Silenced

by Jerry B. Jenkins

  “You don’t say.”

  “It’s true. Baldassare didn’t even think I was a good choice for this.”

  “You’re doing fine.” Paul only wished he’d had a mark this easy when he was really working under cover.

  When they got into the alley, Paul raised both arms and spread them.

  “You can wait on that,” Calvino said. “We’d better do this by the book and wait for Baldassare.”

  The big man entered less than a minute later, and Calvino immediately chuckled.

  “What is your problem?” Baldassare said.

  Calvino, between guffaws, told him Paul’s idea of scaring him just for fun.

  Baldassare was not amused. “I’d have shot you both.”

  “I believe you would have,” Paul said, assuming the position to be frisked. This only tickled Calvino more.

  Baldassare turned on his partner. “Hold your gun on him, would you? I’m going to be totally vulnerable doing this.”

  “Very good,” Paul said.

  “Don’t patronize me, man. I mean it.”

  “I was dead serious. That’s by the book.”

  Baldassare patted Paul down but reached only his shins. When he stood, Paul said, “Sir, just a word. If I were to bring a weapon, I’d probably strap it to my ankle.”

  The big man sighed and squatted again, checking. Finally satisfied he phoned Fabrizio. “In an alley west of the fountain, sir. Oh, you saw us. . . . Well, we couldn’t search him in public. . . . No, we took precautions that would keep him from doing that. . . . Yes, sir. Right away.”

  Baldassare led Paul out of the alley. “We’re to take you to a little espresso shop south of here, and he’ll join us. His driver will wait in the car.”

  “Sir,” Paul said, hesitating, “what if I am being tailed by International or even local authorities? How do I explain you three?”

  Baldassare shrugged.

  Calvino weighed in. “Tell ’em you’re succeeding. You’re infiltrating.”

  Paul shook his head. “Then they identify you as underground and eventually follow you to the others.”

  Baldassare and Calvino looked at each other. Baldassare got back on the phone and explained the conundrum to Fabrizio. “Yes, sir, he’s clean. . . . At the corner. Right.”

  “They’re picking us up two blocks south.”

  “Now you’re thinking,” Paul said. Really, these guys were charming bumblers. In a way they reminded him of Gregor, who had been different only in how seriously he took himself. The underground had a huge disadvantage against the government. They weren’t cut out to be surreptitious. It was a wonder more had not been caught. Paul only hoped Enzo Fabrizio was in charge for a reason. Surely he had some savvy.

  Paul was not disappointed. What a relief to finally meet the head of the Rome underground. Fabrizio waited in the backseat of a black Hydro van, and while the other two climbed in behind the crew-cut driver, Fabrizio leaned forward and grabbed Paul’s outstretched hand with both of his, pulling him in beside him. Paul was impressed that the windows were tinted black and the inside light was set not to come on when the doors opened.

  “He is risen,” the stocky, thirty-fiveish man said. He had long, black hair, olive skin, perfect teeth, and shining dark eyes.

  “He is risen indeed,” Paul said, immediately at ease. His plan to lecture Fabrizio on his treatment vanished as his host launched into an abject apology.

  “First, let me say how sorry I am about the way we connected with you. Frankly, there is sometimes as much politics within the church as without, as you may already know. I have factions who actually support the acts of terrorism, even though we still don’t know whether Magnor is truly a brother or not.”

  “I’m fairly certain he’s not,” Paul said, “but we can get into that later.”

  “And I also want to apologize to you, Doctor, for any implication that you are not truly a brother. That was not me either. I will not mislead you; there are those among us who are very suspicious and who may be hard to sell.”

  “Understandable.”

  “Yes, but also faithless, untrusting, and rude.”

  “Imagine if they were right though, brother.”

  “Well,” Enzo said, “there is that. All this to say that all these machinations were designed to set at ease the minds of those who fear we may be opening our secret home to the enemy.”

  “I completely understand. Truth and time walk hand in hand.” Paul surprised himself at how quickly he had gone from the offense of how he was “welcomed” to empathizing with the cautious ones among the underground. He only hoped he wasn’t being swayed too easily by the most engaging Enzo Fabrizio.

  10

  THE KIDS HAD, AT FIRST, seemed to like the idea of moving to Washington for a few weeks or months. But now Jae found them, especially Brie, on the verge of changing their minds. Her daughter had raised the issue as soon as she got home from school, and Jae hauled her into another room.

  “Let’s not discuss this in front of Connor, if you don’t mind. I don’t need to fight you both on this.”

  “But all my friends are here! And what are we going to do when Daddy gets back? We’ll come back here, right? Then I’ll have to start all over with my school and my friends and everything.”

  “Look at the advantages in Washington, honey. Grandpa and Grandma and Uncle Berlitz and Aunt Aryana . . . ” Jae caught herself wanting to mention that there was also the matter of living without a man in the house. But there was no way she would even suggest danger to her daughter, and neither did she want to exhibit weakness just because she was a woman.

  “Grandpa doesn’t like me, and Aunt Aryana doesn’t even know me.”

  “That’s why it’ll be good to be out there. You and she can—and, hey, your grandpa loves you.”

  “Maybe, but he doesn’t like me.”

  “He just has a different way of—”

  “And what school will we go to, anyway? We’ll be the new kids, and—”

  “Grandma’s looking into that, and she’ll get you started next Monday.”

  “This is going to be awful!”

  “No it’s not, Brie. Now let’s assume the best.”

  But Jae wasn’t so sure herself. Why was she doing this to the kids? Just because she was lonely? Scared? Feeling watched? What kind of self-possessed mother was she? Even Paul and Straight were against this. It was four-to-one against now, unless she counted the votes of her family. That made it five-to-four in favor. If she wasn’t sure, why was she going?

  Jae got the kids settled into their predinner activities and turned on the New Testament discs. This time she wore headphones. Brie and Connor didn’t need to hear this foolishness.

  Jae picked up from Acts 3, where Peter and John met a crippled beggar:

  Peter and John looked at him intently, and Peter said, “Look at us!” The lame man looked at them eagerly, expecting a gift. But Peter said, “I don’t have any money for you. But I’ll give you what I have. In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, get up and walk!”

  Then Peter took the lame man by the right hand and helped him up. And as he did, the man’s feet and anklebones were healed and strengthened. He jumped up, stood on his feet, and began to walk! Then, walking, leaping, and praising God, he went into the Temple with them.

  All the people saw him walking and heard him praising God. When they realized he was the lame beggar they had seen so often at the Beautiful Gate, they were absolutely astounded! They all rushed out to Solomon’s Colonnade, where he was holding tightly to Peter and John. Everyone stood there in awe of the wonderful thing that had happened.

  Jae couldn’t deny that’s the way she felt when Paul’s sight was restored. But no one had healed him, had they? Surely not God.

  Peter saw his opportunity and addressed the crowd. “People of Israel,” he said, “what is so astounding about this? And why look at us as though we had made this man walk by our own power and godliness? For it is the God of Ab
raham, the God of Isaac, the God of Jacob, the God of all our ancestors who has brought glory to his servant Jesus by doing this. This is the same Jesus whom you handed over and rejected before Pilate, despite Pilate’s decision to release him. You rejected this holy, righteous one and instead demanded the release of a murderer. You killed the author of life, but God raised him to life. And we are witnesses of this fact!”

  Jae couldn’t remember where, but she had heard that story. Pilate had tried to talk Jesus’ enemies out of crucifying Him, saying he found no fault in Him and washing his hands of the responsibility. Was it possible this was an actual historic event? It didn’t have the earmarks of a fable or fairy tale. It had a documentary quality. Jae reminded herself not to get sucked in, despite the eyewitness accounts of seeing Jesus after His crucifixion and resurrection. Unless the New Testament was assumed by all to be a fanciful account, why had there not been an outcry against these claims?

  The name of Jesus has healed this man—and you know how lame he was before. Faith in Jesus’ name has caused this healing before your very eyes.

  Friends, I realize that what you did to Jesus was done in ignorance; and the same can be said of your leaders. But God was fulfilling what all the prophets had declared about the Messiah beforehand—that he must suffer all these things. Now turn from your sins and turn to God, so you can be cleansed of your sins. Then wonderful times of refreshment will come from the presence of the Lord, and he will send Jesus your Messiah to you again. For he must remain in heaven until the time for the final restoration of all things, as God promised long ago through his prophets.

  Jae was jarred every time she heard a reference to the ancient prophecies; maybe because she knew it was in these that the underground rebels put so much stock. But what had strangely gripped her even more was the part about changing one’s mind and attitude about God and turning to Him. And why? So He could cleanse your sin and send you refreshment from His presence.

  Jae wondered why that should sound so sweet. If there was anything she had known about stubborn hangers-on to religion, it was that they either believed their good works outweighed their bad or that they were fundamentally wicked and only God could save them. She had never felt either until now. Was she sinful? What was sin? And what was it measured against?

  She could be selfish, rude, greedy, short-tempered, even lustful. Though she had always been faithful to Paul, she couldn’t say she hadn’t been tempted. If these discs were going to make her feel bad about herself, even guilty, maybe they weren’t worth listening to after all.

  Moses said, “The Lord your God will raise up a Prophet like me from among your own people. Listen carefully to everything he tells you.” Then Moses said, “Anyone who will not listen to that Prophet will be cut off from God’s people and utterly destroyed.”

  That sounded more like what Jae had heard about religion. Get in line or get destroyed. That didn’t sound like a loving God.

  Starting with Samuel, every prophet spoke about what is happening today. You are the children of those prophets, and you are included in the covenant God promised to your ancestors. For God said to Abraham, “Through your descendants all the families on earth will be blessed.” When God raised up his servant, he sent him first to you people of Israel, to bless you by turning each of you back from your sinful ways.

  There it was again, the sin thing. She would have a lot of questions for Straight Thursday night. Maybe even before then. Jae wished she didn’t have to wait to see him. She felt safer when he was there.

  Paul was impressed that Enzo Fabrizio had his driver circle Rome twice before heading back into the central part of the city. Enzo also was proving collegial. He asked the driver and Baldassare and Calvino if they agreed there was no tail. The driver agreed. Baldassare apologized for not having been on the lookout, and Calvino said the same.

  “Doctor?” Enzo said.

  “I worried about one vehicle for a while,” Paul said, “but no.”

  “The one that exited toward the airport?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Me too.” Enzo called out to the driver, “Directly to the compound.”

  Enzo wanted to know Paul’s story, all about how he became a believer, what had happened in Las Vegas and Los Angeles, and especially how things went with International Chancellor Dengler. Finally they talked about Gregor.

  “I loved that young man,” Enzo said, “but I have to admit, when I heard he had actually gone to work for International, I had misgivings.”

  “Why?” Paul said.

  “The very things you cited. He was passionate and devout, but subtlety was not his gift. I grieve his loss, but frankly I am glad he is not in a position to give away the underground. I don’t know how it works in the USSA—other than the little I’ve heard from my Detroit and Washington contacts—but here we do not actually live underground. We meet and plan and prepare underground, but we live in society.”

  Paul was intrigued, but the mention of Washington caught his attention. “You know the Washington underground?”

  “Only the leadership, which has been cut in half, as you know. I knew the Pass brothers. I mean, I never met them, but Detroit connected us and we talked by phone and private message. Andy was a tragic loss, and I don’t think Jack has been the same since his brother was murdered by the NPO.”

  “You know I had a long history with Andy, and a recent history with his daughter.”

  “I didn’t know,” Enzo said. “You know Angela?”

  Paul nodded. “You?”

  “Only by name. I know she’s something special.”

  Paul fell silent, trying to keep track of his surroundings but distracted by being thrust back into his memory banks and the magnetism of the lovely young widow, Angela Pass Barger. Somehow the thought of her made Paul miss Jae all the more. Well, that was encouraging at least.

  “Here’s what we do, Doctor,” Enzo said. “When we reach our destination—a ground-level door built into an electrical transforming station with dire high-voltage warnings and all the rest—we park in one of the largest apartment-complex lots in Rome and wait in the van sometimes as long as half an hour to be sure we have attracted no attention. When there are no cars or pedestrians, one by one we slip out and down the street past the transforming station, then circle back to the door. As you can imagine, especially on a night like this, you must be very careful to stay away from the transformer unit itself. You need be only as close as ten feet for millions of volts to arc between you and the contraption. Only your smoking bones would be found.”

  “That’s comforting.”

  “I would chaperone you in, but we have a strict policy that only one person enters every five minutes, and the people inside know in advance who is coming, so an intruder would feel less than welcome.”

  “How much less?” Paul said.

  “We kill them,” Enzo said.

  “You do?”

  “We do. If you have a better solution, I’m open to it. And don’t get me started on the ethical and theological ramifications. I can’t say we are unanimous in our thinking on this, but look at it from our perspective: Anyone who goes through what we must go through to get to our compound has to know where he is going and be going there on purpose. If an intruder shows up and gets past the first two doors without identifying himself, he means to expose us. Far too many lives are at stake, and we are at war.”

  “Has this happened?”

  “Sadly, it has. A Rome policeman came nosing around, and we still have no idea why. Had he seen one of us enter? Had someone left the door ajar? That happens to be my theory, because he didn’t have a key, and needless to say, the door is securely locked. Our sensors picked him up immediately, but we did not intercom him to identify himself because insiders know that is the responsibility of the one entering. We will tell you about a station where you must use the intercom to identify yourself or risk being met with force.”

  “And you murdered this man, Enzo?” />
  “We did. He was a casualty of war. Think about it, Dr. Stepola. Could we risk being exposed?”

  “Were there no other options? Could you not have held him until you could move your site? And what about the ethics of sending a lost man to hell?”

  “We did share our faith with him. Of course, he realized immediately that he was not going to leave the place alive, and to his credit he did not pretend to convert just to save his skin. Had he done that, we would have had to keep him around, imprisoned until he proved himself. But of course he had checked in with police headquarters and was known to be in that area before disappearing, so we would have been inviting the full force of the Rome police to come looking for one of its own.”

  “And so?”

  “We pleaded with him to give his heart to Christ. Then we sedated him, humanely injected him with enough phenobarbital to kill a thoroughbred racehorse, and he died peacefully. We then transported him to the parking lot of another apartment complex in the area and phoned in an anonymous tip. The mystery made news for days and was, of course, never solved.”

  “And you’re okay with that?”

  “Interesting you should ask, Doctor. The death of that man haunts my dreams. I don’t know what God will have to say to me about it, but my conscience speaks volumes. I do know this—and I am not rationalizing as much as trying to explain—the police in Rome have a mandate to execute religious believers upon sight, based on any real evidence. They have asked people outright if they are atheists, and with a witness hearing the perpetrator deny it, they are allowed to ‘terminate them with extreme prejudice’ on the spot.”

  “And that has happened to your compatriots?”

  “You will see the memorial,” Enzo said. “We have had more than thirty executed by Rome police alone.”

  Paul told him of his conversation with the chief of detectives who pooh-poohed the influence of the underground in the city and said their existence was negligible.

  “That is the impression they like to give,” Enzo said. “And by quietly eliminating us one by one, they are, of course, trying to make us inconsequential. But our little literature efforts pay off, Doctor. We circulate tracts, which we will show you tonight. They are mostly Scripture, but the Word of God will not return void.”