by J W Brazier
Another hour passed. Not once did Steve sugarcoat his tormenting pronouncements. He’d covered a gamut of society’s social ills. Radical judicial activism, an ultra-liberal biased press, all the way to impugning the president, suggesting impeachment for lawlessness and treasonous acts and more.
Steve accused him of ineptness, declaring him unfit to hold the office of president. He scourged his executive decrees and executive orders that bypassed Congress, the law, the Constitution, and the American people, as would a tyrant king.
*
Joshua listened, amazed by Steve’s raw oratory, and his courage to speak from a minister’s pulpit. Steve, Joshua knew, was simply exercising his constitutional rights—ignoring a constraining government that silenced all dissenters. The mantle of the Black Robe preachers from young America had come alive within Steve. He’d made it his own for the twenty-first century, but Joshua knew his friend hadn’t finished.
*
Steve, in rare form, had dared to cover territory others feared to travel, but he’d spoken the truth, as he’d declared he would—and the audience loved it. The air conditioners labored to keep pace, but never faltered. Sweat streamed off Steve’s face. Exhausted and running on empty, he felt energized, more so than he’d felt in years.
His energy hadn’t come from his exercise regime, though, but his newfound freedom long extinguished. He’d thrown off the chains of an overreaching government and IRS threats. He looked at his watch and realized he’d preached nonstop for two and a half hours.
“I apologize,” he said. “You’ve been a patient bunch and I’ve kept you much longer than I’d planned.”
Steve closed his notebook and stepped away from the podium to deliver his closing remarks. He walked to and stood center stage, near its edge.
“Americans have swallowed the self-serving lies of both political parties for years, if not decades. America is self-destructing, as Abraham Lincoln said. Our nation teeters near the abyss of destruction. Americans continue to choose lying, self-asserting demigods who thump their prideful chests and wail against our Founding Fathers’ common sense conservatism. All the while, they plunge our economy into financial ruin, asserting the virtues of their socialist-progressive comrades.
“We’ve elected these progressive deceivers into office time and again, both Republican and Democrat. We entrusted them to defend and preserve our free republic. And yet, they’re dismantling every obstacle, every restraint of our Constitution to further an agenda. Federal and state governments ignore the cries of their citizens. Progressives have stoked the coals white hot as they wield the hammer and forge our chains of slavery.”
Steve paused, then shook his fists and shouted, “Tyranny, I tell you, knocks at our doors! ‘Progressive’ is but a word you might say, but I tell you, the term is a modern-day disguise for socialist and Marxist tyrants. Liberal progressivism permeates our houses of government like a malignant cancer, destroying our constitutional freedoms, bit by legislative bit. Will America watch as beguiling politicians deceive us again and again?”
Steve paused again and took a needed breath before going on.
“I say political correctness is the bride of progressive tyranny. This insidious insanity is now enthroned within our society, our schools, businesses, courts, churches, and synagogues. The bastion of PC absurdity thrives in every city, state, and federal government office.
“May God have mercy on us, because we’ve stood by with a wink and a nod, and with our votes, we’ve allowed it! America’s doomsday clock is ticking, and it’s three minutes to midnight.
“The time has come to get up off your backsides. Speak and fight back with your vote and throw any person or agenda attempting to circumvent our American Constitution out of office! Stop this political bickering, taxation, regulation without representation, and the oppressive tyranny of an out-of-control government. Take a stand against the tyranny consuming our land before our eyes—before it’s too late. Fight back, I say, for your freedoms—or lose them!”
Steve stopped and took another drink of water. He had already decided not to bring up Ben Archer’s threats; it would just escalate their fears. Before he could resume, though, Kathy Gunter jumped up out of her seat, tears running down her cheeks.
“Pastor!” she said. “I know everything you’ve said tonight is true, but they want me to put a computer chip in my hand to buy food. Is it the Mark of the Beast? What are we going to do? I’ve got to feed my kids and pay our bills. I don’t know what to tell my babies.”
Steve nodded. He knew Kathy well. She was a hard-working single mother in her late forties with three girls. She held a meager wage job at a local fast-food burger outlet and lived paycheck to paycheck.
“Kathy,” he said, “I—”
“Mama, I’m scared!”cried the youngest of Kathy’s kids. “Are they going to shoot us? Don’t let them hurt me, Mama, please!”
Kathy pulled the child close, embraced her, and wiped away the little girl’s tears with gentle strokes of her hand.
“Jolene, quiet now. Nobody’s going to shoot you. We’re all just talking. Hush now, baby. Stop crying.”
The swell of muffled whispers intensified to loud discussions.
Steve exchanged a look with Joshua. They both recognized what was about to come from the agitated audience.
Another woman stood. “Well, friends at my beauty parlor say they’re building concentration camps just for Christians.”
A man then jumped to his feet. “Yeah, that’s right, out there near the old GEM-Tech grounds. They got armed guards with electric fences.”
Three other anxious souls stood. One jumped from the floor up to the pew. “My neighbor says that the antichrist is right here in White River.”
Steve’s heart ached at seeing the hysteria growing. Had any of them listened and taken his message to heart? He waved his arms and shouted over the rising tide of loud, angry voices.
“People, please, quiet down!” he boomed.
Heads and eyes snapped toward him like rubber bands, and the chatter diminished.
“Church, did you not listen to anything I’ve said tonight? Where’s your faith? The example you’re showing is one of concern for your wallets. You see your comfort zones threatened, and you want somebody to fix it.”
Then Steve saw Joshua stand. He smiled at Joshua, mouthing Thank you and then waved his big hand to join him on stage. All eyes followed Joshua as he walked to the stage and stood behind the podium to face his throng of inquisitors, all eager for answers.
*
Joshua looked out over the audience. “Thank you, Pastor, for your inspiring and encouraging words tonight. They’ve motivated my hopes and I trust that all of you were listening.”
The audience stood and applauded, then sat down and waited on Joshua.
“Steve delivered a brave and eloquent message. His words should rekindle an awakening in us all and answer questions we’ve all considered.”
Before Joshua could continue, Ted Hurley again jumped to his feet. “Joshua—I mean, Mr. Mayor, I don’t need words of encouragement. Tell me what you’re going to do about what’s going on around here.”
Sue Miller sprang to her feet. “Is my money safe in the bank, Mayor?”
A few seats away, Ellen Decker was quick to follow Sue. “One of those foreign people arrested my Edgar last week for public disturbance. Can those foreigners do that? I mean, what about our own deputies?”
Joshua began to feel helpless to abate or soothe the swelling voices of panic. Nothing in Steve’s message registered with these people. I doubt if they’ll listen to me, he thought.
Scared, the crowd simply wanted to blame someone. His voice bold and assertive, Joshua pounded the podium with his hand and tried to speak over the commotion.
“People! Please, listen to me and settle down! No more questions or outbursts.”
The crowd quieted.
“Pastor Steve delivered a brilliant message for a reason. The answers
to all your questions were in that message. I’d suggest you ponder what he said. I know I am. Now listen, please. I’m not going to debate with you. Here’s what I do know.”
Thankfully, Joshua now had their full attention.
“I met with Governor Clayton, who restated to me what the president expected. Folks, they weren’t asking my permission, but demanded my full cooperation. The foreign troops are part of a new army brigade of the United Nations and NATO—a joint task force infused with our own active duty military and National Guard units. They’re training together to confront and combat all domestic terrorism on a global scale. The governor did say the exercise is temporary. Their commanding general assured me they plan on an early withdrawal, but when, I don’t know. Soon, I hope. The foreign police officers are part of the exercise that involves the UN and International Criminal Courts.
“As for the OWN card, it’s a trial for an eventual cashless system. The US is preparing for a monetary shift toward a new global economy. Aren’t we the lucky ones? I say that in sarcasm, because we’re the first American community selected, whether we like it or not. They’re working out the bugs, or so I’m informed. In my opinion, it’s the chicken thanking the fox for stopping by for dinner.”
The laughter was spontaneous. Even old Ted Hurley smiled.
“In regard to the new technology of nano-chip implants, that my friends is an individual decision. Your personal, financial, and medical data is stored and made available worldwide. Lord knows what agencies will access that information. I would use common sense, but as for me, I—”
The church doors burst open. Every eye in the congregation turned toward the disturbance. Mothers pulled their children close. Husbands reached for their wives. Joshua saw shock and terror on most faces as soldiers, dressed in full combat gear, piled through the entrance with their weapons pointed at the congregation.
Joshua watched a proud Ben Archer waddle through the door, stopping at center aisle and grinning as he waved a paper at Pastor Steve. Joshua just stared at Ben, wondering if he should confront him or wait for the little man to announce his intentions. Ben started to move toward the stage, but suddenly stopped. Joshua wondered what was going on when he saw Ben’s eyes grow wide with fear.
Steve came and stood beside Joshua. They looked about, but saw nothing except stark fear and confusion consuming Ben’s every feature. The soldiers also appeared terrified by something they were seeing—but Joshua saw nothing out of the ordinary, except for Ben and his soldiers.
Then, in an instant, the intruders seemed to reel about in pain, their hands to their ears, trying to stop whatever torment they were experiencing. The church attendees watched, yet no one, like Joshua, apparently could hear or see anything.
Ben staggered and stumbled toward the door, following the soldiers’ panicked flight out of the church. Ben turned and shook his fist.
“Joshua!” Ben shouted. “This matter isn’t over, nor for you, Preacher—or for any of you people!”
Chapter 25
Ben Archer tore at the wrapping around a buttered Danish, like a little boy eager to eat his candy. He mumbled an old rhyme: “Look out, teeth … look out, tongue … look out, stomach … because here it comes.”
Impatient to taste the glutinous bun, he opened wide, careful with the first bite. In that moment, the startling screech of Angela Newberry’s voice blared from the intercom: “Ben! Mayor Austin is on line one hot as a firecracker. Can you take the call?”
Ben’s stubby fingers juggled the slippery bun, but couldn’t save the airborne buttery dough from its final destination. A scowl on his face, he looked down at the gooey mess resting in his lap. He grabbed the soggy roll, leaped from the chair, and flung it into the trash can. His temper now fully unleashed, he hurled every foul curse word in memory at his secretary/lover.
His tirade finished, Ben dabbed and brushed at his new suit. He sat down with a passing sad glance at his morning delight now lying in the trash can. Would’ve been delicious, he thought. Refocused, he looked down at the blinking phone line. He’d kept Mayor Austin waiting on hold. He looked at his watch: five after eight.
“Joshua’s punctual,” he muttered.
He licked his sticky fingers to fulfill his sugar urge, then wiped them with a fresh paper napkin and finally called Angela.
“Ms. Newberry, a word of warning, don’t you ever dare scream at me again—ever!”
He heard her muttering curses about him as she hung up—and then he heard her receiver slam down into the cradle through his closed door.
“Whatever,” Ben mumbled.
He snatched up the telephone on the first ring, ready to pounce on the new mayor.
“Well, well, good morning, Mayor Austin. What can I do you out of this morning?”
“Archer, please tell me you ran out of your medications. Otherwise, only insanity can describe what you pulled last night. You think because of your temporary title, you have legal authority to hold a church service hostage … at gunpoint?”
Ben scoffed. “Your pastor was less than cooperative in registering his church members with our committee. Most area churches are in compliance with our directives, but for a few malcontents. I decided firmer persuasion was in order, so I simply wanted to hand-deliver the paperwork.”
“You ordered the military to enter a church at gunpoint, Archer. This is America, not communist China.”
“Austin, you need to read the International Criminal Court’s definition of a terrorist, as I suggested to your pastor. You’ll see that Christians are classified as potential subversive terrorists.”
“Ben, they are American citizens, church members, worshipers—not criminals.”
“Mayor, I don’t care if they worship dirt, but they will conform to the rules of international law. Think of it as restructuring American society for the betterment of a one-world partnership. Anyone who stands in the way of those initiatives is an adversary, be they Christians or devils.”
“Archer, your rhetoric shows you’ve lost all sight of common sense and sold out your country—cheaply, too. Your progressive PC cronies have you hoodwinked. This is America, sir, a Judeo-Christian nation, a constitutional republic, not a dictatorship. It appears this subversive military exercise has brought out your true nature.”
“If I were you, Mayor, I’d stay focused on your own problems, and from what I hear, they’re mounting.”
“Archer, be forewarned. Your PC tactics will cease in my town, Mister, regardless of your NGO status—exercise or no exercise. The US Constitution and the laws of the state of Arkansas aren’t void because of a military training exercise.”
“You’ve no authority over me, Austin.”
“You’re correct, Ben. That’s why I expect you’ll be hearing from your boss soon.”
Ben chuckled. “And who might that be, Austin?”
“The governor, for one, and Abram Solomon. Remember him?”
Ben said nothing, but felt his gut tighten up.
“There’s one more thing, Archer. I’m curious. What was it that made you and your military escort leave our church in a hurry? What did you see and hear?”
“I don’t want to talk about it, Austin. It’s not important. Whatever device you people used won’t work a second time. We’ll be ready for you.”
Joshua shook his head to himself. “Archer, there wasn’t any device. I pity you, because you know as well as I what you experienced, and yet still you’re in denial. I’ll give Abram your regards. You have a nice day.”
Hanging up the phone, Ben understood what Joshua had implied, but his fears focused more on Abram Solomon. In his zeal to make points with Abram and his UN superiors, Ben had taken a gamble. He’d reacted out of anger and overstepped his authority.
What will Abram’s reaction be? he wondered.
*
Joshua sipped at his second cup of coffee, still fuming from his morning conversation with Ben Archer, although he’d expected as much. Arrogance and bravado were B
en’s stock in trade, after all. He walked over to his office windows and stared at the park across the street. Playful birds fluttered about on tree branches. As he rested his gaze on the serene scene, he reflected on Archer’s actions, their implications, and the phenomenon that transpired during the Wednesday night church service.
One thought, though, kept cycling back to the forefront. Steve had made a remark in his sermon that bothered Joshua—not because of Steve saying it, but because of the audience’s apparent apathy toward what was said. If Steve saw things so clearly, why hadn’t the others? Joshua wondered. As Steve declared, White River’s military occupation was a camouflage, a practice run at martial law.
“You have no idea how right you are, my friend,” Joshua muttered.
Now, Ben had used two key words that confirmed Steve’s suggested scenario: “malcontents” and “subversives”—which included anyone who dared buck the status quo, Joshua guessed. Introducing the OWN card was for control. The joint military training exercise was a fabrication for security—in case Archer’s vision of malcontents and subversives decided to put up a fight.
Joshua looked at his watch—10:00 a.m. It looked like a beautiful day for a walk to clear his mind and to refocus. He turned and opened a locked desk drawer, then took out his personal protection and clipped the holster on his hip, letting his sport coat fall back over the firearm. Cell phone in his pocket, he headed for the door.
As he yanked the door open, Joshua almost collided with Shelby in his haste to leave. She shrieked, and her right hand shot straight to her mouth.
“Oh my goodness, Mayor! You almost startled the life out of me.”
“I’m sorry, Shelby. I was about to take off for a while.”
“But … But what about our meeting to discuss your schedule today? I have it all prepared.” She thrust a thick folder toward him. “It’s a busy day, sir.” She gave him a frown.
He sighed. “I know, Shelby, I know. And I apologize, but I need fresh air. I’m going for a walk, so please pencil me out of the office. I’ll return soon, I promise.”