by Paul Lalonde
He paused, realizing that Helen did not share his enthusiasm. “No impostor or charlatan could pull that off,” he insisted. “This guy is beyond anything we’ve ever seen. If he’s not who he says he is . . . then who is he?”
“I’d rather you saw it for yourself, Bronson,” she replied. “Grandma knew I wouldn’t understand before she was raptured, so she left something to help me. Now it’s your turn. Watch the tape and we’ll talk. But I have a feeling your questions will have been answered.”
Helen inserted the tape, and turned on the television. Rexella and Jack Van Impe appeared on the screen.
“So, Jack,” Rexella was saying, “millions of people will suddenly vanish off the face of the earth. The world will be in peril as never before and then suddenly a great leader, unlike anyone the world has ever seen, will rise and seem to bring total peace to mankind.”
“The Bible spells it out in perfect detail,” replied Jack Van Impe. “He’s going to quarterback a seven-year peace treaty, as Daniel 9:27 shows us. Then he’s going to seemingly bring peace to the whole world as I Thessalonians 5:3 reveals. He is going to be the most compelling political leader history has ever seen. But he’s much more than that. He’s nothing less than a great deceiver, as II John verse 7 shows. He’s the one the Bible calls the Antichrist in I John 2:18. And he has only one goal, to deceive the world into believing . . .”
Bronson stared at the set as the tape finished. “It’s fascinating, all right,” he said at last. “How many of those people are still around?”
“Bronson,” replied the exasperated Helen. “Don’t you see that this is about what we’re experiencing right now? Don’t you see that Macalousso is going to tighten his hold on communications to hide the truth? Do you think the Antichrist is going to let us reveal his secret to the whole world? We can’t let that happen, Bronson. We’ve got to tell . . .”
“Helen, back up a bit,” he interjected. “I know you’re grieving the loss of your grandmother. And I grant you this stuff is interesting. It does provide a reason for what’s happened, but so does Macalousso, and I don’t see where one version is better than the other. Certainly an old cynic like you isn’t going to take all this literally.”
Helen glared at him. “My grandmother is not dead, at least not as we normally think of death. How many of the raptured are there? Millions, at least. But there has been not one report of a corpse, or a mass burial ground. Bronson, I miss that woman. You met her. You knew her. The truth is that she was either raptured or Macalousso is telling the truth. And that would make my grandmother a follower of something false, a menace to society. Franco Macalousso’s no hero. He’s the Antichrist and we need to expose him.”
“For God’s sake, Helen you’re a journalist,” retorted Bronson. “We’re witnesses to the greatest event in the history of the planet and you’re talking to me about the bogey-man.”
“What does it take to convince you, Bronson?” asked the exasperated Helen. “Can’t you see it? You’ve heard Macalousso. You’ve heard what he said about the vanished people. Either he’s telling the truth or he’s the Antichrist. It’s all right here in the Bible. You’ve got to see that.”
“I’ll tell you what I see, Helen,” Bronson replied. “I see someone who needs to step back for just a minute. We all want answers. But you and I can’t let that desire cloud our journalistic judgment. It’s time for a reality check. We’ve been through a lot, but we’re still doing our jobs because that’s how we keep our sanity. This thing with your grandmother . . . Helen, I’m sorry. I loved the woman too. I don’t know why she’s gone, but you’ve got to get a grip on yourself so we can go back to the studio and . . .”
“I’m not going back,” said Helen firmly.
“What are you talking about?” demanded Bronson.
“I’m not going back,” she repeated. “If you’re still blind to what’s going on . . . well, that’s between you and God. But I know the truth about Macalousso. I know the truth about my grandmother.”
Bronson sighed. “Of all the people I know, I would have thought you’d be the last to get caught up in some . . . religious cult.”
“What you can’t seem to understand, Bronson Pearl, is that I am using every bit of objectivity that I’ve learned as a journalist,” Helen insisted. “I’m emotional about Grandma. I’m emotional about almost losing you. But I am coldly objective about what is taking place right now. You’re the one with the steel-trap mind that closed before reality could set in. This is for real, Bronson Pearl. What’s it going to take for you to believe that?”
“Look, Helen,” he countered, “you’ve got to agree that for both of us, seeing is believing. But I’m not certain you’re still doing that. I think you’ve got a belief system and want to see only what supports it.”
“Maybe it’s you who is refusing to see what doesn’t support your beliefs,” Helen shot back. “Maybe you’re not ready to fall on your knees and give your heart to God, to embrace the teachings of His Son, and frankly I’m not asking you to do that. All I’m asking you to do is to look at this objectively. Don’t just think about the missiles disappearing from the sky. Think about the security forces that are quietly moving into our lives. Think about the life my grandmother lived. Think about me and the fact that if I didn’t really believe all this, I wouldn’t be asking you to take it seriously.” Helen paused, emotionally drained, her voice filled with disappointment. “Of all the people I know, I’d have thought you’d be the last to dismiss something without even looking into it.”
“I’m not saying there’s nothing to it,” Bronson replied bitterly. “My own father spent his life believing it and it made him a happier man. Maybe it even made him a better man. But he still ended up dead, just like all of us will.”
“His earthly body may have died, Bronson,” Helen told him, “but his soul is still very much alive.”
Bronson stared at Helen for a moment, then he took her hand and brought it to his face, holding it against him, feeling her warm touch. “I wish I could believe that, Helen, honestly I do.”
This was a difficult time for them both, but Helen realized that as deep as their differences were, she still loved him. He rose to walk around the room, talking as much to sort out his thoughts as to try to convince her of anything.
“Look, I’ve met President Macalousso,” he said. “I’ve seen what he’s done with my own eyes. I followed his career at the United Nations. I interviewed him when he became president of the European Union. And I was there in Israel, there in Armageddon.” Bronson paused, realizing the impact of the word he had just used. “Franco Macalousso is the farthest thing from evil that I have ever seen. Think about what he’s done. He rid the world of hatred.”
“Except for those people who disagree with him, who love Jesus, embracing Him as their Lord and Savior,” replied Helen.
“He saved us all from destruction,” was Bronson’s retort. “And now all he wants to do is unite the world in peace. I know you want me to look at the Bible. Helen, I’ve looked at it. Yes, I have an interest in religion too. But I’m still a journalist. We get Jesus filtered through the ages. But I was there for the arrival of Macalousso. I saw him raise his arms and make missiles vanish from the skies, weapons cease functioning, and millions of men and women stop in the midst of battle. I saw him, Helen, I was a witness. This man is who he says he is, Helen.”
Helen sighed. “Maybe it’s time for you to step back and look at this as an objective journalist. He’s done some fantastic things and he’s making even more fantastic claims about himself. He’s impressive, unlike anyone we’ve ever encountered in history. But there’s also evidence to show that he just might be an impostor. Let me get some paper, a Bible, and a few of my grandmother’s reference books. We can sit down and start checking this out.”
Bronson started to object, then realized that, at the very least, they would be stronger for working together. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s take it from the real beginning. The
Bible says this Antichrist character will come out of the Roman Empire, right?”
They sat in the car, watching and listening, through the tiny transmitter in the overhead light fixture in Edna Williams’s kitchen, similar to hundreds of other such devices placed in the homes of those who had disappeared. Helen Hannah had been monitored on each of her visits to her grandmother’s home. Now that she had brought Bronson Pearl there, a minor complication had arisen, but no individual was as important as the Messiah and, as trusted as Bronson might be, he was also expendable.
The image on the monitor was fuzzy, but their faces were identifiable and their voices were coming through clearly.
An agent checked the recording meter as Helen was heard saying, “That’s right. The Antichrist will come from the Roman Empire, and according to this encyclopedia, the European Union is geographically equal to what was known as the Roman Empire of biblical times.”
The agent smiled and said to his partner, “The sound’s perfect. All we have to do is sit back and let them incriminate themselves.”
It was midnight before Bronson started to see that what Helen was saying was based on more than emotion. They had gone through two pots of coffee, and both were exhausted, but neither was ready to stop. They had another Van Impe video playing on the TV, and all around them were books. Bronson was using a Bible, scanning each page until he found the passages he wanted. In front of him was a piece of paper divided into two columns. On the left was a column marked “Prophecy.” On the right was a column marked “Fulfilled.”
The Rapture headed each category. There was no question that it had happened, no question that it had been foretold. Bronson admitted as much to Helen. She was right. Edna Williams did not fit the Macalousso profile of the vanished population. The truth had to be 180 degrees from what he claimed. Then there were the heart attacks. The incidents had begun right after the Rapture. At first the victims seemed to be only the elderly and frail, experiencing the shock of seeing friends and loved ones suddenly vanish. But they realized that such deaths were statistically abnormal, even for a natural disaster such as a flood or hurricane. The sheer number of heart attack deaths had to be the fulfillment of prophecy. Nothing else made sense.
The notes Bronson made each represented a prophetic promise, and each had been fulfilled, except for the foretelling of a peace treaty between Israel and the rest of the world. But such a treaty, with a seven-year duration, was the only prediction yet to be realized.
Bronson put down the Bible, picked up the paper and studied it. He looked from the left column to the right, left to right, again and again. The conclusion was inescapable, but he did not want to deal with what he was seeing. Finally he stood up and began pacing the room.
“I’m sorry, Helen,” he said. “I just can’t accept this. I understand where you’re coming from. This stuff is interesting. No, it’s downright compelling. I don’t know how to say this; I’m a journalist, a professional reporter. I’m supposed to be the most trusted man in America.” He smiled. “I even have my own theme music. But I can’t believe we should be worrying about the bad dreams of some ancient shepherd,” he said with a sigh. “Look, Helen, I’m heading back to the studio. I’ll cover for you as best as I can until you have some time to think about this. I can’t buy into your fantasy no matter how much I love you.”
He crossed to the door, then paused, looked back to her, and said, “You tell your God that if He is real, and if He has something to say to me, He knows where I live. Maybe you have to be touched in some special way, and if that’s what has to happen to me, so be it. For now, with all that I’ve seen over the last few days, I can only say that a God in the real world is worth two in any book.”
Chapter 16
THERE WAS INTENSE MEDIA PRESSURE concerning the actions of those now called the Haters, the ones who insisted on following the Man whom Macalousso called the One who came before. A number of tabloid-style television personalities began to take advantage of the suddenly available time blocks vacated by Christian broadcasting. Kenny Casswell, the host of the widely syndicated “Kenny C’s People,” was the most popular.
“I can’t speak for the good Lord above,” said Kenny Casswell during the opening commentary on his new show. “God is the ultimate judge, and what He says goes. I just know that a lot of sinful, hateful, hypocrites have been removed to make way for the coming of the Messiah. I just wish my ex-wife could have been one the Messiah removed! And now, before I bring out Angel McMillan, who sings the praises of Macalousso as sweetly as her name implies, I want to say, thank you, glorious Messiah. Thank you for this chance for me to glorify you in prime time. And thank you for Angel McMillan, whose album of your favorite songs will soon be released. It is called Music For The Messiah and is available in record stores everywhere.”
Casswell’s top-rated show was followed by local newscasts featuring stories of church defacements, which were in their “happy news” segments, as were attacks against those rare individuals who dared speak the name of Jesus. They were seen as an evil force, subversive, and evil.
Franco Macalousso’s frequent speeches spoke of tolerance, love, and harmony, but he also made clear that anyone who stood against such values was an enemy and must be stopped. Uniforms had been distributed to the Women Who Watch and other loyal groups supplementing local police and military to isolate the Haters, who were kept in hospitals, minimum security prisons, and specially created camps until they could see the error of their ways. To Macalousso followers, the enforcers were heroes of the new world order. To the Christian underground they were simply “Macalousso’s Marauders.” The Marauders spray-painted “Death to the Haters” and other slogans on the doors and walls of churches and storefront meeting halls, defacing the homes of people suspected of being active Christians.
Some looked upon the Jesus believers with pity, knowing that in the near future they would face the wrath of the Messiah. Already there were arrests, jailings, and sentences that ranged from forced reeducation to life in prison. But others were filled with loathing, smashing windows, firebombing homes and apartments. Beatings were increasingly common and in one community, a group of zealots calling themselves the “Army of Macalousso Consciousness,” surrounded a cluster of homes where Christianity had blossomed from a time shortly after the Rapture. The residents, herded onto a school playground at gunpoint, called themselves the “Descendants of Peter,” referring to the biblical passage that described Peter needing the Resurrection to become a full believer. They had not known Jesus before the Rapture, but now formed a resistance movement based on their own conclusions. After the Rapture, with writings and tapes to guide them, they knew firsthand the unerring truth of Bible prophecy, transforming them from religiously ignorant men and women to people totally committed to their faith. Some were shot for their proselytizing, and died rejoicing in their martyrdom, refusing to renounce the Lord.
Bronson Pearl, for one, was troubled by the growing violence. On the surface the world was at peace. Old enmities had fallen away. People no longer lived in fear. Yet the antagonism toward the new Christians was growing. Even if they were following a false prophet, believing Jesus as the true Son of the living God, they still prayed for those who professed allegiance to the new Messiah. They threatened no one with their unconditional love.
Equally troubling to Bronson was a new note sounding in the speeches and writings of the Messiah. He had missed it at first, perhaps in his turmoil over the fight he had with Helen. Whatever the case, he realized that he had never heard Franco Macalousso utter the name of Jesus. Except to call Him the Great Deceiver. Or the “One who came before.” Yet he had never actually said Jesus’ name.
This refusal to name Jesus might have to do with his utter contempt for a false Messiah. Yet there was something more troubling. A true Messiah could only be sent by God. He would be God’s emissary on earth, the person who would usher in the kingdom that Jesus discussed thirty-seven times in the synoptic Gospels, according t
o one of Edna Williams’s study guides.
More important, the Bible said that each time the name of Jesus was spoken, it had a power that neither Satan nor the Antichrist could match. If Franco Macalousso was, as Helen believed, the Antichrist, that would account for his fear of naming his enemy.
Bronson also noticed Macalousso’s limited references to faith in God. Jesus certainly confronted all manner of horrors but never forgot where praise was due. The new Messiah spoke only of himself and the power within each person. He never reminded the world to love God before all else, an admonition as old as time, etched in stone from Exodus, and referred to again and again for eons.
And why would the real Messiah worry about such things as WNN’s daily operations, its programming, and its ability to reach the world? Why would the real Messiah micromanage every aspect of the communications industry? Maybe there was something to what Helen had been trying to show him. Maybe . . .
“Good morning, Bronson. Mr. Parker wants to see you right away,” said the floor director, when the new man arrived for work the morning after his confrontation with Helen.
In a short time, Len Parker had gone from being an observer to an unquestionable power and authority. He was acting as censor in a manner totally inappropriate for a respected broadcast facility such as WNN. Another troubling development.
As Bronson headed toward Parker’s office, a young woman dressed in the uniform of a security officer brought a stack of papers to him. “Here’s today’s copy, Mr. Pearl,” she said.
“Thanks, Kerry. But why the new look?” he asked.
“It was Mr. Parker’s idea,” she replied. “He wants the staff to show their faith in the Messiah. I feel a little silly, but if it proves my loyalty, that’s okay with me.”
Bronson shrugged, flipping through the notes as he continued down the hall.