Shrouded Destiny

by Richard William Bates

  "I'm not sure I understand what you mean,” Crowley said, understanding fully what Jesus meant.

  "Gene, don't toy with me,” Jesus gave Crowley a playful parental look. Crowley seemed not to have noticed the presumptuous informality of being addressed by his nickname. “It is okay for there to be something in this for you, Mr. President. I would not trust the offer if there were not. But if we are to be working together, we should be open and honest with each other.” He looked straight into Crowley's eyes. Thatcher felt their deep power even though their gaze was not directed at him. Crowley involuntarily moved back a step.

  Thatcher noticed. Shit!

  "What's in it for you, Mr. President?” Jesus said more forcefully.

  Crowley looked to Thatcher for help, but all Thatcher could do was shrug.

  "Well, Jesus. It would certainly be of great assistance to this administration, and to the citizens of the United States to have your advice on a continual basis. If my administration does well, then, naturally, we do well in the election next year."

  Jesus nodded in understanding and said, “And why would Armand and I be interested in helping your administration?"

  Roger Harmon stepped in. “The offer to serve the United States is considered a great honor by her citizens. The President is extending a great opportunity to you."

  * * * *

  Susan couldn't believe her ears. This political hack was attempting to convince the Son of God the President had an “opportunity” for him. But why? What would make Crowley and his staff think anything he could offer would be a temptation to one with the powers of Jesus? Of course, they didn't believe! Neither Crowley, nor Harmon, nor Thatcher believed Jesus was a divine being. They saw him as competent, certainly. Beyond that, however, Jesus was just another pawn to be pushed on their political chessboard. If they did believe in his divinity, they would never presume to treat him like some cigar-chomping political hack. She wondered if Mathias had caught that subtlety. Most certainly, Jesus had.

  "I mean no disrespect, Mr. Harmon. Of course, I am honored.” Then he smiled coldly, peered deeply into Harmon's eyes and added, “But you must understand I require a little more complete answer than just ‘it's an honor,’ in order to seriously consider it."

  Harmon shrank from the sharp gaze of Jesus.

  Crowley jumped in. “Jesus, as you probably know, the world is very different today than it was in your day."

  "Not so different, Mr. President. The Romans, too, ruled their empire with a heavy hand. You have greater weapons and you can deliver greater destruction upon your enemies, but in the end, America is not much different than Rome, with one important distinction. And if not for that exception, I suspect I would have met pretty much the same fate at your hands as I did at the hand of the Romans. In your world, one man can be heard and seen by the entire world. That, and the fame the religions you have built in my name, helped me to avoid that fate in this incarnation. I suspect Angelino understood that would be the case when he formulated his plan to reincarnate me."

  * * * *

  Crowley had to admit Jesus was right. Had he been anyone but Jesus, he would have never survived the Twentieth Century.

  "It is just that point which underscores how taking this position can help you, as much as it helps me. The White House is the focal point of the entire world. Decisions which emanate from this very office affect the lives of virtually every single person on the face of the earth."

  Jesus raised an eyebrow. “That is interesting. I was under the impression The Council of Most Highs was the source of all that power."

  This caught Crowley completely off guard. Thatcher realized Crowley had deliberately steered away from mentioning the Council. Now there apparently was no point in avoiding the subject any longer.

  "Yes, Jesus, the Council carries much power, but it does not officially exist. I want to lift the United States out from under the Council's thumb. With you by my side, I stand a chance of doing that."

  Jesus considered this for a moment and then said, “Without the Council to inhibit you, you would have a great deal of power, indeed, would you not?"

  "America will have great power, yes, Jesus. This is true."

  "No, Mr. President, I mean you, personally. You will have great power."

  "My power is not absolute, Jesus. We have checks and balances built into our form of government."

  Jesus laughed. “Yes, I know all about your ‘checks and balances.’ They are a farce. I have done much reading about your history. Nobody in your country takes your constitution seriously any more. Not anyone of any influence, at least. If I help you in your quest, Mr. President, it will be you who will wield the power. Let us not be coy with one another."

  Crowley felt there was no point further defending his position. Jesus was right of course, and they both knew it. Why insult his intelligence? At this stage, Jesus was either with him or he wasn't.

  * * * *

  "So, Jesus, what do you say to my offer?” Susan noticed how effortlessly Jesus had maneuvered Crowley into centering the negotiations on him, after Crowley had so carefully avoided doing that by focusing on Mathias when the meeting began. That told her Jesus was really his target all along and Mathias was just being thrown a bone in order to get him to go along quietly with the larger plan of seating Jesus in the White House. Yes, Crowley was good. But, Jesus was even better.

  * * * *

  Thatcher was finally catching on, too. He had not given his boss enough credit, he realized. But he would have to talk to him about springing major surprises on him during important meetings.

  Jesus seemed to wait a long time before answering. Finally, he said, “Mr. President, I accept your offer."

  Mathias blurted out, “What? Jesus, you can't..."

  Jesus stopped him short with a sharp glance, and then added, “I'm quite sure Armand would be equally honored to serve as your Secretary of Education. But there are conditions."

  "And those conditions?” Crowley asked.

  "There can be no formal announcement of my acceptance. I will provide my ... counsel, as you call it ... generously. I will lend my powers to your ends. But I will not be formally associated with any specific political position. Armand will be your showcase, and I will make it publicly known I support his appointment, but I will not become a part of your administration."

  Crowley frowned. This was not what he had hoped for.

  "Do not misunderstand, Mr. President. There is nothing personal in my desire to keep my help to you unofficial. You may tell the press and anyone you wish I support your efforts, and if I am ever asked, I will say as much, as well. I hope you understand why I must operate in this manner."

  That seemed to relax Mathias, who said, somewhat dazedly, “Yes, Mr. President. I will accept your offer."

  Crowley mulled this over for a moment. Now he was stuck with Armand Mathias as his Secretary of Education, without having landed his main quarry, Jesus. He decided to make the best of it.

  "Agreed, gentleman.” Crowley smiled, extending his hand to Jesus. “Welcome aboard, Armand.” He took Mathias’ hand and shook it firmly. “We will make the announcement in the morning. There should be no problems with securing your confirmation from the Senate, Armand, under the circumstances. It will be a formality. Franklin,” he called out to the shadow where Morris had been hiding, “make the arrangements."

  "Yes, Mr. President,” he answered. He disappeared out a nearby door.

  Susan finally spoke out.

  "Excuse me, Mr. President, but why did you bother to include me in this meeting? You barely acknowledged my existence here."

  "Oh, I'm sorry, Ms. Morgan. Didn't I mention I want you to join my staff as a...” he hunted for an appropriate title, “a ... an administrative assistant."

  "Oh, please,” she scoffed. “What kind of fool do you take me for?"

  Crowley seemed taken aback by her attitude.

  "Why do you mock my offer? It is generous."

  "Yes,
yes,” she chuckled. “I know. It's an ‘honor,’ etc, etc. Thank you, Mr. President. Not interested.” She enjoyed turning him down a touch more than she probably should have.

  Jesus took Susan's hand gently in his and said softly, “Please, Susan. Reconsider. I need you here. I need someone to watch my back, so to speak.” If Crowley was offended by that, he did not betray it outwardly.

  Susan drew her hand back with irritation. “What do you need me for, Jesus? You have things pretty much under control. Your back seems pretty well attended to, if you ask me."

  "Susan. Please,” was all he said. His eyes met hers and somehow she was unable to pull back. Something told her there was a reason she should accept, even though every synapse in her brain rebelled against the idea.

  "What the hell,” she finally said, as offhandedly as she could manage. “I've got nothing better to do anyway.” Besides, she thought to herself, perhaps she would be able to learn something that would help Angelino when he returned, as he most certainly would once he heard this news. Another benefit was it would get her off that goddamn bus.

  "Wonderful,” Crowley exclaimed. “There are photographers waiting to get some shots of all of us together. What do you say we go make them happy?"

  * * * *

  Everyone got up and headed for the Oval Office door. Crowley caught Thatcher's eyes and they both nodded in approval to each other.

  "You go ahead, everyone,” Crowley said happily. “I'm going to freshen up a bit and I will be right with you."

  Thatcher led the rest of them out to the outer lobby of the oval office where dozens of reporters and White House staff were gathered. The word of Jesus arrival had spread like wildfire throughout the White House and all the interns and office personnel had converged on the Oval Office in order to get a glimpse of him.

  Back in the Oval Office, Crowley opened a door that led to a private study off to the side of the main office. He stepped into the room, where a lone figure sat in the shadow.

  "You were right, Number One,” Crowley said.

  "He took the job?"

  "Yes, he did. I didn't really expect he would."

  "He would not have, if he were who you all thought he was. Now, I am certain of who he is. The Council owes you a debt of gratitude, Mr. President."

  "I am glad to be of service to you, Number One,” Crowley said with true humility.

  "Mr. President. Be careful. There is more to all of this than you are aware of ... or I can tell you about."

  Crowley nodded.

  "You must go out there now. They are waiting on you. I will find my own way out. Good night, Mr. President."

  Chapter 16

  "WHAT IS HE up to?” Ray Cutler muttered.

  "By ‘he,’ I assume you mean Jesus,” Harold Bennett said. They had been joined by Arnold Wills in the same out-of-the-way restaurant where they had met earlier.

  "Yes. Why is he willing to lend his support to Crowley's administration? Certainly, Jesus must know what a criminal he is,” Ray continued.

  Harold agreed. “I can understand Armand Mathias snapping at any bone Crowley would throw his way, but Jesus is an entirely different matter. I don't understand it. I'm not a Bible thumper, but I know enough about my scriptures to know this is not the Jesus of the Bible."

  "Do we really have any reason to expect he would be, Harold?” Arnold said thoughtfully. “It seems to me Jesus has demonstrated repeatedly that history, and I dare say religion, got a whole lot of the story wrong."

  "Maybe,” Ray said, thoughtfully. He started to say something, but stopped himself. Harold said, “Go ahead, Ray. What did you want to say?"

  "Well, has it occurred to anyone maybe this person isn't really Jesus?"

  "What do you mean, Ray?” Harold said incredulously. “That's crazy!"

  "Is it?” Ray peered over his glasses through the candle-lit dimness at Harold. “A few months ago, the idea he was Jesus was pretty far-fetched, remember? It took quite a while for most people to accept it as fact. But the evidence was indisputable. Hamilton and Barber documented their work so thoroughly there was no room for any doubt whatsoever that Jesus was, in fact, cloned from the blood of the Shroud of Turin."

  "Yet, now you are telling us you suspect he may not be Jesus after all."

  "I'm merely posing the possibility, Arnold. Jesus’ behavior seems a bit strange to me. Doesn't it to you?"

  "I hadn't really thought about it in those terms before, but I see your point,” Arnold conceded.

  Harold said, “Maybe it isn't so much Jesus is acting strangely as it is our historic understanding of him might be seriously lacking. Two thousand years is a long time for things to get distorted through the lens of legend."

  "All of that is true, Harold,” Ray agreed. “But something gnaws at me. I had the chance to spend some time with Angelino. He healed Susan Morgan right before my eyes. Literally brought her back from death. He did it for its own sake. In fact, he insisted we not let the attending physician know what he had done.” Ray grew thoughtful. “But more than that, there was an aura about him. It would have been what I would have expected from a holy man ... from someone like Jesus. I can't explain it, but it was as if God were in the room with us. There was a presence larger than any single one of us in that room."

  "And you do not get that sense about Jesus."

  "No, Arnold. I don't."

  "But what about the powers he has demonstrated, Ray?” Harold was having a hard time grasping all of this. “He has levitated on national television and healed the sick and lame time and again in front of countless witnesses."

  "Yes, I know,” Ray conceded. “I'm probably being an old ninny about all of this. I just wanted to tell you both my concerns."

  "Why don't you interview him, Ray?” Arnold said.

  "What?"

  "Why don't you interview him—on the air? No one has done that yet."

  "Jesus has refused all requests for interviews, Arnold. He won't talk to anyone."

  "Why don't you approach him through Susan Morgan? She is a former employee of yours, is she not?” Harold added, in support of Arnold.

  "To tell you the truth, I've tried to contact Susan several times, just to see how she is doing. She looks horrible when I see her on television. She won't see me.” Harold and Arnold both caught the sadness in Ray's voice.

  Harold grew thoughtful for a moment. “Maybe I can call in a favor or two from Armand Mathias. He owes me big time for pushing the Archer-Frampton anti-cloning bill through for him. Let me make a few phone calls and I'll see what I can set up, Ray."

  Ray nodded, unconvinced Harold would be successful. As powerful as Harold had been in the Senate, the coming of Jesus had altered the rules of the game. He doubted Mathias would feel any obligation to return favors, now that he was riding high on the coattails of Jesus. He had always pegged Mathias as the type who would kiss your ass when you had the power and shit in your face when he had it. That made him not all that different from most men.

  Harold changed the subject. “Are you still planning a trip to France, Arnold?"

  Arnold nodded. “Yes. I cannot just let the murder of one of my best men go unanswered. Council or no Council, whoever is responsible for this is not going to get away with it.” Arnold's jaw clenched with angry determination. Harold thought to attempt to deter him, but knew it would be to no avail.

  "Just be careful, Arnold. You going alone?"

  "Yes."

  "Is that wise?” Ray asked, a bit surprised a man of Arnold's experience would undertake such a dangerous mission without any backup.

  "I will attract less attention if I work alone. We know now what Julian was unaware of when he went to France. The Council will resort to anything. My advantage this time is being prepared for that."

  Harold was unconvinced but remained silent. He exchanged a worried glance with Ray, who he could see shared his concerns.

  "I must learn what Julian discovered that cost him his life. I owe him that.” Arnold
explained.

  * * * *

  IT TOOK A few minutes for their eyes to adjust to the darkness. Angelino and Monsignor Cassidy stood in the doorway of the old saloon squinting into the shadows. All eyes had turned toward them. They were strangers, and strangers were always regarded with suspicion in Dark Oaks, South Dakota.

  Monsignor Cassidy felt as if they had been hurled a hundred years backward in time. He guessed the saloon had changed very little since the days of fur traders and treaty wars with the Sioux tribes which had inhabited the hills, and whose ancestors had lived in poverty on reservations to that day.

  As his eyes adjusted, he studied the grizzled, unsmiling faces of the dozen or so patrons. Four were sitting around an old beat-up wood table, playing poker. Six were strewn out along the length of the bar. The remaining couple sat in at lone tables along the side of the small room. Several of them wore sidearms. Gun control had not yet taken hold in Dark Oaks.

  Cassidy thought he saw another figure hidden deep in the shadows in the far corner of the bar, but he could not tell for certain. The adjustment to the darkness was made more difficult because all around them outside was fresh white snow reflecting a bright sunlit day. He began to get a little nervous.

  He whispered to Angelino, “Are you sure this is where we're supposed to be?"

  Angelino nodded, and took a few steps into the saloon. Cassidy followed. A dozen pairs of unfriendly eyes remained fixed on them.

  "Maybe we should have kept our priest garb on,” Cassidy said quietly, trying not to move his lips. “Not that it would have probably made much difference to this bunch,” he decided, after taking a second look around.

  "Stay close to me,” Angelino said, as he headed up to a clear spot at the bar.

  The bartender, a middle-aged large man with a face permanently carved into a sour snarl, regarded them for a moment before slowly moving toward them. He folded his arms in front of his barrel chest and stood opposite them without speaking.

  "Whiskey,” Angelino said, nonchalantly.

  Cassidy's jaw dropped. “What are you doing?” he hissed.