting onto the same page if you know that I am just like you . . . same worries, same struggles, same cares. Before I get into this, I suppose I should ask Enzo whether it’s fair to keep you here any longer. I understand that no one lives or even stays here and that most of you have work in the morning.”
He looked to Enzo who put it to the people. “If you must go, feel free. Otherwise, there is value in hearing out our brother.”
To Paul’s relief and encouragement, no one left. He told them his story, how he had begun as an enthusiastic persecutor and even killer of underground believers. He covered his injuries, his blindness, meeting Straight, listening to the New Testament, being healed, and finally coming to faith. “That’s when the fun began,” he said, “and I assumed I would have to immediately resign and get into some other line of work. Underground Christians in the USSA believed I could be more valuable to the cause if I stayed put. I’m still, frankly, not so sure. Because, you see, I’m not just a rogue agent. My father-in-law was one of the founding fathers of the NPO. His daughter, my wife, is still in the dark about what has happened with me.”
“Your wife doesn’t know? You have kids?”
“My wife and my daughter and son cannot know until I know they will react favorably. I cannot risk her talking to her father, exposing me, taking the kids to protect them, all that.”
Paul’s voice caught as he mentioned his family, and though he had not done it intentionally, he sensed he had suddenly captured the imagination and sympathy of these brothers and sisters. “Maybe,” he said, “the drive for citizen-loyalty signatures will finally force the issue, even in my own home.”
When the meeting finally broke up and people began the slow process of leaving one by one, several shook Paul’s hand. Others embraced him. Many told him they would be praying for him and his family and said they thanked God that someone like him was now part of their cause.
A woman tugged at his hand until he followed her into a corner, in full sight of everyone but far enough away that they could not hear. “I know you’re a relatively new believer,” she said. “And perhaps this language is new to you. But when you were speaking of your wife, the Lord really laid her on my heart. Do you know what I’m saying?”
“I think so.”
“He’s nudging me to pray specifically for her. I am fully aware that I might simply be overcome by emotion, but I do feel this is of God. Tell me her name again.”
“Jae.” He spelled it. “And your name?”
“Ysabel. I believe God wants to do something in Jae’s life, which would be a great benefit and blessing to you too, of course.”
“Of course. I appreciate this so much. I—”
“I will pray fervently and regularly for her. And I will ask friends to do the same. One day I hope to meet her as a sister in Christ. If not here, then up there.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Paul said, his throat constricted. He was overcome with regret over how infrequently he himself prayed for Jae, specifically for her salvation.
“Also, sir, Enzo asked that I show you our memorials.”
“Yes, please.”
Ysabel led him down a narrow hallway into a small room that apparently was dedicated exclusively to honoring their martyrs. Small photographs dotted the walls, each captioned with basic information: name, birth date, death date, how killed. There were thirty-one, and all had been executed by Rome police when they refused to renounce their faith.
“This is my son,” the woman said. Paul stepped behind her and looked over her shoulder at a round, beaming face. “Innocenzio.”
Paul noticed that Innocenzio had been killed within the last year. “He was a beautiful boy. I hope that was an old picture. Surely he was older than that when—” But he noticed the life span and quickly did the math. “They murdered a thirteen-year-old boy?”
She nodded, her eyes full. “They may have thought he looked older. . . .”
Paul could not speak. They were at war.
Paul spent the next few days concentrating on the Bio Park case and interacting with International on their progress toward getting to the real Styr Magnor. While they had succeeded in eliminating dozens of possibilities, the real perpetrator continued to prove elusive.
Rome’s Police Chief of Detectives Alonza Marcello got back to Paul on the handwriting of what they assumed was one of the suicide bombers. They met in the Venito Hotel coffee shop.
“Don’t ask me how,” she said, “because I don’t know what they look for in block printing, but the graphologist we used believes it
was written by a woman—I know, good thinking because of where it was found—and that she could be British.”
“Did the expert know the Styr Magnor connection? I would have guessed she was Norwegian.”
“The expert knew, so in my mind that makes this all the more credible. But get this, Doctor. The remains of the bomber were so nearly vaporized that we cannot harvest DNA to help identify her, if it is a she. But the other bomber, who wrote no note that we have found, may have left part of a hand.”
“How in the world could they determine it was the hand of the bomber in all that carnage?”
“My question exactly,” Chief Marcello said. “They tell me they have had experts on this since it happened, and they have used computerized imaging, satellite technology, trajectory studies, and even bomb-residue analysis. If it’s true, it’s the luckiest break we could have hoped for.”
“There has to be plenty of DNA in part of a hand,” Paul said.
“It’s being tested now and will be cross-matched with the NPO International database. Cross your fingers.”
“That’s not funny.”
The chief looked up in surprise. “Oh,” she said, smiling. “It wasn’t meant to be. Sorry.”
12
STRAIGHT WAS WONDERFUL WITH THE KIDS again Thursday night, and Jae was grateful. He even encouraged Brie to simply do what her mother said, to respect her and trust her, and she would be back to her own school and friends before she knew it.
But Straight did not accept Jae’s invitation to stay later like he had the time before and answer more questions about what she was hearing in the book of Acts. He persuaded her to get to bed early so she would be fresh for the trip the next afternoon. Jae knew this was the better part of wisdom, but she was frustrated anew. She still couldn’t read Straight. She had no doubt of his character. He was a wonderful man, a loving person. And he was smart. Wise too. But she wasn’t able to pin him down long enough to take advantage of that.
Had she offended him? Was he too shy without Paul here? Or was he hiding something? Jae simply didn’t know. So she was on her own, trying to interpret what she was hearing. The kids would read and color and play and sleep on the trip. That would give Jae a few hours to listen to the discs in the car with earphones. Anything to pass the time as she sped toward Washington.
She had planned so well that she was able to pack the car even before taking the kids to school, leaving her the rest of the day to prepare to close up the house and plot her route. Once finished, she merely had to wait until it was time to pick up the kids and get going. And while she waited, she listened some more. By now she was up to Acts 4, and the Temple police had seized Peter and John for talking about Jesus’ resurrection.
That’s sort of Paul’s job now, Jae thought. The NPO is like the Temple police. But what was so wrong about claiming that Jesus had risen from the dead if they really believed that—and why wouldn’t they when they said they had seen Him? No one else was forced to believe it, and if they did believe it, did it cause them to break any laws?
Then Peter, filled with the Holy Spirit, said to them, “Leaders and elders of our nation, are we being questioned because we’ve done a good deed for a crippled man? Do you want to know how he was healed? Let me clearly state to you and to all the people of Israel that he was healed in the name and power of Jesus Christ from Nazareth, the man you crucified, but whom God raised from the dead. For Jesus is the one referred to in the Scriptures, where it says, ‘The stone that you builders rejected has now become the cornerstone.’ There is salvation in no one else! There is no other name in all of heaven for people to call on to save them.”
Save them from what? Jae wondered. Sin?
So they sent Peter and John out of the council chamber and conferred among themselves.
“What should we do with these men?” they asked each other. “We can’t deny they have done a miraculous sign, and everybody in Jerusalem knows about it. But perhaps we can stop them from spreading their propaganda. We’ll warn them not to speak to anyone in Jesus’ name again.” So they called the apostles back in and told them never again to speak or teach about Jesus.
But Peter and John replied, “Do you think God wants us to obey you rather than him? We cannot stop telling about the wonderful things we have seen and heard.”
The council then threatened them further, but they finally let them go because they didn’t know how to punish them without starting a riot. For everyone was praising God for this miraculous sign—the healing of a man who had been lame for more than forty years.
If this is a historical record, Jae decided, even the enemies of Jesus and the apostles here corroborate the miracle. This is the same as what the NPO does today. Jae found herself strangely pulling for the underdogs in the story.
As soon as they were freed, Peter and John found the other believers and told them what the leading priests and elders had said. Then all the believers were united as they lifted their voices in prayer: “O Sovereign Lord, Creator of heaven and earth, the sea, and everything in them—you spoke long ago by the Holy Spirit through our ancestor King David, your servant, saying, ‘Why did the nations rage? Why did the people waste their time with futile plans? The kings of the earth prepared for battle; the rulers gathered together against the Lord and against his Messiah.’
“That is what has happened here in this city! For Herod Antipas, Pontius Pilate the governor, the Gentiles, and the people of Israel were all united against Jesus, your holy servant, whom you anointed. In fact, everything they did occurred according to your eternal will and plan. And now, O Lord, hear their threats, and give your servants great boldness in their preaching. Send your healing power; may miraculous signs and wonders be done through the name of your holy servant Jesus.”
Jae couldn’t ignore that the prayer seemed to describe the current world government and its opposition to people of faith. And these people shared their lives and belongings—when was the last time Jae had heard of people taking care of each other like that? It seemed today it was everyone for himself. What was so wrong with people of faith, even if we disagree with them? They don’t hurt anybody. In fact, they help the needy.
Just before it was time to leave to pick up Brie and Connor, Jae reached Acts 9 and found herself riveted.
It was the story of Saul, who would become Paul, and how he threatened believers with every breath and wanted to destroy them. He requested from the high priest cooperation in arresting Christians and bringing them to Jerusalem in chains.
As he was nearing Damascus on this mission, a brilliant light from heaven suddenly beamed down upon him! He fell to the ground and heard a voice saying to him, “Saul! Saul! Why are you persecuting me?”
“Who are you, sir?” Saul asked.
And the voice replied, “I am Jesus, the one you are persecuting! Now get up and go into the city, and you will be told what you are to do.” . . .
Now there was a believer in Damascus named Ananias. The Lord spoke to him in a vision, calling, “Ananias!”
“Yes, Lord!” he replied.
The Lord said, “Go over to Straight Street, to the house of Judas. When you arrive, ask for Saul of Tarsus. He is praying to me right now. I have shown him a vision of a man named Ananias coming in and laying his hands on him so that he can see again.”
Straight Street? What were the odds? And Saul regaining his sight? This was too much. Ananias argued with God because Saul had been so brutal to Christians, but God told him,
Saul is my chosen instrument to take my message to the Gentiles and to kings, as well as to the people of Israel. And I will show him how much he must suffer for me.
Late Friday night, Paul visited the underground one more time for a private meeting with Enzo Fabrizio. As he moved through the dank, tight tunnel, Paul busied himself praying for Jae and the kids, who would be on the road to Washington by now.
“I’m leaving in the morning for Paris,” he told Enzo. “But I have an idea for trying to flush o
ut Styr Magnor. What if you and your people put out the word in your own circles that you wanted to meet the man? Imply that you have been impressed by what he accomplished and that you would love to entertain ways you might work together with him and his people.”
Enzo’s face clouded over. “I would have to make clear to my compatriots that this is a ruse. I already have small factions who support what Magnor has done, and obviously I don’t want to be associated with that.”
“Of course. Now listen, brother, if you or yours have any Norwegian connections, that is the place to start. He may be crafty, may be trying to mislead, but so far everything points to his originating there and perhaps headquartering there too.”
“Norway,” Enzo said. “Got it.”
Paul wanted to get going, but it was clear that Enzo had something on his mind. “I hope to be back to see you all,” Paul said, “but with this announcement coming and the likelihood of all of us having to take a bold stand—”
“It may be impossible. I understand. I think you won over most of our people, Doctor. The personal touch made the difference. You became human to them with your concern for your own family. Many are praying for you and your wife and your kids.”
“I know.”
“Who are you going to connect with in Paris? Chappell?”
“Yes.”
“Met him once. As intense a man as you’ll ever want to know. Deep mood swings. A fighter. You’ll have to keep a very cool head around him, but he can be brought to his senses.”
“That’s good to know.”
“And now, brother Stepola, may I pray for you?”
“Please.”
Enzo slipped from his chair to the hard, cold floor, and Paul felt obligated to do so as well. The Italian put a hand on Paul’s shoulder. “Father, thank You for this servant who has so encouraged us. We claim his wife and children for You and we plead Your care over him as he completes his dangerous mission.”
Enzo paused and Paul wondered if he intended that Paul pray aloud too. He did not feel led, so he just remained quiet.
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