Silenced

by Jerry B. Jenkins

  “On my way.”

  When Paul reached the lobby the tone from his molars signaled a call. He pressed his thumb to his pinkie. “Stepola here.”

  “Straight. Debriefing after a most interesting time with your family this evening.”

  “What time is it there, Straight?”

  “After eleven. I waited as long as I could. Hope I didn’t call too early.”

  “No, I’m up and running. How’d it go?”

  “There’s stuff we need to discuss, Paul. You seem distracted.”

  “It’s a bad time, frankly. I’ll be in a car with a driver and then in a meeting.”

  “Thought you were on your way to Rome.”

  Paul explained quickly. “I’m about to get in the car, Straight. Did you know, by the way, that you were wrong about a Bern underground?”

  “I told you there wasn’t one.”

  “Yeah, well, there is. I’ll call you from the plane in a few hours. Meanwhile, you’d better talk to Abraham.”

  “It’s an hour later in Detroit, Paul.”

  “This will be worth waking him for.”

  “Terribly sorry about upending your morning, Doctor,” Dengler said, briskly shaking Paul’s hand and leading him to a chair. “There have been a couple of developments I wanted you to know about so you would not feel blindsided. First, our staffer, the one we fired for being inappropriate with you upon your arrival, was apprehended at your hotel last night.”

  “What?”

  “He has been sentenced to twenty years in prison for assault.”

  “On whom?”

  “On you, sir.”

  “I was not assaulted.”

  “His plan was clear. He paid a room-service worker to allow him to borrow his uniform. Did you order a meal last night?”

  “Yes. I—”

  “He told the original waiter it was a prank, but what he paid was so extravagant that the waiter regretted it as soon as he lent the uniform. He tipped off local police, who found him near the elevator on your floor. He was armed. An identification trace led them to our personnel database, and they turned him over to us.”

  Paul shook his head. “And he has been tried already?”

  “This was a clear-cut case, Doctor. We have broad powers.”

  “Apparently.”

  “I thought you would want to know.”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “That could have been tragic.”

  “Yes.”

  “I wish you would reconsider my offer of a cadre of bodyguards for the duration of your stay.”

  “I appreciate that, but—”

  “I understand,” Dengler said. “I hate them too.”

  “Frankly, I thought you were bringing me here to tell me you had a bead on our terrorist.” Paul privately hoped he would find Magnor first, of course, in the unlikely event that he was a true believer.

  “I am aware only that our people have eliminated many of the Styr Magnors of the world. You know, it’s ironic that the name seems to suggest he is Scandinavian. No doubt you remember that the only serious recall I ever had to survive came from a Norwegian.”

  “I do remember that,” Paul said. “But he had support from outside Norway. Somewhere in the British Isles, wasn’t it?”

  “Probably from elsewhere too,” Dengler said, his mind already clearly onto something else. “The other issue of which I wanted to make you aware is something I trust you will agree should help your cause. This was in process when first we met, but I was not at liberty to mention it then. It will not be announced until next Monday, and there will undoubtedly be minor adjustments in the wording before then, but I wanted you to see it.”

  The chancellor moved to his desk, from which he pulled a leather notebook. This he handed to Paul, who opened it to find a single sheet on International Government stationery with Chancellor Baldwin Dengler’s seal affixed and a line on which the reader could sign. It read:

  By order of the Supreme Council of the International Government of Peace, headquartered in Bern, Switzerland, and dated this Monday, January 21, 38 P.3, it is resolved that within sixty days, or by March 22, 38 P.3, every citizen of the world community who has reached the age of eighteen years shall be required to stipulate by signing this document and having it on public record, thus:

  “Under penalty of life imprisonment, or death in extreme cases, I hereby pledge that I personally support the global ban on the practice of religion. I am not affiliated with any group, organization, or individual who acts in opposition to the ruling of the international government on this matter, and I stipulate that if I become aware of any citizen violating this ordinance, I am under obligation to report the same, failure to do so resulting in the same punishment.”

  Paul had trained himself to look collected at times like this. What in the world was he going to do when required to sign? Had he just been given the term limit on his own role with the NPO? Was there a chance government personnel were exempt? At the time of his hiring years before he had vowed—orally and in writing—his allegiance to the tenets of the government.

  “I’m, uh, not versed in legal wording and the like,” Paul said.

  “And I am not asking for that kind of input, Doctor. I just wanted you to know of our progress and assure you we were not working on something of this magnitude behind your back.”

  No, we wouldn’t want to work behind each other’s backs.

  “I trust,” Dengler continued, ”you agree that this puts on notice the subversives who threaten to overthrow our way of life. Silences them, really. I am not so naive as to believe it will bring a man like Styr Magnor to his senses. The point is that it gives us the freedom to round up anyone who cannot sign in good conscience, and in this way we break the back of the rebel resistance.”

  “It does have the capacity to effect that,” Paul said.

  “You are less than enthusiastic.”

  “I’m just wondering about the logistics, the manpower and bureaucracy required to accomplish this within the time constraint.”

  Dengler offered a closemouthed grin. “This government is efficient above all else.”

  “May I take a copy?”

  “A souvenir? Certainly. I’ll even sign it. I would ask that you not share it with anyone outside the government before the announcement.”

  Paul nodded.

  “In fact,” Dengler added, signing with a flourish, “this scene will be repeated a week from today as I become the first to officially sign. It is redundant to those of us within the government, but I will ask that no one be exempt. It should be a powerful statement of unity and loyalty; do you not agree?”

  “It certainly will.”

  As Paul was leaving, Dengler put an arm around his shoulder. “I would like you to know my personal hotline number, Doctor, should something absolutely crucial come up that demands my attention. Can you commit it to memory?”

  Later, on the plane, it was Paul’s turn to ask if he had phoned too late.

  “I won’t sleep tonight anyway,” Straight said. “Paul, I am so sorry, and none too happy, to have been left out of the loop about the Bern underground. It may have been too hot for you to make contact without detection there anyway, but you have to know I had no idea . . . ”

  “Of course I knew. But you can imagine my surprise and chagrin when I learned of it. You’ve heard, I suppose, of the disposition of Gregor by now.”

  “Of his murder? Sure. Needless to say, that’s a message from—”

  “His murder?”

  “You didn’t know?”

  “No! I was told—”

  “You were told he had been sentenced to a prison term, right?”

  “Right.”

  “The party line is that he tried to overtake the guard on his way to prison, and they were forced to shoot him.”

  “Does Dengler know?”

  “Paul. There’s no question Dengler ordered it.”

  Paul couldn’t speak.

  “Y
ou still there?” Straight said.

  “Yeah. How much does Dengler know?”

  “You mean about you? We think he’s still in the dark, but he may suspect. Thus this murder.”

  “Does he know Gregor made contact, was in my room? Word I got was that they had caught him in the hall on my floor and nothing was said about my knowing he was there.”

  “All I know is that you should not ask Dengler about it or he could trace you to the underground. The government informed only his family, so it would expose you if you proved you knew that much.”

  “I’m as good as dead, Straight. They’ve got me in their crosshairs. Wait till you see the document Dengler gave me this morning.”

  “Document?”

  “You mean I know something you don’t?”

  “What is it?”

  “Only the death knell for the underground if it’s carried out. Let’s not risk talking about that now. How’s Jae?”

  “Curious, that’s how she is.”

  “The new me is boggling her mind?”

  “For sure. She’s seriously considering her father’s invitation to go and work for him in Washington.”

  “I can’t let that happen, Straight. But it has to be her decision. If Ranold suggested it because he suspects me, it can’t appear I forbade it.”

  “I told her I didn’t like the idea, Paul, but I don’t think I made much of an impression. Why would I have a problem with it?”

  “What’d you tell her?”

  “Just that it didn’t seem the right thing to do. I told her I needed to think about it.”

  “Good. Get back to her in due time and tell her you really have a bad feeling about it. Can you find her work, volunteering in the hospital or something, anything to keep her occupied?”

  “Hadn’t thought of that, but I can always use help. I don’t get the impression she wants to do this for money.”

  “No. She’s just going stir-crazy with me gone. And her family is applying pressure.”

  “Well,” Straight said, “I’ll see if I can apply some of my own, but I have to tell you, Paul, her bags are already mentally packed.”

  7

  THE LEARJET XXX MADE the 425 miles from Bern to Rome in half an hour, most of that on takeoff and landing. After talking with Straight, Paul barely had time to even analyze the overwhelming sadness that overtook him. He had not known Gregor, of course, and had developed zero respect for anything about the young man except his faith. He would certainly have been mostly a liability in covert operations. And yet the death of a brother was always a loss, and Gregor had been trying to help. Paul could only imagine the grief and sense of helplessness of his family.

  As the luxurious craft began its descent, Paul pulled from his bag one of the minidiscs containing the Gospels. Knowing he would have little room in his schedule or his luggage, he had left the rest of the New Testament home. With his regular listening over the last several months, he had developed a memory for key passages. He quickly found Matthew 5:11, the reference he had been reminded of with the death of Gregor. It quoted Jesus:

  God blesses you when you are mocked and persecuted and lied about because you are my followers. Be happy about it! Be very glad! For a great reward awaits you in heaven. And remember, the ancient prophets were persecuted, too.

  But what followed puzzled Paul.

  You are the salt of the earth. But what good is salt if it has lost its flavor? Can you make it useful again? It will be thrown out and trampled underfoot as worthless. You are the light of the world—like a city on a mountain, glowing in the night for all to see. Don’t hide your light under a basket! Instead, put it on a stand and let it shine for all. In the same way, let your good deeds shine out for all to see, so that everyone will praise your heavenly Father.

  What could that possibly mean in the context of the world in which Paul found himself? Soon he would be forced to declare himself, and he didn’t anticipate anyone but those who were already his brothers and sisters lauding him for “letting his light shine” for all to see. He would be stripped of his job, his freedom, likely his life. The only ones praising the heavenly Father for that would be those who shared Paul’s faith.

  The Lear pilot had steered clear of Leonardo da Vinci Airport in Fiumicino, southwest of Rome, and landed instead at Ciampino Airport to the southeast. Paul was met on the tarmac by a navy-suited woman of about sixty, who introduced herself as Alonza Marcello, Rome’s chief of detectives. Her salt-and-pepper hair was short and feminine, but her grip was strong and tight. “I hate weak handshakes,” she said, “especially from women, but men have no excuse.” Trim and fit, tall and thin, she led Paul to a limousine where they both sat in the back.

  Ms. Marcello’s not unkind brusqueness was almost funny. “Welcome to Rome, good to have you, hope you had a good flight, and hope you don’t mind working alone.”

  “I don’t mind,” Paul said. “In fact, I prefer it.”

  “Good, because it shouldn’t come as a surprise that we have had so-called experts before—even some from the USSA—but almost every one sent to us by International has proved a royal pain.”

  Paul might have smiled had it not been for all that was coursing through his brain. “I’m only here to help.”

  Alonza flashed a knowing look. “You’ll excuse my saying I’ve heard that before. Of course, in your case, since I assume you don’t claim expertise in crime-scene investigation—”

  “I don’t.”

  “—which happens to be my and my team’s specialty, you’re here to give us some insight into the mad bombers.”

  “I’ll do my best. Uh, did you say bombers, plural?”

  “That’s what our evidence shows so far, as you will see. Of course, our focus is on the man behind the bombs, not the detonators themselves. Religious extremist, that much is clear.”

  “It appears so.”

  She cocked her head and gave him a look. “Clear and appears don’t jibe, Dr. Stepola. The man’s message was unequivocal.”

  “Perhaps too much so? I should think your team might have considered that.”

  “I’ll let you ask them. The ones not canvassing witnesses are at the Bio Park, trying not to contaminate the crime scene. We’ll marshal them for a session with you. I don’t mind telling you, they resent the intrusion. I have warned them they must behave, but I can’t make them like you.”

  “I can only be my normal charming self. I’m not here to get in their way or tell them how to do their jobs. If a religious faction is behind this, I might be able to shed some light.”

  He had lost her attention. “Cinecitta,” she said, pointing out the window. “Cinema City. If we drove due west, you might be interested in the Catacombs. Sealed off now, of course, but still somewhat a tourist attraction. Certainly you know that Vatican City is long gone. A brief memorial to the history of the place lasted only a few months before the ban on religion. You can imagine how long it took to effect that in a country like this. The former Vatican is a community park now. The Sistine Chapel, which some believed was miraculously spared, is now a shopping bazaar. Have you heard the new name?”

  “Tell me.”

  “The Sister’s Château.”

  “That’s awful.”

  “Rome, as you know as well as I, used to be such a religious city. When I was a child it seemed there was a church on every corner. Those became landmarks for a short time, then they were converted into retail shops, restaurants, malls. It’s sad, really.”

  Paul studied her. “How so?”

  “Just a part of my personal history, that’s all.”

  “You had a religious background? I ask only because—”

  “It’s your area, of course. Yes, I was raised Catholic. I grew up in central Rome, which we are approaching now. Not far off the New Appian Way sat the Church of St. Mary Major, which is now a Harrods of London.” She shrugged. “I buy clothes where once I endured catechism classes, accessories where once I made my confessions.”
>
  “You were devout? You believed?”

  “Not really. When I was a child, yes. You take on the beliefs of your parents. In my case, my mother. Church every day for her.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “My father enjoyed the Communion alone, if you get my meaning. It was not hard for him to give up what little faith he had. He didn’t have to give up the wine, after all. For my mother, more of an ordeal, but she managed.”

  “It must have been difficult for her. Religious conviction runs deep.”

  They hit traffic and the limo crawled.

  “She was a smart, pragmatic woman,” Chief Marcello said. “The war seemed to suck the life from her. She feared God had abandoned the world, and it wasn’t long before that brewed into her wondering if there was a God at all. Eventually she decided there was not. She still crossed herself in private, but the religious icons, the prayers, the rosaries, they all disappeared over time. Mother is gone now, but she died a patriotic atheist.”

  “You must find that a little sad too, no?”

  “No. I became disillusioned with the church at about the onset of adolescence. It seemed to have nothing to say about what was happening to my mind and body. The war soon followed. I didn’t agree at first that all war had originated with religion, but I was glad for a reason not to have to suffer through interminable ceremony and teaching I didn’t really accept anyway. I was a quick and willing convert to the worship of the state and the self.”

  “You never missed God?”

  She shook her head. “God was not personal to me. Always up there, out there, somewhere, hanging on a cross or—I imagined—staring disapprovingly at me from beyond the clouds.”

  She fell silent until the limo reached central Rome, and then she began pointing out the former religious sites. “That used to be the Church of St. John Lateran. We’ll pass the Arch of Constantine near the Colosseum. Your studies must have included Constantine.”

  “Oh, of course. First Christian emperor of Rome. Gave Christians freedom to practice their religion. Ironically, the arch was a pagan monument.”