666

666

Truman Dayon Godwin

© Copyright 1996 Truman Dayon Godwin

Smashwords Edition 2011

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Revelation, Chapter 13

. . . And he causes all, the small and the great, and the rich and the poor, and the free men and the slaves, to be given a mark on their right hand, or on their forehead. And he provides that no one should be able to buy or to sell, except the one who has the mark, either the name of the beast or the number of his name. Here is wisdom. Let him who has understanding calculate the number of the beast, for the number is that of a man; and his number is six hundred and sixty-six.

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to those who served in the Korean War.

TO THE DEAD

whose sacrifices were made with bravery and honor.

TO THE SURVIVORS

who returned home and resumed their civilian lives with the quiet dignity of courageous men and women. May they always be remembered for their endurance in battle, and their unflagging example of patriotism and duty.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

It is impossible to list all of those whose influence, in one way or another, contributed to this book. However, the following deserve special mention:

Etta Lynch and Wanda Evans, my friends, and colleagues. Their encouragement and tutoring have been steady and faithful. Both have helped me and inspired me to continue writing and to do my best.

Congressman Mac Thornberry, and Nicole and Julie, secretaries in his office. When my wife and I went to Washington to do research for this book, these people helped us with itineraries, appointments, and overall planning. In addition, they supplied certain necessary information and statistics. Their courtesy, friendliness, and cheerful support are deeply appreciated.

Washington cab drivers, Getachew Goshime and Bill Godhigh. Both of these men were prompt and cooperative in providing some of our special transportation needs. If not for them, part of my research could not have been done as thoroughly or as accurately.

Dewey Tucker, my lifelong friend. His earthy wit, rare sense of humor, and common-sense philosophy of life have produced ideas and Tuckerisms which, through osmosis, have crept into my mind through the years. That influence is bound to be present somewhere in the book, although I couldn't tell you exactly where.

Wilma Hill, another longtime friend. She contributed certain electronic ideas used in the book. In order to protect the reader's right not to be annoyed by advance information, I will not be more specific.

Dr. Lowell Johnson, our family doctor for more than thirty years. He graciously acted as my medical advisor. I thank him for his patience and willingness in answering my questions and providing me with information. His contribution reduced my research time.

My wife, Nancy, and my children, Susan, Tanya, Jane, David, and Gary. They have been understanding, patient, cooperative, and-most of all-supportive of me during my labor pains to produce this book.

Imagination is a mighty thing: It is the fountain of invention, the road of discovery, and the springboard of progress. It is the difference between a drab existence and an exciting life.

Truman Dayon Godwin

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1: Larson Valley, Texas

Chapter 17: Washington D.C.

Chapter 32: Kennedy, C.Z.

Bibliography

About the Author

Chapter 1

Larson Valley, Texas

Jonathan Irons approached the beam of light. It shone from the ceiling to the floor with such intense brilliance and purity that it made him tremble. He could see the white, silver-trimmed scroll, with its leading and trailing ends wrapped on rods of gold. It was suspended in midair about four feet above the floor.

He stepped into the light and up to the scroll, as he'd been ordered to do. Immediately the pain in his side went away, and a sense of well-being and wholeness flooded his body. The light penetrated the pores of his skin and mixed with the cells of his flesh to create an absolute harmony of mind, body, and soul. When he looked up, the brilliance drew him toward its center, but the wail of an unhappy child in the congregation broke the spell.

Jonathan quickly looked back down and saw a thin shaft of fire hovering above the scroll. He watched in awe as the fire touched it and began to write. When each gold-lettered sentence was melted neatly into the scroll by the fire, he read it to the crowd.

CHILD ABUSE IS HEINOUS.

ABORTION IS MURDER.

HOMOSEXUAL BEHAVIOR IS PERVERSION.

THE HUMAN BODY IS A MAGNIFICENT AND BEAUTIFUL CREATION. IT WAS NOT MEANT TO BE VIEWED WITH SHAME, NOR WAS IT MEANT TO BE EXPLOITED FOR LUST AND GREED.

PEOPLE ARE NOT WORTHY OF BEING WORSHIPED.

SEXUAL PROMISCUITY LEADS TO UNHAPPINESS, SHAME, AND EVEN DEATH.

PARENTS ARE MORALLY, SPIRITUALLY, AND LEGALLY RESPONSIBLE FOR THEIR CHILDREN.

ALL PEOPLE ARE RESPONSIBLE AND ACCOUNTABLE FOR THEIR OWN ACTIONS AND BEHAVIOR.

NO ONE BUT JONATHAN IRONS WILL BE ALLOWED TO ENTER THE LIGHT AND READ FROM THE SCROLL; ANYONE ELSE WHO TRIES WILL BE DESTROYED IMMEDIATELY.

MORE TOMORROW AT 10:00 A.M.

The shaft of fire disappeared, and the silver-trimmed paper was advanced by the leading golden rod. It turned slowly, as if it were controlled by an invisible hand. Jonathan heard a concerted Amen from the mystified crowd, followed by their low murmur. He reveled in the light for a moment more and then stepped back, bumping the minister's podium as he did so. The pain in his side returned. He pressed his hand against his ribs to relieve the awful ache, then he turned to face Martin Bartholomew.

Would you come with me to the library? Martin asked. The deacons and elders are there. They want to have a meeting about this. Jonathan nodded and followed.

Martin had been the minister of Larson Valley Church of Christ for twelve years, three years longer than Jonathan had attended there. He always wore a cover of quiet humility beneath which lurked a religious lion ready to pounce on and devour any evil that might appear.

He had grown pudgy, Jonathan observed from his vantage point in the rear. Probably due to age. At sixty-one, he had severe vision problems that forced him to wear thick glasses. It was rumored that he was about to retire. Some of the members encouraged him to. A few of the older ones had a great affection for him, and they wanted him to continue preaching. He was taking his time to decide.

His bobbing head was bald on top with a thin horseshoe of white hair lower down. Jonathan used it as a beacon to follow through the long, dim hallway of the church. As he walked, he thought about the morning's strange events.

It was Sunday, and he stayed home because of weakness and pain from his gallbladder surgery more than a week earlier. Cal, one of the deacons, rung his doorbell and then banged impatiently on his door. Maureen let Cal in, and he rushed into the kitchen where Jonathan was eating breakfast.

You've got to g-go to the ch-church.

Normally, Cal's stuttering wasn't a problem. The affliction surfaced when he became excited or upset. During such times, it was a strain to listen to him.

Jonathan was able to get the gist of what Cal was saying: Something important happened at church, and Jonathan's presence was required. He was ordered by an unknown voice to read a scroll. What Cal described was scary, and it was witnessed by the entire congregation. He thought he should check it out. He kissed Maureen goodbye and went to the church with Cal. There he found the light and the scroll, and now he was being dragged into a meeting he didn't want to attend.

Martin held the door open for Jonathan, and both went into the library. The elders and deacons were sitting around a long conference table and talking. When they saw Jonathan, they stopped and stared at him. The short, awkward silence was broken by John Grover, one of the elders.

Have a seat, Jonathan. We have a lot of work to do.

Jonathan sat at the head of the table. As he leaned back in the padded swivel chair to relax his muscles and ease his pain, he looked at those present and wondered what John meant by work. He was only a church member and an occasional Sunday School teacher; he had never been a part of the inner circle of church officials.

The elders were sitting to his left. First there was John Grover, a retired rancher. His ruddy skin and sun-bleached hair were testimonies of a life spent outdoors. Clear, blue eyes shone behind white, bushy eyebrows and lit up his face. The weather-cracked lips of his wide, full mouth were usually smiling. He was a deep thinker and slow to speak, but when he did, his words had substance. In a gentle, mysterious way, he communicated to others his stability and inner strength and thus elicited their confidence and trust.

Elton Fouts, owner of Larson Valley Hardware, sat next to John. He came to Larson Valley from Chicago in 1962 and opened a hardware store. Through the years he prospered as the town grew and prospered. He was active in civic affairs and primarily responsible for the creation of the Larson Valley Civic League. A thick mantle of grey hair, solemn brown eyes, and a neatly trimmed moustache set above straight, thin lips, gave him an aristocratic appearance. However, gentle, homespun qualities dominated his character and his actions. He had six children, four girls and two boys; all of them were college graduates. Fouts was deeply dedicated to his family

Leland Murdock sat next to Fouts in the last seat on the left. He owned a company that dug and serviced water wells and oil wells. Like Grover, he spent much time outdoors. When he wasn't out on a job, he could usually be found at the Senior Game Room on Main Street playing dominos and swapping stories with his friends. He had stained teeth from chewing tobacco, a large, bulbous nose, and cataract-clouded eyes. His rough appearance agreed with his actions and speech, and Jonathan liked his practical, down-to-earth nature.

The first deacon on Jonathan's right was Calvin Cal Wheelock, a butcher at the family-owned Wheelock Brothers Meat Market on Third Street. Despite the insensitive implications of his occupation, he was an extremely compassionate man. He was five feet and seven inches tall and weighed only a hundred and forty pounds. What he lacked in size, he made up for in effort and enthusiasm. Everyone liked this curly-haired, brown-eyed dynamo, not only for his courtesy and genuine care for others, but also for his willingness and dependability.

Phillip Tyson sat just to the right of Cal. He managed the local Double Quick convenience stores, and he was often out of town on business. He was six feet tall, always wore suits, and walked around with his coat unbuttoned and his hands in his pockets. His black hair was always perfectly combed, and he smelled like a perfumery. Some ladies in the congregation secretly called him Pretty Boy. Everyone who knew him was aware of his great intelligence; it was his strength and his weakness. There was talk that he was going to resign. Jonathan didn't know if that were true or not, but lately his effectiveness was reduced by temporary episodes of aloofness, which everyone usually overlooked.

The last seat on the right was filled by Chester Hodges, a banker. He was enigmatic and moody. One day he was friendly and outgoing; the next day, he was cold and withdrawn. No one could anticipate how he would act, so he was treated with utmost caution. In spite of his moodiness, he was respected in the community and highly regarded for his contributions to the church. Obesity gave him a shuffling walk, and a slow, deliberate way of speaking. The thin, gold-rimmed glasses he wore perched delicately on his long, thick nose. Folds of fatty flesh on his face hung down like a bulldog's jaws, and his eyes were always partially closed, as if he were nearly asleep. Behind the eyes was a shrewd, calculating brain that could correctly analyze data, slyly avoid manipulation, and quickly assess a problem.

Martin Bartholomew sat at the far end of the table opposite Jonathan. He was highly organized, as his clear, incisive, and well-delivered sermons suggested. Jonathan watched him remove a lined tablet from a leather pouch. After he laid the tablet and several sharpened pencils on the table, he leaned back in his chair and formed a steeple with his fingers. With a serious expression, he looked down the long table, coughed, licked his lips, and leaned forward.

"Gentlemen, I don't know what's happening, and I'm sure no one else does, either. It appears that God has decided to reveal Himself to man again, but let's keep an open mind. What we've seen so far could be an elaborate hoax. Time, and a complete investigation, should tell us if it's authentic. Meanwhile, there are some urgent problems we have to deal with."

You're right about that, Leland said. People are thick as flies out there now, and they're just locals. When the word spreads, we're going to be swamped. We'd better find a way to control them.

That's not all, Phillip said. When the media begins its coverage, our space will become critical. Cameras, microphones, equipment, and reporters require a lot of room.

I know, and that's only part of the picture, Martin said. He took a pencil and scribbled on his note pad. Let's stay organized and take one thing at a time. I think security should be addressed first.

Elton said, I agree. The building and grounds must be protected. Let's appoint a security officer and give that problem to him. He stroked his moustache while he spoke, and Jonathan wished he would quit. His hand over his mouth muted his words and made him difficult to hear.

That will work, John said. But don't we need some guidelines?

Guidelines? Cal said. What do you mean?

Chester said calmly from behind his half-hidden eyes, He means that we can't leave anything to chance.

That's right, Martin said. He scribbled on the pad while he talked. First item is building security. Second, grounds. Third, parking lot. What else?

How about Jonathan? John said. He has a special part in whatever is going on. People know that. They'll probably try to treat him like a celebrity, and he shouldn't have to deal with an abusive mob.

A good point, Martin said. He added it to his list.

I don't need protection, Jonathan said.

Everyone looked at him. The sudden attention of seven staring faces made him wish he hadn't spoken.

John's right, Leland said. People are going to be after you.

Jonathan felt uncomfortable as the source of their concern. He yearned for normal things: Being with his family, teaching history at Larson Valley High School, and doing the enjoyable, everyday things he always did. The situation was frightful. He had no desire to be chosen. Yet the light was utterly pleasing, even ecstatic, and he had a deep-down desire to return. Anticipation of its indescribably joyous feeling made his skin tingle. They had good intentions, but their concern was unnecessary. What could they do to protect a chosen one?

The same power that protects me when I'm in the light will protect me from the crowd, or anything else, Jonathan said. Besides, there's a more important matter to discuss.

They looked at him curiously and waited for him to continue. When he didn't, Martin said, Of course we don't want to overlook anything, Jonathan. If we have, please tell us.

The light and the scroll! If we believe what the scroll says, anyone besides me who enters the light will be destroyed. Protection against that should be our first concern.

Yes, Cal said. We don't want anyone to get hurt.

I suggest we keep four guards around it, full time, Leland said. Then if someone gets adventurous and decides to jump into the light, there'll be someone handy to stop them.

A good plan, John said, We can also build a waist-high wall in front of it. Something temporary, maybe, but strong enough to draw a line between the scroll and the crowd.

Excellent, Martin said. I'll enter those suggestions as jobs to be done. He wrote something on his note pad, then he said, You may be right, Jonathan. About your own protection, I mean. Why don't we wait and see what happens? Meanwhile, take this. He reached in his pocket, took out a key, and slid it across to Jonathan.

That fits the back door of my office. It's isolated and far from the parking lot. You can come and go as you please and avoid the crowd.

Jonathan took the key. Okay, he said. He thought it was a good idea.

Now, who in our congregation is qualified to head security? Martin asked.

Why does he have to be in our congregation? Chester said. We're going to need more people than we can supply in-house. Besides, it would be a good gesture to include the other churches.

Do you have someone in mind?

Delbert Fawcett. He's a retired MP and goes to the Baptist Church.

I know him, Elton said. He's a good man. I'm sure he'll be willing to help.

Fine, Martin said. Let's put him down for the job. Will you talk to him, Chester?

Sure.

Martin said, If we're going to use outside help, we will need a liaison. He can work with other congregations to supply volunteers, meals, materials, and any other need that arises. Will you handle that, Phillip?

"Yes, but I'll probably need an assistant. We don't know how long this--this revelation is going to last, and I might be gone part of the time. Jerry Wilcox will help me, I'm sure. If he can't, I'll find someone else."

Okay, Martin said. Now, let's discuss the media.

Jonathan was getting bored. He understood the many problems: crowd control; on-site television people and equipment; on-site radio people and equipment; hordes of reporters from newspapers and magazines all over the world who would descend on Larson Valley like a swarm of locusts; religious and nonreligious kooks; curious nonbelievers. At least all of that, and who could predict what else would arise?

He listened patiently while Martin and the others discussed and planned for all of the problems they anticipated. They took a break at four. Their snacks and drinks were provided by the Ladies Bible Class.

Jonathan went to the restroom after he ate, and then, out of curiosity, he cracked the door to the auditorium and peeked inside. It was packed with spectators: Every seat was taken, people were standing or kneeling reverently in the aisles, and the walk-space behind the pews was a sea of faces. The double doors on each side were clogged with those squirming to enter or to leave. Despite the crowding, everyone was orderly, and their awed faces were lifted toward the light and the scroll. Jonathan recognized a few people, but most were unfamiliar. This proved to him that the news was spreading quickly.

He looked at the light again. It appeared to originate in the ceiling and dissolve into the floor. It’s pure, luminous quality dazzled his eyes and defied description. Surely such a sight as this had never before been seen by man. The urge to go to it and bask in its warmth was overwhelming. He opened the door wider and started toward it.

Jonathan, we're ready to continue.

The voice and the restraining hand on his shoulder were Martin's. He turned and nodded, then he followed Martin back through the dimness of the hall to the library. He felt deprived of a gloriousness beyond anything he'd ever known, but there was still work to be done. He understood. Yet, he was eager for tomorrow.

I've just received a phone call from our local television station, Martin said, when the meeting resumed. They want to set up their cameras behind the light and above the scroll to capture the writing as it occurs tomorrow.

Wouldn't that be a violation of the instructions? Elton said. Jonathan is the only one allowed to read the scroll.

Not only that, but it may be impossible technically, Phillip said. Who knows what effect the bright light will have on the cameras?

We have to decide, Martin said. I told them we'd let them know tonight so they can prepare. We don't want to endanger anyone, but as long as no one actually enters the light, I don't see a problem.

I think you're right, John said. "The instruction is that no one but Jonathan can enter the light and read from the scroll. It doesn't say someone else can't read the scroll from outside the light."

Don't worry. It's okay, Jonathan said.

How do you know? Leland said.

I-I just know. It's a feeling I have.

Very well. I'll call them and tell them to go ahead, Martin said. Now, let's go to the next item.

Jonathan listened patiently as they designated teams to deal with crowd control, vandalism, press releases, press conferences, utilities, telephone communications, building maintenance, and a multitude of other problems he simply tuned out because of boredom. It was almost midnight when they adjourned and went home, and everyone except Jonathan was exhausted.

Chapter 2

Jonathan stepped out of the car, said goodbye to Cal, and walked to the front door of his house. Cal waved as he drove away. The porch light was on, so he had no trouble finding his key.

Maureen would be in bed by now; she never stayed up after eleven, and it was well past midnight. He picked his way carefully through the darkened living room and went to the kitchen. When he turned on the light, a couple of cockroaches scurried across the floor and ran under a baseboard in the corner. He made a mental note to call the exterminator.

The refrigerator door squeaked when he opened it and removed a carton of milk. He filled a glass and grabbed some cookies. As he snacked, he realized that he wasn't sleepy; he was as alert and energetic as if he'd just arisen from a full night's sleep. Peculiar. But he had felt that way all day, now that he thought of it. It was probably caused by the excitement of the day's events. He ate another vanilla wafer and washed it down with the last swallow of milk. Then he walked quietly to the bedroom.

A small night-light bathed the room in a dim, yellow glow that made objects look like fuzzy shadows. He went to the bed where Maureen lay sleeping and looked down. She was on her back, and her long, red hair cascaded across the white pillow like rose petals on alabaster. Her moist, pink lips were slightly parted, and her lovely breasts rose and fell in rhythm with her breathing. The covers were partly pushed to one side, and her naked left leg was stretched out parallel to the edge of the bed. Her incomparable beauty flooded him with desire, and he experienced a sudden, throbbing erection. The soft, creamy skin of her naked leg was like a magnet to his senses. Yielding to overwhelming passion, he reached out to touch the hot flesh of her thigh. At the last moment, he stopped. On their honeymoon, she told him never to wake her at night to have sex. He had always honored that request, although many times he had lain awake for hours aching with desire. To violate that commitment now would be dishonorable and self-serving. Instead, he took one last look at the woman he loved so much, then he backed away quietly. Her vulnerable appearance in the dim glow of the room reminded him of a fabulously beautiful virgin stretched out in some long-ago ritual for sacrifice to an ancient god who could never be worthy of her. He closed the bedroom door gently behind him and went outside.

The night was cool. Dew drops on the grass glistened in the moonlight, and dark shapes of the Glass Mountains were silhouetted in the background below a star-speckled sky. With no particular destination in mind, Jonathan began to walk. His arm-swinging stride carried him quickly out of the neighborhood to the vicinity of Larson Valley High School. When he got there, he decided to rest his aching side. The wooden bleachers of the ball park were nearby, so he went to them, sat on the first row, and leaned back to ease his pain. He stretched out his legs, breathed deeply of the cool night air, and let his mind wander to the past.

It seemed ages ago, but it had only been thirteen years since he and Maureen first met. Both were seniors at the University of Texas in Austin. They liked each other instantly and became inseparable after only two dates. On weekends they went bike riding and hiking in Zilker Park and took canoe rides on the Colorado river. During the week, they studied together nearly every night. Just before they graduated, both received job offers from Larson Valley High School. The concurrent job offers and the utter harmony in their lives made it appear to them that they were destined for each other. So, immediately after graduation, they decided to get married. He informed his family and friends in San Antonio, then they made some hurried preparations.

Maureen's mother, Clara Davenport, was upset about the short notice. It left her with little time to plan the wedding. However, she gracefully resolved all problems before the ceremony took place a week later. In addition, she made Jonathan feel accepted by the family.

A tear dimmed Jonathan's eyes as he recalled the beautiful ceremony and the reception. But when he thought about the noise they made as they fled the scene in his paint-daubed, window-smeared Pontiac dragging a multitude of rattling tin cans, he smiled. They took Highway 290 and didn't stop until they reached Fredericksburg. By then the flopping cans were torn away, and only the strings were left to remove. When he thought about their beautiful, unforgettable wedding night, he became aroused again and had to put the thought from his mind. There had been no experience in his life, before or since, that could match that one night in Fredericksburg.

After their honeymoon, they went straight to Larson Valley to find a place to live. They wanted to get settled and adjust to the new location before school started. That turned out to be easy, because it was a small, quiet town. It had evolved from an old settler's fort built in 1875 by the Larson clan. Its economic base-small businesses, and the restored fort for tourism-was further enhanced by its location on a tributary route between two major highways.

It took two weeks to find a house, during which time they stayed in the Sunset Motel. The inconvenience was made bearable by the warm and friendly people who quickly accepted Maureen and Jonathan as part of their community. The acceptance was reciprocal; they fell in love with Larson Valley and its people.

Maureen taught fifth grade in Elementary School, and Jonathan taught History in High School. Since their first day on the job, the only times they missed work were when the babies came. First Misty, then Andrew. Misty was eleven now. Andrew was eight. They had everything anyone could hope for to be happy, and there was so much happiness that Jonathan's heart swelled to bursting as he thought about it.

Now, suddenly, their happiness was threatened. Ever since he stepped out of the light, an ominous feeling had been growing inside. It made the pain worse and filled him with vague feelings of dread. Being chosen had disrupted his life, and he resented the intrusion.

The hard stadium seat made his muscles stiff and sore. He stood up and stretched, and he noticed that he still had a lot of energy. A tinge of twilight glowed in the east, and a few cars moved noisily along the street next to the stadium. Larson Valley was waking up.

He went to the sidewalk and started to jog. The concrete walk turned east at the corner, so he followed it to town. With long, graceful strides, he covered the six blocks from school to Main Street in minutes. Ignoring the sharp pain in his side, he ran steadily and sucked in the fresh morning air with a practiced rhythm. His brown, windblown hair streamed behind his hundred-seventy-pound, six-foot body. When he turned north on Main Street, he quickly dashed past the Five and Dime, Murphy's Dry Goods, and a Double Quick convenience store at the corner. A few early-morning workers were on the streets, and they looked at him strangely. He ignored them.

He stopped at the Old West Cafe for a hasty breakfast of bacon, eggs, and coffee. After eating, he left the cafe, turned west, and defied the common-sense rule against jogging on a full stomach. Ten minutes later, he walked into his living room. His side was afire with pain.

Maureen, Misty, and Andrew were still in bed, but he couldn't resist stealing a quick look at Maureen. She was on her stomach now, fully uncovered. Her bare legs formed a V, and her toes hung down over the end of the bed. He could see her pubic hair curling out from the edges of the thin panties she wore. He looked away quickly and closed the door.

Fighting an erection that seemed destined to occur in spite of his mental effort to prevent it, he walked down the hall to the bathroom. He shaved, stripped, and stepped into the shower. Cold water flowed over him in torrents until his body and his desire were numb. Fifteen minutes later, he dressed and walked to Maureen's bedroom door again. A few moments of silent contemplation on the new status of their lives created by the light and the scroll filled his gut with ice. Reluctantly, he left and went to the church.

The parking lot was full. Many vehicles bore out-of-state license plates. As he threaded his way through the carelessly parked cars, vans, and trucks, it was impossible to avoid the proximity of people coming and going. It surprised him that no one seemed to recognize him. If they did, they ignored him.

The key Martin gave him didn't fit well, and he had a hard time getting the office door unlocked. While he was working with it, someone walked up behind him.

Hey, buddy! Whatta you think you're doing?

The unexpected voice startled Jonathan. He almost dropped the key when he turned.

I was just trying to-why, hello Jimmy!

Jonathan! Hey man, I didn't know it was you. Sorry if I scared you.

Jimmy Castner, a longtime fishing buddy of Jonathan's, was a giant of a man with hands the size of bear's feet. He had been a wrestler in high school. Since then, his physical conditioning came from rough necking in the oil fields. In years past, he and Jonathan spent much time at Red Bluff lake together. One summer they camped out there for a week and ran trot lines. It turned out to be a lot of work, because they came home with a pickup truck full of catfish. Jimmy didn't go to church much, but he claimed to be a Presbyterian.

That's okay, Jonathan said. I couldn't sleep. Thought I'd come early and see what's going on.

It's a madhouse, Jimmy said. When Delbert asked me to help with security, I thought he was joking. I asked, 'What kind of security do you need at a church, for god's sake?' Little did I know! There are four of us, and we're doing a fair job of keeping them off the grass and out of the shrubbery. But we can't keep them from peeing all over the place. I've never seen anything like it. I understand Mr. Bartholomew's ordered some portable toilets. Hope they get here soon.

Don't worry. Martin won't rest till they're delivered. I have to go inside, now. Good seeing you again, Jimmy.

I understand. Take care of yourself.

Thanks! I will.

Martin's office was lit up, but empty. Jonathan passed through it and entered the hallway that led to the auditorium. It, too, was empty. That wasn't unusual, considering the time; it was thirty-three minutes after six, according to the wall clock over the bulletin board. He opened the auditorium door and walked in.

People were jammed into every available space. They even stood three deep behind the cry-room window. Some had cameras, and the recurrent lights from their flashes seemed puny and sacrilegious compared to the pristine and holy nature of the light around the scroll.

The television people had arrived. Jonathan counted eleven cameras in various locations around the auditorium. One was assembled on a boom behind the light, and it was pointed downward, directly toward the scroll.

The committee of deacons and elders had wasted no time in completing their plans. Four men were stationed around the light and scroll to keep people out. The front two men stood behind a hastily erected, waist-high stack of cement blocks, and the crowd swarmed beyond it. He spotted four church members by the back doors. Several more were moving through the mass of bodies packed inside the auditorium. Obviously they were engaged in crowd control. It looked hopeless to Jonathan. This was only the beginning. What would they do when the real mob arrived?

As he viewed the surging crowd and the media people swarming around their equipment like busy ants, he had a sudden vision of the importance of the event. Until now, he had been selfishly occupied with his own feelings, and that selfishness dimmed his mind and dulled his emotions. He scanned the faces in the crowd again: In some he saw reverence; in some he saw hope; in others he saw fear. But what he saw mostly was rapture, a childlike acceptance mixed with pure ecstasy. Then he remembered Martin's statement that the whole thing might be a hoax. The thought created a nauseous feeling that swept through him in a great wave of repugnance. He trembled. It would be terribly cruel if