"Come now, Mr. President,” Jesus said. “We both know nobody is going to convict the two people who brought back the body of Jesus. You will free them."
Crowley froze for a moment. That was just a bit too much like a command to him. Yet, Jesus was right. The last thing that would make any sense would be to penalize the two who were responsible for bringing Jesus back. He could arrange for them to get some grant money, and just shunt them off to some irrelevant location. He nodded and said, with a resigned sigh, “I'll take care of it right away."
"I am pleased,” Jesus beamed. “I think we will work very well together, Mr. President.” He stood and extended his hand to Crowley. “I accept your offer to help me."
* * * *
Crowley hesitated for just a heartbeat before accepting the proffered handshake, but that heartbeat was enough to confirm what Mathias already knew.
Mathias realized he was not concealing his unconstrained glee as he watched Jesus slowly twist the President of the United States around his finger, but it didn't matter. Everyone was focused on Crowley and Jesus and had all but forgotten he and Susan were in the room. He thought perhaps she had spotted the excitement in his face, but even if she had, she was no one to be concerned with. The woman had barely spoken ten words since he met her and she never gave him any indication she had any more than average intelligence. He had never understood Angelino's interest in her. Maybe the old priest was sampling a few forbidden fruits, Mathias smirked to himself.
It had not taken Mathias long to figure out what was going on. Crowley was being creamed by the press and the Independent Council, Arnold Wills, and he badly needed to find a political front on which he could score a victory. Crowley, of course, would know Jesus didn't need him. But he also had calculated Jesus might find an alliance with the American president desirable. It was clear who needed who more, however. Mathias was delighted to see Jesus had read the situation accurately. He also knew Crowley's arrogance would cause him to overlook the most important outcome of the day—Crowley had forged an alliance in which he had the lesser power. Slowly the realization came to Mathias with a sense of awe ... in his first encounter with power, Jesus had bested the most powerful man on earth in a matter of moments, with just a handful of words.
Then he had a further realization. How easily might Jesus exert the same power over him? He would have to remain vigilant against that.
* * * *
ANGELINO DECIDED TO stick to the dark side streets as he made his way west. He had a lot of ground to cover and it was imperative he remain as clandestine as possible. He had no doubt that in the wake of the deaths of his old friend the Pope and the investigator for the American Independent Counsel's office, he would be targeted next. His time was not now. His heart was heavy at the thought of leaving Susan behind. He had known the moment of leaving would be a painful one, but there was never any question it would come. It was imperative Susan take the path she was on. So many powerful forces were conspiring to destroy the world he held so dear. So many agencies of darkness were arrayed against him. The success or failure of his plan teetered on a razor-thin edge. While Jesus was finding his bearings and his destiny, and Susan finding hers, he had to complete the most crucial task besides Susan's. He had to find and assemble the Twelve Knights of the Ascension.
Chapter 15
THE “JESUS TOUR,” as Armand Mathias loved to refer to it, had exceeded his wildest expectations. Throughout the country, the names Armand Mathias and Jesus were almost always uttered in the same breath. “Armand Mathias, who has been the benefactor of Jesus...” “Jesus, and his close friend, Armand Mathias...” “Jesus and Armand Mathias held services today...” As he had envisioned, he had become honored and respected all over the world. He was known everywhere as “the man who was Jesus’ closest friend."
In actuality, this was the truth. Jesus had no one else he could call a friend. Susan had become quiet and withdrawn. Hamilton and Barber had, as President Crowley promised, not only been released from jail without any further talk of pursuing the matter, but were awarded the Nobel Prize for their discovery. They had become true heroes, receiving the accolades of their peers, religious leaders all over the world, and the general public. They were given a generous grant and allowed to continue their genetic research with the strong admonition they not attempt to duplicate the cloning of human beings again. It was an easy promise to keep. After all, could they top a main event like the cloning of Jesus? They had won their point and that would have to be enough. They were content to resume their research on curing genetically based diseases and birth defects.
Angelino had not been seen nor heard from since he disappeared into the crowd the day they arrived back in Washington. Mathias was just as happy to be rid of him. There was an unsettling quality about Angelino, which constantly made Mathias uncomfortable ... that cursed integrity of his. Not that Angelino had ever said anything critical of Mathias. That was not his way. But Mathias always felt that judgment boring into him. He never felt that sense of discomfort in the presence of Jesus. The greatest surprise about Jesus, to him, had been his pragmatism. Mathias was pleasantly surprised to discover his own cynicism dovetailed quite nicely with Jesus’ pragmatism. Jesus seemed to be sensible enough to understand that a voice crying in the wilderness would not gain a following. Jesus also seemed determined not to repeat the mistakes of his earlier existence. This time his message would be heard. This time he would not be stopped.
It was time to take the pulpit. The Christian Fellowship Hour had become the highest rated program on television, with an international audience estimated at close to three hundred million viewers weekly. The world had embraced the return of Jesus and tuned in each week to watch him perform his miraculous healings and to hear him speak. He did not speak often, although it was imperative he at least make an appearance. Usually, he let Mathias do the talking while he walked among the congregation healing the sick and disabled. This suited Mathias just fine. As arrogant as he was, he had no illusions about who was drawing the crowds.
The choir finished up with What A Friend We Have In Jesus, which had become the unofficial theme song of the Christian Fellowship Hour, and Mathias, dressed in a deep purple robe, trimmed in gold, strode to the pulpit. Television stations all over the globe were tuned in, part of a weekly ritual that crossed all international borders.
"Good morning.” Mathias’ voice boomed over the airwaves. He smiled out at the overflowing stadium. Mathias’ First Church of the Nazarene had long ago proved to be too small to hold the masses which flocked in from around the world each week to see Jesus, perhaps to touch his gown, hear him speak, or just to make eye contact with him, in hopes the proximity to the Son of God would bring them salvation and healing. Therefore, Mathias traveled the country holding his services at sports stadiums. He had soon learned, as well, not to pass the collection plate. People were all too eager to donate their money to the ministry of Jesus, and he had started placing deposit barrels just inside the turnstiles, and allowed people to give what they wanted. They always gave more than they would have if he had asked for the donation directly. Yes, things were going well for Armand Mathias.
He continued.
"Praise Jesus!” He raised his hands over his head as the crowd roared its approval.
"God said to us, ‘The blessings of the Lord be upon you,’ and we live in a time when we see that promise fulfilled. Jesus walks among us again. And how we have prospered because of it."
The crowd rose to its feet and took up the chant that had become a part of every one of Mathias’ meetings. “Jesus! Jesus! Jesus! Jesus!"
He stood there silently, smiling as the crowd grew louder and louder, continuing the chant.
Then a tumultuous cheer erupted as Jesus appeared from behind the makeshift stage and strode to the center of it. He was wearing the traditional white robe mankind had come to associate with him. His light hair, flowing over his shoulders, glistened in the sunlight. He raised his arms out to hi
s side, allowing the pure white robe to drape like angel wings. The image produced an even louder response from the crowd. Then, with his arms outstretched, Jesus rose slowly from the stage until he floated about three feet above it. The crowd grew frenetic with passionate shouts of “Praise the Lord,” and “Praise Jesus!"
Jesus lifted his face to the sky and hovered in place.
* * * *
Susan was watching from back stage. She gasped in amazement. This was not something Jesus had done before. Jesus had avoided any displays of power in the past, confining such displays to physical healings. Why, she wondered, was he doing this now? What was the purpose behind it? The passion of the crowd frightened Susan. Such power he possessed! She felt her stomach tighten without understanding why.
Slowly, Jesus lowered himself to the stage, where he remained with his arms outstretched for a moment as the crowd continued its wild cheering. Then he lowered his arms and stood there majestically, before finally walking over to stand by Mathias’ side.
Mathias embraced Jesus, who kissed him softly on the cheek, to the delight of the crowd.
Jesus turned to the crowd and again, lifted his arms to shoulder height. This time, the gesture was an acknowledgment of the crowd. The people knew this and cheered louder still.
Finally, Jesus raised his hand to signal the crowd to silence. It complied obediently. Susan was again unsettled by the way Jesus controlled this mass of near hysteria so completely. She had seen him do it time and again.
Jesus had been, in so many ways, nothing like she had expected. Some of this she could attribute to the way facts get distorted over time—it was, after all, nearly a hundred years after the crucifixion before anything about Jesus had been written down—but even compensating for that, there was a sense she had that something about Jesus did not add up. She wished Angelino were there with her. He had a way of making everything seem so much lighter. Why had he left her so alone when she needed him so much?
* * * *
A LIGHT RAIN had left the nighttime streets of Milwaukee glistening in the moonlight. It was late and the streets were empty, save for a solitary hooded figure who kept to the shadows as it made its way down Wisconsin Avenue. A two-man police patrol car slowly drove up behind the figure. The officer on the passenger side trained a spotlight on the hooded form.
"You there,” he called out. “What are you doing out here?"
The shadowy figure darted into a dark alley. The patrol car pulled up and the two officers got out, their revolvers drawn. They made their way cautiously down the dark alley in pursuit of the hooded form, shining their flashlights into the blackness. The alley ended about forty yards from the street. No doors or intersecting alleys or walkways were present, yet the figure that had just entered the alley was nowhere to be seen.
"What the...?” one of the officers muttered. “Where did he go?"
To make himself unseen was a simple matter for Angelino. He remained still as the officers swept their flashlights up and down the sides of the building. There were no doorways or walkways for the mysterious figure to have darted into. Although their lights fell upon Angelino repeatedly as they swept the area with their beams, they did not see him, because Angelino had decided not to be seen.
A bit unsettled and bewildered by the disappearance of the suspicious stranger, the officers finally had no choice but to conclude there was nothing to be found in the dead-end alley. They returned to the car and resumed their patrol. Angelino continued on his way down Wisconsin Avenue to the Marquette University campus at 22nd Street. There he would wait outside in the shadows until morning to see Monsignor Cassidy.
* * * *
THE CONVOY OF five buses, each displaying The Christian Fellowship Tour on its side, made its way across I-80 into Iowa. They were heading into the friendly territory of the Bible Belt and Mathias accepted it as a given they would be received with enthusiasm.
The Tour, as they all referred to it, required a large and well-drilled crew to bring the show to the people. In the lead bus Susan stared out the window, lost in her own thoughts, as was becoming her habit. Every day her uneasiness increased. Every day she drew more and more within herself. All around her were people caught up in a pure joy and happiness that she was incapable of sharing.
They were the present-day disciples of Jesus. It was they who the holy books written for the generations of the future would point to as the chosen of the Lord. The young followers served the tour with an unrestricted enthusiasm only found in youth. An enterprise as ambitious as The Christian Fellowship Tour required a great deal of specialized labor. Electronic technicians to handle the sound and lighting systems, the musicians and choir, and even the “roadies,” the drones of the entertainment world, many of them having gained their experience with moving so many so efficiently working in the circus, others from working with rock bands; all were all highly skilled and most importantly, highly motivated to do the best they could for Jesus.
Jesus and Mathias treated everyone wonderfully, too. Mathias seemed to revel in the adoration the crew bestowed upon him. Susan found it easy to suspect Mathias found such admiration his inalienable right. She smiled ruefully at the thought. Jesus on the other hand, understood the advantage of remaining mysterious to those closest to him. He seldom fraternized with the crew, and even then only when he could find an opportunity to teach and minister to them. But Jesus never left it in doubt who the Son was. He constantly restated his claim to that title. Susan found it curious he would feel it necessary to repeat the obvious so frequently. There was definitely something about all of this that didn't fit.
Her thoughts were interrupted by Jesus’ voice.
"You are troubled, Susan.” It was a statement, not a question. He slid into the empty seat next to Susan.
"Yes, Jesus, I am. Very troubled,” she said, a bit more forcefully than she consciously intended.
"What is on your mind?” he prodded.
She gestured broadly. “This isn't right, Jesus. This is not what God is about. This is a three-ring dog and pony show. You and Armand are making something truly beautiful and holy into something cheap and profane."
Jesus sat thoughtfully for a moment before finally saying, “You seem to expect I would do things the way I did them two thousand years ago."
"Yes, I suppose I do. I am not aware God has changed since then."
Jesus appeared to be considering the best response. Susan noticed how he often did that, as if weighing every word, every sentence.
"My Father is the greatest power Man could ever hope to know. He has slowly been winning the heart and mind of mankind. I have returned to see his victory is complete. I must do that in the way which speaks to people of this age, not an age past. It is a different world today than the one I once inhabited.
"My Father has not changed, but Man's ability and even his willingness to comprehend him has. Man is unable to accept there are powers greater than him. He does not understand the joy of service, the strength of surrendering to that higher power, the comfort of placing himself into the hands of one who cares for him and wants only what is best for him."
"You?” she asked.
He nodded. “It is why I have been sent to them, Susan,” he said seriously.
"Many people will hate you for that,” she said, looking at him intently.
"They cannot harm me. I am under the protection of my Father."
Susan decided not to ask Jesus why he thought his Father was going to protect him any better this time than he had the last. She remained silent and directed her gaze out the window once again. Jesus once more interrupted her thoughts.
"Why is it that of all those I have met, it is only you who seems so resistant to the things I have been sent to share?"
"Is that what you think?” she deflected the question.
"It is what many on the tour think, Susan. They comment on your solitary nature, on your lack of enthusiasm for the cause, on the way you constantly question the things I teach. M
any wonder why I allow you to travel with us at all."
Susan shrugged indifferently. “I'm not really concerned with what anyone else thinks, Jesus. Angelino taught me my truth must come from within me, not from some outside source."
"Ah,” he said, almost mockingly. “So it is Angelino's influence which makes you so resistant to me."
"I do not resist your teachings, Jesus. I simply make up my own mind about the things I hear."
Jesus remained silent for a moment before saying, “Has it ever occurred to you, Susan, that Angelino has been wrong about all he taught you?"
She jerked around to face him, startled and offended by the suggestion. Jesus had hit a sore spot. No, other than that moment when she had experienced those doubts, she had not really stopped to consider Angelino had been wrong about anything he had shared with her. Jesus could see her answer on her face.
"Of course I have,” she lied.
"Come now, Susan. I know you better than that. It's written all over your face. It should be clear you cannot lie to me and get away with it.” He smiled. She thought it was a smile calculated to lessen the sharpness of his words.
She was hit by a realization at that moment. That was what disturbed her! Jesus always seemed to be calculating, measuring his words carefully, like some practiced Washington lawyer. She had never quite put her finger on it before, but she realized she wasn't disturbed by what Jesus said. It was what he did not say. It was not the gestures he made, but the ones he avoided that had been screaming volumes to her even as she was obtusely ignoring the noise. She shuddered involuntarily.
"Are you cold, Susan?” Jesus asked gently. “Would you like a blanket?"
She avoided his gaze, which would betray much, she knew. She couldn't bear the idea of making eye contact with him and furthermore, she didn't care if he realized it or not.
At that moment, a scrub-faced member of the setup crew, a young woman in her early twenties, came up to Jesus. “Jesus, can we get you to tell us one of your parables again tonight? We all really love them.” Susan looked up into a face that knew no guile. She wondered if she had ever looked as young and beautiful, and as full of hope as this young lady did.
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