Shrouded Destiny

by Richard William Bates

  Crowley frowned. He had been shortsighted not to have considered something like this happening. Why did he so often make the mistake of underestimating Bennett? He should have seen this coming.

  Harvey Thatcher stepped in before he could respond.

  "Actually, this could be all for the best, Jesus. Our mandate becomes much more legitimate if it is demonstrated to be able to withstand debate."

  "I am not interested in your political theories, Mr. Thatcher. I am interested in results."

  "I understand that, Jesus. We all want to..."

  "Enough!” Jesus bellowed. “This must be ended ... now!"

  "What would you have us do?” Crowley was getting annoyed. Months of being Jesus’ lackey was taking its toll on his usual calm.

  "Stop him. Go in there and drag him out if that's what it takes."

  "Oh, sure. That will win us support,” Crowley flared sarcastically. “Listen. Whatever or whoever you might be, I am the President of the United States and it would be best for you to be reminded of that fact."

  Jesus froze in place, glaring angrily into the eyes of the President, who met his stare unflinchingly. He may never have had to stare down the Son of God before, but he had had to stare down a few Mideastern religious fanatics who thought they were God, and that was not all that different, when you came right down to it.

  "Very well,” Jesus said coldly. “I will take care of it."

  Something in the tone of Jesus’ voice sent a chill down Crowley's spine. “What do you intend to do?” he asked warily.

  Jesus laughed. “Don't fret, Mr. President. I am not going to harm anyone...” Yet, he did not add.

  Crowley relaxed somewhat. “Jesus, perhaps Harvey is correct. We have plenty of time to move on this bill. There is nothing to prevent us from moving forward while the bill is being debated. Its passage is as certain as anything I have seen in my entire political career. We can act now and sanctify it under law later."

  Jesus mulled this over for a moment. Crowley was relieved to see he had regained his calm. He was fully aware of the powers Jesus possessed, and he suspected he had not seen even half of what he was capable of. It was better to not push him into using those powers against him, if it could be avoided.

  "Very well,” Jesus finally said. “Let him talk ... for now. But be advised I have no intention of letting him carry on endlessly.” Jesus had become his normal self now. He changed the subject. “What time is our meeting with the Joint Chiefs tomorrow?"

  "Ten A.M.” Crowley answered.

  "Good. I'll see you then.” With that, Jesus evaporated into the now-familiar ball of white light.

  * * * *

  Thatcher, who had done his best to become invisible during the short outburst between the two men, started breathing once again. He was beginning to feel events were getting away from all of them. Jesus clearly had an agenda. It was becoming more apparent every day. He seemed to be unconcerned with concealing the fact, as was apparent by his willingness to suggest an act so outrageous as forcing a speaker off the senate floor, something that would have created a public outcry against them, regardless of how popular Jesus and Crowley might be. The press would never let that one slide.

  Jesus was not stupid. Yet that had been a reckless lapse of control. It was as if he felt his power could not be challenged.

  "What was that all about?” he asked Crowley, who was still clearly disturbed by the exchange between himself and Jesus.

  "I wish I knew, Harv. I'm getting a really bad feeling about all of this. I'm beginning to feel like we've been had, big time."

  "I know what you mean. I'm concerned too. But whether we like it or not, we're in bed with him now, and there's no turning back."

  Chapter 22

  "TERIANNA, IF ANYTHING, your culinary skills have gotten even better than I remember,” Angelino smiled, having finished the tasty meal prepared for them all. “How I have missed your cooking."

  "Is that all you have missed, Punji?” Maribella's eyes twinkled.

  Angelino laughed. “You know I have missed you deeply."

  Susan was watching how Angelino related to these wonderful people with amusement bordering on pure joy. The love between them all was contagious. She wanted to simply blurt out the questions about the relationship between Maribella and Angelino.

  "Ms. Morgan, you must have all sorts of questions about Punji and me.” Maribella seemed to read her mind just as Angelino did so often, and Susan was no longer surprised by it.

  "Yes,” Susan laughed. “I confess I do, Maribella."

  Maribella pouted with mock sadness. “Oh, Punji, you are ashamed of me."

  Angelino reached over, took her hand in his and said tenderly, “Don't be silly, my life. I have only sought to protect your reputation. How would it look for you if these good people knew you consorted with the likes of me?"

  "You always could charm the birds out of the trees, Punji,” Maribella beamed back at him.

  "Susan,” Angelino said. “Maribella is my wife. The love of my life."

  "Wife?” she sputtered. Somehow, the thought he might have a wife had never crossed her mind. “I don't understand. You're a Catholic priest. You can't be married."

  Angelino laughed heartily. “As you know, Susan, I have never been a very good Catholic priest, in their opinion. Our new Pope would have a cow if he knew I had a wife."

  Maribella grew serious. “Yes, I heard your old friend Ronald Johnson had died. I am sorry, my darling."

  Angelino patted her hand in response. “Thank you, my love. He did not just die, however. He was murdered ... by the Council."

  Nicole, who had been all but invisible since their arrival in the village, let out an involuntary gasp. Angelino knew. But how?

  "Yes, Nicole,” Angelino said. “The murder of a Pope is a frightening thing. It makes one wonder if anyone is really safe.” His eyes met Nicole's kindly. Nicole could hardly bear to return his gaze. She felt naked and exposed whenever Angelino looked at her that way.

  "It is upsetting,” was all she managed. She wished she had never taken on this mission. It was getting more and more difficult to maintain the detachment needed to carry out her task. She was desperate to contact Number One or any member of the Council. She needed to hear a reassuring voice, to be told once again of the rightness of the Agenda. Being so far from civilization made it difficult to keep her perspective. Sleeping under the star-filled sky at night, taking in the fresh air and sunshine of the unspoiled countryside, spending time with these people who all seemed so full of joy and love for one another ... all of this was poisoning her mind. It had been a horrible idea to accompany them. She should have just slipped the knife into Angelino's heart when she'd had the chance back in America. She did not belong with people like this ... people who the Council would no longer tolerate in the new world to come.

  "Nicole, dear.” Terianna's voice snapped her out of her thoughts. “Tell us a little about yourself. Punji tells us you only just joined them before your trip to India."

  "Oui, mademoiselle. That is true.” She struggled to stay in character as the innocent, having been distracted by her concerns. “I have been an admirer of Susan Morgan for a long time and came to America to meet her. Father Angelino was so very kind to ask me to accompany them on their journey."

  "So, what do you think of our Punji?” Maribella asked sweetly.

  "Oh, he is one of the kindest men I have ever known. I admire him very much."

  "Ah, indeed she has not known you very long, Punji,” Maribella teased. Angelino smiled, his eyes filled with adoration for the woman who sat by his side.

  Yes, Nicole thought to herself. She was getting too close to these people. She would have to act soon, even if it meant her own death. It was becoming clear she would not be able to make her move without discovery. Very well. She wondered what they would do to her when they realized she had delivered the deathblow to Angelino. It wouldn't matter, though. The deed could not be undone. And she had ple
dged her life to the Council, after all, even if it meant she must sacrifice that life in the process.

  She would rather give her life, though, than to see the pain in the eyes of the others. That thought brought a sickening feeling to her stomach. How odd. She could contemplate shoving a knife into Angelino's heart with cold-blooded detachment, yet the thought of facing the others afterwards filled her with a deep dread. What is happening to me?

  She watched the others laughing and enjoying each other like one big family. She, too, had come from a big family ... an important family with a genealogy reaching far back into history. She was also a member of a larger family, the Exalted Council of Most Highs, the most important and influential body in history. Compared to the Council, these peons were an inconsequential blip on the radar screen of history.

  But it that were true, why did she feel so sad at the thought of never seeing them again? She shook off those disturbing thoughts and returned her attention to those around her, doing her best to forget she was beginning to love them.

  * * * *

  "HE WON'T BE able to keep this up much longer,” Crowley said with smug satisfaction, watching on TV in the Oval Office as Harold grew weary on the Senate floor. A filibuster was an age-old tradition of parliamentary procedure, whereby one could take the floor and hold it indefinitely, as long as they were careful not to yield the floor to an opponent other than for a question. Often, opponents of a measure would team up to filibuster in shifts. That was not likely in this case. Harold was a lone voice crying in the wilderness on this one. In modern times, filibusters had become a formality. No one ever physically went through with them. But the option to do so remained, even if it was never implemented. Harold wanted to do more than just stall the legislation—he wanted to be heard.

  That had its dangers, as well. The public always loved the drama of the lone crusader versus the ruling powers. If Harold managed to capture the public imagination, he could actually become a major obstacle to their plans.

  That wasn't likely, however. Early ratings returns showed nobody was watching, other than a few who cheered him on more for the sporting value than any belief he would make any difference. It would be over soon. Harold was no longer a young man, and although in good health, he would need to yield the floor eventually.

  * * * *

  ON THE SENATE floor, Harold Bennett once more asked for a roll call, a tactic used in filibusters to allow the speaker to regroup and take a short break. He could not sit down or even lean against his desk ... that was the hardest part of filibustering, not being able to get off of your feet. Once you sat down, you automatically relinquished the floor to the next person recognized by the chair. Harold leaned wearily over his desk, clearly showing the strain. He had been talking for fourteen hours.

  Most of the Senators had left the chambers. Those that remained were reading newspapers, position papers, or napping. The rules of a filibuster allowed one to speak indefinitely, but did not have any provisions requiring anyone else to pay attention.

  The roll call vote was quickly concluded, and Harold had to continue. Crowley watched with sadistic pleasure as the Senator seemed to be on the verge of collapse.

  Suddenly, a voice called out, “Will the Senator yield?” It was Stuart Hatcher. Harold surprised Crowley when he said, “I will yield to the Senator from Massachusetts."

  Crowley sat up in his chair. Hatcher was a political ally of the president. So Harold was giving up! Good. Harold was a smart man ... smart enough to know when to quit.

  He turned to Jesus and said, “It's over now. See? I told you it was nothing to worry about. Hatcher will request a quorum call, and then he will call the issue to a vote."

  Stuart stood at his desk. He had just returned from a fresh night's rest and was dressed in his usual immaculate style. He paused for a moment, took a breath and then said, “I stand with my colleague, Senator Bennett in opposition to SR 33."

  Crowley shot to his feet. “What?"

  "What's happening, President Crowley?” Jesus asked. “What's the problem?"

  "That sonofabitch,” Crowley hissed. “He's going to continue the filibuster. He and Harold have teamed up against us. That sonofabitch! We've been double crossed.” That wasn't technically accurate, since there had never been any explicit agreement between the White House and Hatcher. Crowley had assumed party loyalty would hold, as it had in the past. That assumption was characteristic of Crowley's arrogance. One again he had underestimated the shrewdness of Bennett. Somehow, he had persuaded his good friend to risk his entire reputation on this issue.

  What Crowley couldn't understand was why Hatcher would do it. He was retiring from the Senate after his current term. He had nothing to gain and everything to lose, having left behind a legacy of government service that would serve him proud in his retirement and which would not be forgotten by history. Civil rights, welfare reform, Medicare ... all of these were stronger and fairer because of the work Stuart had done to make them so. Now, here he was, about to destroy all of that by taking a stand against Jesus. Had Hatcher gone mad?

  Jesus sat stonily, watching the television. His face darkened with seething anger.

  Meanwhile, Stuart continued to speak.

  "It may surprise some of you to hear me speak out against a bill which seems to incorporate all I have fought for my entire career. If you are among those who feel that way, then I must tell you, and not without some sadness, that you have never really known Stuart Hatcher. I have always liked to think I work for the good of the people ... that I truly care about people. So it must seem strange to you to see me speak out against Jesus and the President on a bill that seems to offer so much to so many.

  "I admit, as a Roman Catholic, to find myself standing here actually speaking out against a living, breathing Jesus is disconcerting. Like most of you, I was taught to revere the name of Jesus. I still do.

  "But I ask you this: is the man who calls himself Jesus the Jesus you know?"

  * * * *

  JESUS’ FACE HARDENED and he said fiercely, “That will be just about enough of this.” Then he closed his eyes for a moment, and suddenly the television went dark. Televisions all over the world went dark at the same moment.

  In the Senate chamber, Stuart continued speaking, momentarily unaware anything had happened. But within moments, word was buzzing through the chamber of a massive global communications failure. Oddly, the failure seemed to be affecting only channels showing the filibuster in the senate. Stuart felt himself wilt inwardly at the news. This could not be an accident. Jesus was seeing to it his words did not reach the people. Having effectively muzzled Stuart and Harold, Jesus had rendered their filibuster virtually irrelevant.

  No, that wasn't true, Stuart realized just as quickly. As important as it was to influence the global population, they had realized going in the likelihood of affecting any real influence was virtually nonexistent. What was important was stalling the legislation for as long as possible. Beyond that, they didn't have much of a plan other than a vague hope Angelino might somehow intervene, if they could buy him enough time to do ... what? Admittedly, they had no idea what Angelino might be able to do, but he was the only being who seemed powerful enough to meet Jesus on his own level. The political battle they were waging was merely a means to a spiritual end ... an end they had to acknowledge was unknown to them.

  Stuart looked over the few senators who were still in the chamber. Some of them had been longtime friends. Others were new faces he had not gotten to know. A few wore expressions of anger, even hatred, directed at Stuart. No friendly faces greeted him. Well, he had fought unpopular battles before. It was a lonely business, to be sure, but he knew it had to be done. The one consolation was that his last political act was taking a stand alongside his dear friend, Harold Bennett. They might go down in flames, but few would forget their futile fight. And who knows? Perhaps in time, history would decree the fight they fought was the noble cause after all.

  Stuart took a deep b
reath and continued to speak, as if nothing had happened to the television feed. Let the chips fall where they may.

  * * * *

  SLEEP DID NOT come for Susan. However, it was not due to any stress or anxiety. It was simply that her mind was filled with awe from the memory of the day just passed. She had never experienced such joy and love as she found in every inhabitant of the village. It all left her feeling energized and stimulated.

  Resigned to the fact sleep was not going to come, she got up from the small bed, slipped on a sweat suit and some sneakers and quietly left her room. She had been given a small room in Raji and Terianna's home, and she was careful not to disturb anyone as she opened the door and stepped outside into the cool, still evening.

  Her first awareness was the total silence. Even in Colorado, the nighttime had been filled with sounds of nature ... crickets, the rustling of the wind through the pines ... all of these were ever-present. But here the silence was as complete as in a vacuum. Gradually, she became aware of her own breathing and her own heartbeat. She imagined she could hear the very blood coursing through her veins. Or was she imagining it? How much one became aware of in silence, she thought, with the realization of discovery.

  As her eyes grew accustomed to the dark, the immense star field above her began to appear. She remembered learning in some astronomy lecture back in college that stars burned with different colors depending upon their temperature, the blue stars being the hottest, the red the coolest. She had taken this on faith, never having been able to discern the difference in colors between them. Here, however, she was able to see all the different colors. How beautiful they were!

  There are moments people experience when their consciousness is able to grasp the enormity of creation. Such moments obliterate what is normally regarded as thought, replacing it with pure awareness. Susan found herself caught up in such a moment, as the Inner Voice, normally obliterated by the cacophony of mental chattering of day-to-day living, thundered into her awareness. It was the same voice Moses and the other prophets had heard and resisted at first ... the voice that said, I Am that I Am.