The Indwelling: The Beast Takes Possession (26 page)

The hardest thing about living during this period, he decided, was the roller coaster of emotions. He would never get used to the shock of loss and the necessity to telescope mourning into minute slivers so it could be dealt with and yet one could get on with the business at hand.

In the past, with each death of someone close to him, Rayford had rehearsed the ever-growing list in his mind.

He didn’t do that anymore. He wondered if a person had a limit, some finite reservoir of grief that would eventually peter out and leave him with no tears, no regret, no melancholy. He stopped at what was once a corner and leaned over, hands on his knees. His grief supply was still stocked, and the pain of the loss gushed from him.

Hard as it was, Rayford had to condense the bereavement caused by yet another aching amputation into a few brief hours. He was not allowed to dwell on it, to jot his memories, to console a widow, to break the news to a congregation. There would be no wake, no funeral, not even a memorial service, at the rate they were going. T’s church was likely to have one, of course, but there was no way Rayford dared attend. Who knew who might be watching, lying in wait?

Not enough of his comrades in the Tribulation Force really knew T. There would be little reminiscing. He was gone. They would see him in heaven. Now what was next on the crisis docket? It was unfair, unnatural. How was a person supposed to function this way and stay sane.’

Rayford was grateful for his own return to what Dr. Ben-Judah liked to call the “first love of Christ,” that wonderful season when the plan of salvation and the truth of grace are fresh and new. He was thankful for the counsel of Demetrius Demeter and the refreshing rest and new sense of resolve he enjoyed.

And now this. The thrill ride. He’d had enough ups for twenty-four hours, apparently. He had been due for some downs.

As usual when in a stretch like this, Rayford tried cataloging what he still had to be thankful for. Without fail, every blessing in his life had a name attached: Chloe, Kenny, Buck, Tsion, Leah, her new friend he hadn’t yet met, the two Zekes, Chaim, David and Annie, Mac, Abdullah, Laslos and his wife, Demetrius, Albie. Rayford wondered why Albie had been so eager to help in Greece and what it was he was so eager to tell him, but only in person.

Rayford had to fight the knowledge that while his list might expand, it also had to suffer attrition. He had already lost so many, including two wives. He would not allow himself to think about losing more relatives.

When he returned to the Rover, Leah reported that she had reached the leader of the house church Buck’s father and brother had attended. “I told him I’d love it if he could talk directly to Buck and he said he’d be happy to, but I didn’t feel right about giving out Buck’s number.”

“That was wise,” Rayford said. “Let Buck decide that. His phone is secure, but this pastor’s is likely bugged if they just had a GC cleansing. Try Buck and give him the pastor’s number. Let him work out the contact.”

A few minutes later Rayford parked near Strong’s and they cased the place, only to find it secure. The three of them sat on the sidewalk with their backs to the cold brick, and Rayford pulled out his phone.

Something about the New Babylon predawn David never liked. Maybe Israel was lusher. Both were desert areas, but the hour before daybreak in Israel had always invigorated him, made him look forward to the promise of the day. The dry, windless heat of New Babylon mornings, beautiful as the sunrises could be, David found suffocating.

Watching Guy Blod put the finishing touches on the huge image of Nicolae Carpathia did little to cheer David. Not a hundred feet away, hundreds of thousands of grieving pilgrims from all over the world moved in slow silence, waiting hours for their few seconds before the sarcophagus. It was sad enough that these blind, lost, misled minions clearly worried about their future due to the loss of their beloved leader. But here behind great curtains, Guy and his assistants rhapsodized over the finished product.

“Care to look close?” Guy asked David as he glided down on a motorized scaffold.

Not really, David wanted to say, but how would he explain passing on such a so-called privilege? He shrugged, which Guy interpreted as affirmative, and the sculptor sang out instructions.

“There’s only room for one on the scaffold, and you have to run the controls yourself. Be careful! The first time I did it I nearly knocked over one of my own creations!”

Guy showed David the controls, which consisted primarily of a joystick and speed selector. He was tempted to point the thing at the statue’s head, shoot up, and knock it over. As David tentatively and jerkily practiced maneuvering the scaffold before rising, Guy hollered his cautions. “Careful of the smoke! The fire is lit under the knees, and the face has the only exhaust.”

“Why didn’t you wait until it was in place to start the fire?”

“We don’t want to distract the crowds. This sort of art is a duet between sculptor and viewer, and my goal is that they participate in the illusion that the statue is alive.”

“Twenty-four feet high and made of metal?”

“Trust me, this works. People will love it. But it would spoil everything if they saw us dumping in the stuff for the fire.”

“What are you using for fuel?” David asked.

“A form of shale,” Guy said. “For kindling, onionskin paper.”

“Where’d that come from?”

“Every tribe and nation!” Guy said, and his people laughed. “Seriously, we have an unlimited supply of holy books from all over the world, the last contribution of the late Pontifex Maximus. He shipped from Rome all the holy texts that had been confiscated and donated from the various religions and sects when the one-world faith was established.”

David was repulsed, now certain he didn’t want the closer look, but he was stuck. “Note the handiwork on the way up!” Guy said. What was there to see but polished black iron? “You can touch, but be careful! It’s delicately balanced!”

Nearly two and a half stories up, David could hardly hear Guy anymore. Smoke wafted out the eyes, nostrils, and mouth of the quadruple-size image of Carpathia. It was uncanny. Though from that close the illusion was lost that the eyes were real, the features, having been made from the actual cast of the body, were perfect replicas.

David was high enough to see past the statue to the horizon, where the sun’s pinks were just beginning to wash the sky. Suddenly he flinched and backpedaled, hitting the safety bar just above his waist. The whole scaffold shuddered, and he feared it might topple.

“Hey!” one of Guy’s assistants hollered.

“What’s going on up there?” Guy yelled. “You all right?”

David waved. He didn’t want to admit what he’d heard, what had made him jump. He steadied himself and listened. A low rumble, echoing as if from the belly of the image. Muffled and sonorous, it was clearly Carpathia’s timbre. What was it saying, and how had they gotten it to do that? A chip? A disc player? A tape? He felt the vibration again, heard the hum, cocked his head to listen. “I shall shed the blood of saints and prophets.”

David whipped the control so the scaffold lurched down about five feet and stopped, swaying again. “How did you do that?” he called down.

“Do what?”

“Get a recording in there!”

Silence.

“Well, how did you? Where’s the hardware, and what does the phrase mean?”

Guy was still staring up at him, obviously holding out.

“Guy!”

“What?”

“What didn’t you hear? Do I have to repeat everything?”

“What didn’t I hear? I didn’t hear anything but you, David. What the devil are you talking about?”

David began his slow descent. “The thing talks. How did you do it? Tape loop?

Disc? What? And won’t the heat or smoke destroy it?”

Guy rolled his eyes at his people. He whispered, “What are you, serious?”

“You know blamed well I’m serious, Guy.”

“So we’re back to first names, are we?”

“Can we not get hung up on that right now, MinisterDirector-Poten-take-your-choice Blod? The thing speaks. I heard it twice, and I’m not crazy.”

“If you’re not crazy, you’re mistaken.”

“Don’t tell me I didn’t hear what I heard!”

“Then you’re hearing things, Director Hassid. This thing hasn’t been out of my sight since the shell was delivered. This isn’t a theme park. I don’t want giant talking action figures. OK? Are we all right now? May I have them start moving my big boy into position?”

David nodded and stepped back to let a monstrous forklift move in behind the statue. His phone chirped, and as soon as he answered he heard a tone indicating another call. “This is Director Hassid, hold please,” but as he punched in the other call heard, “Dav-!” and recognized Fortunato’s voice.

“This is Director Hassid, hold please,” he said again, switching back to Fortunato. “Sorry, Commander. I’m watching the moving of the statue, and—”

“I’m sure that’ll succeed without you, David. I’d appreciate not being put on hold in the future.” David knew he should apologize again to keep up appearances, but he was dwelling on how important his getting up before 5:00

A.M. was to Fortunato last night and how incidental it was now. “We’ve got a situation here,” Leon continued. “I need you in the conference room on eighteen as soon as possible.”

“Anything I need to bring or be thinking about?”

“No. Well, yes. Captain McCullum’s schedule.”

“Oh, he’s—”

“Tell me when you get here, David. Quickly, please.”

David switched to his other call. “That busy that early, huh, kid?” Rayford said.

“Sorry. What’s up?” David walked backward as he talked, watching the statue emerge from the preparation room and become visible to the crowds. The murmuring grew louder as people nudged each other and pointed.

The statue leaned back against the forks of the truck, and not until it came into the beams of the spotlights did it become apparent to all that it was, as Guy had so delicately put it, au naturel.

Oohs and aahs rose from the crowd; then they began applauding and soon cheering.

“What in the world is going on there?” Rayford said.

David told him. “I think they’ve waited so long to see the body that they would worship trading cards if we passed them out.” Rayford told David what had happened in Greece. “I’m so sorry, Captain Steele. I only talked to Mr. Delanty a few times by phone, but I know you two were close.”

“This is a hard one, David. They don’t get any easier. Sometimes I feel like an albatross. The people who get close to me are soon gone.”

David told him he was on his way to a mysterious meeting, and they debriefed each other again on what had happened at the Gala. “No matter what they say, sir, it’s clear the shooting was accidental and that the bullet totally missed Carpathia.”

“That doesn’t make me any less of a scapegoat, but—”

“Oh, Captain, wait a second …”

“I hear the crowd. What happened?”

“Oh, man, it almost toppled over! They set down the statue, and it rocked forward! People were diving out of the way. The forklift guy moved up to sort of catch it on its way back so it wouldn’t fall that way, and that just made it rock forward again! I don’t know how it didn’t go over. It’s settled now, and they’re nudging it straight. Oh, man!” He told Rayford of the built-in furnace but said nothing about what he’d heard.

“That jostling must have stoked the fire, because the smoke is really pouring out now. You know they’re burning Bibles, among other holy books, in there?”

“No!”

“Sir, I’m heading inside now, and I never asked what you called about.”

“I’m at the new safe house, David.”

“Yeah? How is it?”

“It looks fabulous, but we have one problem. It must lock automatically in emergencies. We can’t get in. Can you unlock it from there?”

David was near the elevator. “I can’t talk here, sir, so let me just say yes, I’ll get to that as soon as this meeting is over. I wish I could say when that will be.”

Tsion took a call from Chloe, informing him it was likely they would be back very late. “Any evidence of GC nosing around?”

“None,” he said, but he did not add that he had been 93 million miles from Mount Prospect for at least two minutes.

She spoke briefly to Kenny, who kept wanting to pull the phone from his mouth and “see Mama.” Finally he said, “Lub-you-too-see-ya-lader-bye-bye.”

“Tsion, I appreciate this more than you know,” Chloe said. “He’s easy,” he said.

“And you know I love him.”

She told Tsion what to feed Kenny and to put him to bed at nine. Much as he had enjoyed the baby, that was good news. Kenny often slept through the night.

David had not given himself time to worry what the big meeting was about. He just hoped he would not be in there alone with Fortunato. David was the last to arrive.

A dozen directors and above were there, including television personnel, most yawning and rubbing their eyes.

“Let’s get started, people,” Leon began. “We have a crisis. No one is leaving New Babylon. Despite the decimated population in the last three and a half years, hotels are jammed and people are even agreeing to double up, two whole families in each room. Others are sleeping in the street, under lean-tos. The airport is crowded with big jets. They bring in capacity loads for the viewing, but they’re canceling most outbound flights for lack of interest. You know what’s happening, don’t you?”

“The viewing is not meeting their felt needs,” a woman said. David recognized her as Hilda Schnell, head of Global Community Cable News Network.

“I’m glad it was you who answered, Hilda,” Leon said. “We need your help.”

“What can 7 do? I’m staying for the funeral too.”

“We were not prepared for this size crowd,” Leon said. “This will be twice as large as the Jerusalem Gala.”

Hilda said, “I still don’t understand how GC
CNN
can help. Even at the Gala we merely—”

“Bear with me,” Leon said. “As you know, we already pushed back the funeral and burial to accommodate the crowds. We assumed that a million or so people would still be waiting to view the body by the time we were ready for the ceremony.