Finally, Enzo spoke again, exhorting and blessing him: “Dear friend, build up your life ever more strongly upon the foundation of our holy faith, learning to pray in the power and strength of the Holy Spirit. Stay always within the boundaries where God’s love can reach and bless you.
“Try to help those who argue against you. Be merciful to those who doubt. Save some by snatching them as from the very flames of hell itself. And as for others, help them to find the Lord by being kind to them, but be careful that you yourself aren’t pulled along into their sins. Hate every trace of their sin while being merciful to them as sinners.
“And now—all glory to Him who alone is God, who saves us through Jesus Christ our Lord; yes, splendor and majesty, all power and authority are His from the beginning; His they are and His they evermore shall be. And He is able to keep you from slipping and falling away, and to bring you, sinless and perfect, into His glorious presence with mighty shouts of everlasting joy. Amen.”
By the time Jae had endured the rush-hour traffic and was into Indiana, the kids were sound asleep and she was already near the end of the thirteenth chapter of Acts. She thought she had been paying attention to the story and all the exciting things recorded, but she really perked up at the words of the apostle Paul as he preached in Antioch. He had just established that prophecy had been fulfilled with Jesus’ death and resurrection.
But God raised him from the dead! And he appeared over a period of many days to those who had gone with him from Galilee to Jerusalem—these are his witnesses to the people of Israel. . . .
This is what the second psalm is talking about when it says concerning Jesus, “You are my Son. Today I have become your Father.”
For God had promised to raise him from the dead, never again to die. . . . Brothers, listen! In this man Jesus there is forgiveness for your sins.
Jesus is still alive? Is that what the underground believers mean when they say He is coming back soon? Back from where? Back from where He lives now? There was the sin thing again, too. Ever since Jae had first heard it, she had been obsessed with her own shortcomings. How much easier life had been when she never thought about this! She skipped ahead and heard the apostle Paul defending himself before a king.
Authorized by the leading priests, I caused many of the believers in Jerusalem to be sent to prison. And I cast my vote against them when they were condemned to death. Many times I had them whipped in the synagogues to try to get them to curse Christ.
This could be about my father and my husband, Jae thought. She hoped with all that was in her that Paul had never had people whipped. Dare she ask him?
I was so violently opposed to them that I even hounded them in distant cities of foreign lands.
Now this was hitting a little too close to home. Jae had to turn off the disc a moment. It didn’t appear this Paul had even been seeking God. In fact, it was clear he was God’s enemy. And yet God invaded his life.
Later, Jae put in a new disc and found herself in the book of Romans, a letter Paul had written to the believers in Rome. She was particularly struck by several different passages.
For I am not ashamed of this Good News about Christ. It is the power of God at work, saving everyone who believes—Jews first and also Gentiles. This Good News tells us how God makes us right in his sight. This is accomplished from start to finish by faith. As the Scriptures say, “It is through faith that a righteous person has life.”
Everyone? How many did that include since this was written? And exactly what is this Good News about Christ? Was the underground church as small as her father believed? Or might it be a strong force that had never surrendered?
For all have sinned; all fall short of God’s glorious standard. Yet now God in his gracious kindness declares us not guilty. He has done this through Christ Jesus, who has freed us by taking away our sins. For God sent Jesus to take the punishment for our sins and to satisfy God’s anger against us. We are made right with God when we believe that Jesus shed his blood, sacrificing his life for us.
Jae’s head was full of new ideas. Who knew all this was in the Bible? She couldn’t wait to talk with Paul. If Straight wouldn’t satisfy her curiosity, surely her husband, new man that he was, would want to discuss it.
Several minutes later she found herself especially intrigued again.
Therefore, since we have been made right in God’s sight by faith, we have peace with God because of what Jesus Christ our Lord has done for us. Because of our faith, Christ has brought us into this place of highest privilege where we now stand, and we confidently and joyfully look forward to sharing God’s glory.
Peace with God? Peace with a God Jae wasn’t even sure existed? God has something specifically in mind for us? For me? Surely not. Jae found her mind wandering as she pondered this, but the text grabbed her again when the apostle Paul summarized:
What can we say about such wonderful things as these? If God is for us, who can ever be against us? Since God did not spare even his own Son but gave him up for us all, won’t God, who gave us Christ, also give us everything else?
Can anything ever separate us from Christ’s love? Does it mean he no longer loves us if we have trouble or calamity, or are persecuted, or are hungry or cold or in danger or threatened with death? (Even the Scriptures say, “For your sake we are killed every day; we are being slaughtered like sheep.”) No, despite all these things, overwhelming victory is ours through Christ, who loved us.
And I am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from his love. Death can’t, and life can’t. The angels can’t, and the demons can’t. Our fears for today, our worries about tomorrow, and even the powers of hell can’t keep God’s love away. Whether we are high above the sky or in the deepest ocean, nothing in all creation will ever be able to separate us from the love of God that is revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord.
No wonder these people are willing to put their lives on the line for something they believe in! The Bible itself acknowledged that they might face death for this decision. Is it fair for a government, a world system, to tell people who they can and cannot believe in? Jae worried she was becoming sympathetic to the enemies of the state.
13
BECAUSE THE INTERNATIONAL GOVERNMENT charter plane had been pressed into service for the Styr Magnor investigation, on Saturday morning, Paul flew commercially the nearly seven hundred miles from Rome to the heart of northern France. Paris remained its capital and largest city, some fifteen million living in the greater metropolitan area.
Paul landed at Le Bourget Airport and breezed through customs on the strength of his top-level clearance ID. He was met in the terminal by a swarthy, balding, sixtyish man who looked uncomfortable in a tight white shirt, tie, and suit, carrying a trench coat over one arm. He was about five-ten, and Paul guessed him at close to two-hundred-fifty pounds. The man introduced himself as Karlis Grosvenor, Paris bureau chief of NPO International. He shook hands firmly but briefly and led Paul to an idling sedan at the curb, his large, expensive shoes echoing throughout the terminal.
Paul was impressed that Grosvenor was alone. No aides or lackeys for him. “I am not going to waste your time, Doctor, by arranging a bunch of meetings with my division heads. First, they are all busy, as you can understand. Second, I like to stay totally informed in an investigation such as this, so I can tell you anything they could. They are all working today and taking tomorrow off, which I would like to do as well. Unless you have other needs, plans, or questions, I will take you on a driving tour of the city, ending at the attack site. Then I will deliver you to your hotel, where we have provided a fleet car for your use.”
“That sounds perfect, Chief. Thank you.”
As they passed the city of Denis on their way south into the city, Grosvenor pointed at a skyscraper in the distance. “That’s your hotel.”
“Really, out here? Pardon me for saying so, but it seems a bit remote from the city.”
Grosvenor, who seemed to eschew eye contact—or any k
ind of enthusiasm as far as Paul could tell—said, “All those arrangements were handled through Bern.”
Paul tucked that away. Having decided a small dose of paranoia might keep him alive, he had to wonder if he had been lodged so far from Paris (only a few miles, really) so he could be more easily observed. “It’s sure a tall one; I’ll say that.”
“You won’t see many that tall within Paris proper. After the Maine-Montparnasse Tower, which is nearly sixty stories, was finished almost seventy-five years ago, people didn’t like how it looked on the skyline. The city council put a ten-story limit on new construction, and it’s still in force.”
“Except for the Eiffel, eh?”
Grosvenor nodded. “That was the exception. And when you see what a half mile of rubble looks like, you’ll understand why there’s an outcry to not rebuild it again.”
Paul did not respond.
“First time in Paris?” Grosvenor said.
“No. I flew through here once. Didn’t see much but Orly Airport and the hotel there.”
“Well, you can’t tell in the daytime, but come this evening you’ll know why it’s known as the City of Light.”
“I understand it’s one of the most beautiful cities in the world.”
“Used to be,” the chief said, not elaborating. Soon Paul was able to tell why he’d said that. “We’ll take the Boulevard Haussmann to the Arc de Triomphe, then head southeast on the Champs-Élysées all the way past the Louvre to the Bastille, staying on the right bank of the Seine. Then we’ll cross the river to the left bank on Boulevard Germain—formerly Boulevard Saint-Germain—and come back northwest past the Île de la Cité, the Island of the City, to Bourbon Palace. That’s where the government is housed and where we have our offices. From there it’s a short drive to the Champ-de-Mars. After that you will be on your own, but I will remain available.”
“Thank you. Isn’t the Island of the City where Notre Dame stands?”
Grosvenor nodded. “Of course it’s not called that anymore, and the crosses are long gone. It houses the University of the Self-Movement now.”
As they reached the Arch de Triomphe at the western end of the Champs-Élysées, Grosvenor finally turned enthusiastic tour guide and bragged that it remained “at nearly fifty meters, the largest arch in the world.”
“Largest triumphal arch maybe,” Paul said, unable to hold his tongue.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Chief, the St. Louis Arch has to be nearly four times the size of this one.”
Grosvenor made a dismissive sound. “That is a mere novelty. This is a magnificent work of art, more than two hundred years old and decorated with the figures in relief.”
Paul couldn’t argue with that.
While Grosvenor circled the great arch, Paul counted twelve wide avenues extending from the square in all directions. His host headed southeast on the Champs-Élysées, soon passing the Place de la Concorde, the Square of Peace. Paul noted the famous chestnut trees dotting the landscape, but the beauty of this once-regal city had been compromised by the same blight that marred Rome. Decades of thumbing their noses at anything relating to God had somehow driven every moral standard to its lowest common denominator. Grosvenor failed to point out the houses of ill repute, the women of the evening working in broad daylight, the drug trafficking in full view of the public. Corrupt, Paul thought. The whole city reeked of corruption. He wondered if that embarrassed Grosvenor or if he, like Chief Marcello in Rome, was so used to it by now that he didn’t even notice.
To the credit of the French, the great Louvre had been left intact and unblemished. Paul had not expected it to be so large, extending nearly half a mile, bordered on the south by the Seine and on the north by the Rue de Rivoli. They soon came within sight of the Island of the City and the former Notre Dame Cathedral to Paul’s right, but Grosvenor said they would get a better view after they turned around at the Bastille.
Crossing the Seine to the left bank, Paul got a full view of the great cathedral with its famed flying buttresses standing on the Island of the City in the Seine. Only the absence of the crosses, which had not been addenda but rather part of the fabric of the design, detracted from the beauty of the place. He couldn’t even figure out how they camouflaged the crosses, but an enormous sign clarified that the structure was now the University of the Self-Movement.
To his left, Grosvenor pointed out the Panthéon, the University of Paris, and Luxembourg Palace. About a half mile farther up Boulevard Germain they passed what Paul said looked as if it too had once been a church.
“Very good,” Grosvenor said. “The former namesake of this boulevard, the Saint-Germain-des-Prés Church. It now houses the original documents of the Humanist Manifesto and draws nearly a million visitors a year.”
Just before they reached Bourbon Palace, Grosvenor turned left, and they soon came within site of the devastation of the Eiffel Tower at the Champ-de-Mars. Guards recognized Grosvenor and his car immediately, saluting and waving him through. It had been a week since the tragedy, yet to Paul it appeared as fresh as hours ago. Thousands of forensics experts still combed the place. As Grosvenor carefully picked his way around great recognizable chunks of the famous landmark, now scattered over half a mile, he gave way to dump trucks, garbage trucks, front-end loaders, cranes, and all manner of emergency vehicles.
Finally, in a spot where Paul could take in almost the entire expanse of the once-great tower, Grosvenor pulled over and parked. He sighed and wiped his head and face with a handkerchief. “Here is what we know from eyewitnesses,” he said sadly and paused as Paul quickly dug through his bag for his notebook.
“As you might imagine, there were very few survivors close enough to the epicenter of the blast to provide useful information. The best we can determine, it was one bomb. A couple of eyewitnesses corroborate something we picked up on a closed-circuit surveillance camera.”
Grosvenor pulled a small player and disc from his glove box and turned it on for Paul. “I apologize for the poor quality and also that the activity in question is not centered on the screen. But who knew where this camera should have been pointed?”
The disc showed that the camera was intended as a record of the lines waiting for the elevators within the tower. “Naturally, because of what had happened in Rome and London the day before, local authorities were being most careful. The lines were slow, and we worried that tempers would flare and fights would break out. Ironically, none of this occurred, but here, look, right there at the top right of the image area. A bakery truck pulls up, you see?”
Paul nodded. “Henri Foods,” he read from the side, which also depicted loaves of bread and platters piled with croissants.
“We have determined that the truck was phony. Though there are three bakeries in Paris with similar names, none uses that style or picture or even that model truck, a year-old Benz. There, see, the driver gets out, goes round to the back, and begins stacking, meter by meter, wheeled flats of bakery goods until the pile is two feet higher than he is. Notice how heavy that tray is, right there, as he pulls it from the truck. You see?”
“I do.”
“That, we believe, carried the incendiary. Not only is it clearly several times heavier than any of the other trays, but the driver also places it gingerly atop the others.”
“Yes, and he seems casual and even reckless with the others.”
“We believe he may have actually had bakery-truck experience, because other than that one suspicious tray, he appears to do this habitually, methodically, easily.”
“You’ve had bakeries view this to see if they can identify him?”
“Of course, Doctor,” Grosvenor said, pausing the disc.
“Sorry, silly question.”
“Not at all, but yes, we have been pursuing every avenue.” He started the disc again. “Now watch—he pushes the tall stack of fresh-baked goods toward the bistro located in what we call the front-right foot of the tower. We have compared this footage with t
he work of other bakery-truck drivers, and the only difference is the amount of effort it takes him to get the stack moving. Even a large rolling supply like that is not very heavy if it is made up mostly of bread and rolls and some pastries.”
“The bomb makes the difference.”
“That is our conclusion. But notice that someone from the bistro, the man in the green apron, meets him. We’re only guessing, of course, but it appears he is disputing that an order is due that day. In fact, he seems to look with confusion at the truck, as if he doesn’t recognize it. The two are arguing here, see? The driver pulls a sheet of paper from his pocket, opens it, shows the man, slaps it with the back of his hand. It’s as if he’s insisting he has an order and he’s determined to deliver it. Green-apron man is now gesturing wildly as if to say he wouldn’t know where to put it. This becomes graphic, Doctor.”
As Paul watched, the driver balls up the order form and throws it at the man in the apron. It bounces off his chest. The driver then runs to his truck as the man picks up the paper and seems to rear back to throw it at the driver. The driver appears to turn the key in the truck, and the stack of baked goods vaporizes. The last image for several seconds is the bistro man flying through the air from the image area. The truck is obliterated in the blast, as are hundreds of people standing in line, most of whom never even noticed the altercation.
As the dust settles and the camera wobbles, it shows the great tower shaking, leaning, and falling. Remarkably, the camera continues to record as it lies on the ground, until debris and dirt and a great dust cloud fill the frame.
“I think it’s fairly self-explanatory,” Paul said, “but what have you deduced from it?”
“Just speculating, of course,” Grosvenor said, “but I believe the driver thought he could get the goods and the bomb into the bistro somehow. It would have done its damage more directly from there, but obviously it was large enough to accomplish its work anyway.
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