The Veritas Conflict (67 page)

Coming out from Harvard Yard, Claire could see a tentlike canopy ahead. Her angle blocked a full view, but she could see Alison sitting at a picnic table in the front.

She looked in vain for protesters. Across the lawn, she saw Mansfield’s car pull up to the small lot in front of Mem Hall. Ian got out and began to lug a folding table out of the backseat. His face was worried.

She smiled. He was probably worried about her. She quickened her step, heading toward him rather than the tent.

Mansfield turned, smiling, as Claire appeared at his side.

“Claire!” He put a grandfatherly hand on her shoulder, looking down into her face.

It was shining.

He went rigid in surprise and started to drop his hand.

“Don’t.” She gently patted his hand.

The squealing of nearby tires caught his attention, and suddenly the happy commotion in the tent became distant, pausing in a blink of time.

The voice by his side was clear. “Don’t be afraid, William David Mansfield.”

Mansfield forced himself to take a shuddering breath as he stared down into the otherworldly eyes. He couldn’t speak. Excitement, trepidation, longing washed over him.

The young woman’s gaze was solemn. “Your Lord is calling you home. You have run the race well, Dr. Mansfield, and there is much awaiting you. The enemy’s schemes are evil, but God will use them for His good.”

Mansfield kept his hand on her shoulder, and his words came out as a whisper. “Can you tell me more?”

“Your great work here has been to expose the schemes of the enemy, to open the eyes of the blind to the glorious light of the gospel of Christ. You were born to that purpose, and you have been faithful. The Master’s hand is now pulling the final threads of what the enemy has woven around this place. Those schemes are about to unravel. Your sacrifice will be the final thread that the Lord transforms. He will use it to weave a garment of righteousness. ”

Mansfield looked around at the cheerful silent throng of students, the half-flipped burgers poised over an immobile fire. His senses seemed magnified by the suspended motion. He saw Alison paused in earnest conversation, looked through the tent flap to where Ian was half out of his distant car. With vision that was somehow not his own, he saw Brad and Teresa talking by the grill and also dancing together under a larger tent of white. Tears appeared in his eyes.

“You will still be able to see them, you know. Still pray for them.” The young woman’s eyes smiled up into his. “And William David Mansfield, you also will receive a robe of righteousness this day.”

“Praise be to God!” Tears leaked down his cheeks. “I am ready to meet my Lord.”

“God is with you, my friend.”

The motion in the tent snapped back into being, the squealing of tires loud in his ears. Mansfield smiled, triumphant, and his fingers tightened on the young woman’s shoulder.

Claire ran up beside Ian as he lugged the table out of Mansfield’s car.

“Boo.”

Startled, he nearly dropped the table. He turned swiftly, then sagged in relief. “Thank God! I—”

The squealing of tires interrupted his words. The two students twisted to see a large pickup truck speeding the final feet of Oxford Street. It was not slowing for the turn.

The students under the front canopy were talking, laughing as the truck leaped the curb and plowed into the back of the tent. It mowed down the heavy tarpaulin, snapping metal poles like twigs before it finally crashed into some immovable object and stopped.

“NO!”

Claire screamed as she watched the students scatter, screaming in horror. The tent was collapsing around those inside, trapping them in the folds of heavy fabric, under tables, thick metal poles. She could see bodies straining to get free. The truck stood grotesquely in the middle of the collapsed tarpaulin.

Claire ran forward, Ian right behind her, stumbling, scrambling, for the tent. She passed hysterical students running the other direction.

One of them was yelling, “Mansfield! Mansfield! O God, Mansfield was back there!”

Claire started crying, pushing through a growing crowd. Students were running toward the scene from all directions, dozens of hands outstretched, pulling at the massive tarpaulin. People were shouting, “Call 911!”

Claire saw someone pull Alison from the wreckage of a picnic table. She was gasping for air, her face pale, holding her side. The helping hands laid Alison down on the ground just as Claire fought her way up to the tent.

Ian was grabbed by hysterical hands.

“O God, help me!”

The girl—he didn’t know her name—fell back to the ground, crying out in pain, her thigh pierced by the sharp tines of a barbecue rack.

He looked at the hot metal and knelt beside her, ripping off his windbreaker. “Hold still.”

He was shaking and started praying under his breath as he wrapped his hands in the folds of his jacket. He grabbed the metal rack and pulled it free in one fluid motion.

The girl screamed, panting, her hands grabbing at his sweater. Ian had tears in his eyes as he laid his hand on her head. “You’ll be okay. It’ll be okay.” He looked around as another female student ran up.

“Teresa!”

The girl fell to the ground and embraced her friend, who started crying. “Brad was back there! O Jesus, help us!”

“They said Mansfield was, too!” the newcomer cried. Her words caught the attention of three students who were running toward the scene.

“Professor Mansfield?” All three went rigid with horror.

A young woman nearby pressed her hands to her face, tears filling her eyes. “O dear God!”

The word spread quickly, and Ian could hear wails of disbelief.

He was jostled by a heavy body brushing past.

“…  took out Claire … good …”

Ian froze and strained to listen over the chaos around him. He got a glimpse of a man in a black jacket speaking in a low voice to someone out of his view. “Claire only talked to the professor, and they both went down. I’d say we’re secure.”

The other voice was even lower. “Go and watch. I’ll stay here. Make sure they’re both dead. And grab the evidence if you can.”

The black-jacketed man began working his way around the perimeter of the crowd.

Ian jumped to his feet, his blood running cold. He started praying aloud as he tried to fight his way through the throng.

“O God! Help me get her, Lord!”

Suddenly a path opened in front of him. He ran forward, anxious eyes scanning the dreadful scene. Emergency personnel had begun to arrive from the fire station across the street from Mem Hall, and firemen were tunneling through the collapsed tent, carrying limp forms from the wreckage. Several men had wrestled the driver out of the truck and to the ground.

Several still lumps lay under the tarpaulin, near the car. Ian wanted to vomit. He forced himself to breathe, his eyes wild as he looked around.

Claire was kneeling beside Alison, holding her hand, shaking.

He ran up and grabbed her from behind. “Come with me!”

She turned, her face wild. “They say Mansfield was standing right there! Right there, Ian!”

Ian reached down and pulled her to her feet. She fought him, beating on his chest, but he held her until she was able to listen. He whispered in her ear, and her eyes went wide, searching the crowd.

He grabbed her hand, and they broke into a run toward Mansfield’s car. He scooped up her backpack and shoveled her into the passenger seat, then ran around to the driver’s side.

“We can’t just leave them!”

“We have to!” Ian shouted as he jumped into the drivers seat. “They were trying for
you
, Claire!”

He turned the keys in the ignition and peeled away from the building.

He did not see the man in the blue coat run toward the lot and stare after them.

FIFTY-SIX

M
ANSFIELD TREMBLED AS HE WALKED TOWARD
the radiant throne escorted by a solemn honor guard.

He
couldn’t
approach that Glory, and yet … he could. He looked around at the shining faces of the loved ones lining his path, their gleeful smiles, their delight at his reaction. Rank upon rank spread behind them, those predecessors—he somehow knew—of his godly heritage. All gathered in the throne room to watch him approach the King.

Mansfield closed his eyes, inexpressible joy leaking down his cheeks. His heart stretched as if it would burst. And yet … it was as if his capacity for love had been expanded, able to hold more pure feeling than ever imagined in the shadowed lands.

The honor guard stopped. He was there.

He took a breath and raised his face toward his King. Instantly, he was on his knees, quaking, his face to the throne-room floor.

There was a long pause. And then he felt a gentle touch on his shoulder, heard those words his heart had been longing for his whole life.

“Well done, my good and faithful servant.”

The Son of Man knelt beside him, arms outstretched, and Mansfield threw himself into His embrace.

His Savior’s voice was strong and tender as he rocked his child, a laugh bubbling up just under the surface.

“Enter into the joy of your Lord!”

Ian made another quick turn, looking behind him in the rearview mirror. No one was following them.

His hands began to shake on the steering wheel, and he started taking fast, shallow breaths. His whole body was cold, his mind grappling with the unfathomable.

A group of students rushed past on the nearby sidewalk, heading in the direction of Mem Hall. Tears were streaming down their faces.

He turned into a deserted side street near the college and stopped the car with a jerk. He slammed the gearshift into park, put his head and arms on the steering wheel,
and wept. Beside him, Claire had her head in her hands, shuddering with sobs. He reached over, and she clung to him, her fingers clenching and unclenching on his sweater.

They pulled apart after a time, Claire wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her jacket.

“I think he’s dead, you know.” Her voice came out in a whisper. “The people back there weren’t moving. The firemen said that most of the ones they brought out were unconscious but okay. But they said there were a few …” She broke down again. ? God, why?”

Ian’s voice was husky. “Lord, we don’t know why this has happened, but we know You are on Your throne. God, show us what we’re supposed to do.”

He took a deep breath. As if a switch had been flipped, an unearthly peace descended on him. There would be time for mourning later. Right now they had to figure out what to do. For one thing, they had no doubt about the importance of the information Claire carried.

He turned toward her, grabbing her by the shoulders. “What was it?” His voice was urgent. “What was the answer you found?”

Claire stared at him, her eyes widening, then scrambled into the backseat where Ian had thrown her backpack. She fumbled with the zipper and pulled out the precious pages. She handed him one of the sheets, pointing, explaining quickly.

“This
must
be it, but how they knew I had them I don’t know.” She turned to put the papers back in the pack, and screamed.

Ian spun in his seat. Stefan Pike was running toward the car, stumbling down a gentle incline behind them, looking above and behind him, his eyes wild.

“Go! Go!” Claire yelled.

But Ian didn’t go. He wasn’t supposed to. He opened the car door and got out.

“Ian!”

Stefan saw him and ran up, gasping. “Help me! Help me.”

He saw Claire in the backseat, her mouth open, yelling at Ian. He reeled back and turned to run, but Ian grabbed his jacket, wrestling him back against the wall lining the street. He slammed him hard into the brick. Stefan began to struggle, and Ian slammed him back again and again, shouting for an explanation.

Suddenly, he felt Claire’s hands pulling him away, heard her shouting at him to stop. He heard Stefan whimpering.

“Help … me …”

Ian gave Stefan a final shove, yelling at him. “What is going on?”

Stefan started whimpering again and batted at his chest, his head, his shoulders. “Get them off me; get them off!”

Ian and Claire looked at each other in alarm.