“What do you think they saw in the vault?”
Phyllis shrugged. “God. Some evidence of God.”
“What about Arthur?”
“Arthur idolizes his older brother. But he was never as ruthless. We pray for him.”
“You what? For Demetrius?”
“Of course. We’re supposed to love our enemies.”
“That can’t be easy though, can it, Phyllis?”
She hesitated. “No, but when you think about it, it’s a privilege.”
“I think I’d be tempted to pray he would come to a bad end,” Paul said.
“Oh no, sir. We pray for his salvation.”
19
Paul and Phyllis agreed she should head back to the office a full five minutes before he did. It was a little before six-thirty, and while the sun was still high behind the skyscrapers, it had turned a burnt orange and cast long shadows in the street.
As Paul approached the building from the west, he was struck by the jewel-like glow of the pyramid in the twilight. He squinted to make out the balcony that had blended in with the glass the first time he had seen the place. It appeared as if a dark figure was up there now, leaning against the wrought-iron barrier. It could only be Arthur.
When Paul got off the jetvator on the first floor of the upper complex, he found himself in a crowd on their way back to the trading floors above.
Letting the others stream past him, he paused to check out the magnificent view of the early evening sun on the black glass towers beyond the windows. Suddenly from above there was an ugly thud and a scream. Paul jumped and looked up just in time to see a dark form tumbling down the side of the glass pyramid.
Everyone around Paul froze. People gasped. The body rolled, skidded, and then slid all the way down to the flat roof of the skyscraper. People pressed up against the glass to look. Some clung to each other. Paul fought through the crowd and searched frantically until he spotted a fire door, sprinted toward it, and burst out onto the roof.
The crumpled body was dark-haired and wore a black pin-striped suit.
Running to him, Paul was inexplicably overcome with grief. Why should he care? With Arthur Demetrius in a heap, Paul realized that here too was a man God had loved. Arthur may have thumbed his nose at heaven, but he was still a lost soul, someone who needed forgiveness and salvation as much as anyone else. As Phyllis had said, it should be a privilege to pray for him. But surely now it was too late.
Paul knelt over him, fighting his own baffling emotions. “Arthur! Oh, Arthur! Why?”
The body was sprawled, facedown and still. Knowing it was fruitless, Paul pressed two fingers to the man’s neck, checking the carotid artery for a pulse.
Paul reeled, off balance, and tumbled to his seat at finding not just a heartbeat, but a robust and fast one.
Impossible. No one could have survived that fall.
Paul struggled to his feet and bent close to listen for breathing.
None.
He checked the neck again. No mistake. The man’s heart was beating, hard and strong. Paul had been trained not to move a severely injured victim, but he had to get the man breathing again. He slid one hand under Arthur’s shoulder and, cradling his head and spine with the other, gently rolled him onto his back.
Arthur’s lungs released a huge whoosh and his eyes fluttered. Paul was about to call emergency services, but he hesitated. “Arthur,” he said, full of emotion, “lie still. Breathe deeply. Don’t move.”
Arthur’s eyes were open now, and he stared at Paul as if he’d just awakened. His lips moved, but no sound came.
Paul shushed him, then glanced at the windows where employees were still pressed against the glass, mouths agape.
“Alive?” Arthur whispered.
“You are,” Paul said. “Hold on.”
“How?”
“It’s a miracle,” Paul said.
Arthur’s eyes grew wide and he reached for Paul. He wrapped his arms around Paul’s neck and pulled himself to a sitting position. He began to weep, and great sobs shook him.
“What happened, Arthur?”
“I jumped, Doctor,” he rasped. “But I didn’t even clear the ledge.”
“Why?”
Arthur’s voice was weak and labored. “I am so sick of this. Ephesus
. . . maybe he killed her, I don’t know. He’s gone.”
“Killed who?”
“That woman . . .”
“Arthur, listen. You can’t believe you or Ephesus were ever cursed.”
“He mocked her, dared her. . . . What if he did something? What if she’s in the vault? The guards went mad. . . .”
“If Ephesus committed a crime, he will be punished. But you don’t know that he did. Why try to kill yourself?”
“I was afraid . . . the guards . . . I was evil too, ruthless about the silver. . . . Once the truth comes out, I’m ruined.”
“Arthur, clearly you weren’t meant to die.”
“But why? Why was I spared? I don’t deserve it.”
Paul thought of what Straight had told him: “I wouldn’t want it to be fair, Paul. I’d never have earned this.” He held his breath a long moment before venturing, “People have been praying for you.”
“I knew it!” Arthur whispered. “Something has been tormenting me for days.” He clutched at Paul. “And you . . . you’re one of them?”
Paul nodded.
Arthur bent and straightened his legs, then stretched his arms over his head.
“Don’t get up yet. Give yourself a minute.”
Paul turned and glanced at the clearly shaken crowd gathered at the windows. They shrank back when Arthur insisted on getting to his feet with Paul’s help. He stood there, wobbly, trying to get his bearings. The onlookers finally backed away when Paul started to walk Arthur back through the emergency door.
The men made their way to the jetvator and ascended to Arthur’s office. The staff averted their eyes as if they had not seen him jump. Paul helped Arthur to his private quarters, where a small den separated his bedroom and bath.
As they sat in easy chairs facing each other, Arthur looked exhausted.
Paul leaned forward. “Is there someone I can call for you? Your wife, anyone?”
“No wife anymore,” he said. “I have no one.”
“You have God. He wouldn’t even let you kill yourself. What does that tell you?”
Arthur buried his face in his hands. “Maybe He has a fate worse than death for me. I made the Christians out to be idle critics, condescending.
They had ideas about what Ephesus and I should do with our resources.
They sickened me.
“Oh, Dr. Stepola, I don’t want to see what’s in the vault. What if it is that woman . . . or what if it is something supernatural?”
“You cannot escape it, Arthur. But whatever is in that vault cannot compare to the coming judgment. Jesus said not to be afraid of those who want to kill you. They can only kill your body; they cannot touch your soul. Fear only God, who can destroy both soul and body in hell.”
“Surely God will destroy me then.”
“Jesus said, ‘The thief’s purpose is to steal and kill and destroy. My purpose is to give life in all its fullness.’ ” Paul stood. “Now you need to relax and collect yourself. It will soon be eight, and I’ll be back, needing you to open the vault for me.”
“Can I just give you the access codes and tell you how to do it?”
“The warrant calls for your presence.”
Arthur slumped.
* * *
When Paul returned, Arthur looked like a man on his way to his own execution. He trudged ahead of Paul to a jetvator dedicated to the vault.
To get the car to reach the subbasement, Arthur had to have both eyes scanned, have both hands read by print machines, and turn two keys simultaneously. Voice and DNA recognition technology opened the jetvator, and then he had to go through all that and more to open the floor-to-ceiling vault itself.
Arthur trembled as the massive door slowly swung open. He told Paul that, apart from a small vault interior, the first floor would be filled with currency, stock certificates, bonds, some files and folders. “Mostly paper.
The lower floors are filled virtually to the ceiling with silver bars—
sterling silver bullion—92.5 percent silver and the rest copper, to give it enough hardness to stay together.”
“May I?” Paul said, standing before the gaping entry.
Arthur nodded, still clearly panicked. “A light will come on.”
That was an understatement. In truth, the place lit up like day. Paul looked back briefly and Arthur looked calmer. With nothing amiss so far, he moved in to join Paul. After his first step toward the back, however, Paul stalled. Something was in the air, nearly blocking the light, and yet it reflected brightly. It appeared at first to be a fine mist, but it seemed to hang heavy, sparkling in the air. The front shelves, full of paper products, looked like they were covered with tinsel. Paul pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and covered his mouth.
Paul heard Arthur gasp and turned to see him slowly sweep his hand through the air, catching the powder in his palm and rubbing it between thumb and fingers. He covered his mouth as well.
“Vaporized silver!” Arthur said behind his hand. “Gone to powder.”
“How does that happen?” Paul said.
“It doesn’t. It’s impossible.”
“What’s that inner door, Arthur?”
But the man was overcome, quivering.
“Where does it lead?”
“To a cache of pure silver in special containers,” Arthur said, his voice flat. “We call it native or free. Nothing has been added to it yet. It’s almost white.”
Paul pulled open the door, and a fresh cloud of silvery vapor surged out to mix with the rest. With his handkerchief pressed firmly over his mouth and nose, Paul entered. His body went rigid. He knew Arthur was behind him, and there would be no protecting him from this.
There on the floor of the special room sat a man who looked very much like a statue of Arthur. His eyes were open. He did not move. And he was covered, every millimeter from head to toe—hair, face, shirt, tie, suit, socks, and shoes—with silver dust.
Paul retreated slowly. “Arthur, is that your brother—?”
“Ephesus! Ephesus!” Arthur screamed, pushing past. “You have become what you loved so much!”
He embraced the silver-covered cadaver, and it slid from his hands and toppled to the floor.
* * *
Paul spent the next few days dealing with Arthur Demetrius and cleaning up the mess. He prevailed upon the security company to override the timing of the locks on the vault, had Ephesus Demetrius’s body moved to a morgue, and had a metallurgist examine the silver residue to see if any was salvageable. It was not.
Arthur was a broken man. He spent most of his waking hours weeping, praying for forgiveness, and asking Paul to tell him more from the Bible.
He took his greatest comfort from Jesus’ words in John 5:24: “I assure you, those who listen to My message and believe in God who sent Me have eternal life. They will never be condemned for their sins, but they have already passed from death into life.”
“God has been trying to reach me,” Arthur said. “And whom should He send to explain Himself? An NPO agent who could have me sent to jail.”
“What I’ve learned,” Paul told him, “is that God’s love transcends all earthly gifts. God so loved the world that He sacrificed His only Son, who died on the cross to save us. Accepting that love has been the most important and fulfilling decision of my own life.”
Finally, late one night in his opulent town house, Arthur asked Paul to pray with him, and he received Christ. Paul comforted him by telling him of the underground believers in Atlantica and gave him an ailanthus leaf.
“I want to contribute something concrete. I assume this underground needs funds.”
“I’m sure that’s an understatement. I can connect you with people who would be happy to hear from you. You’re going to want to meet with them personally, so you can also learn and grow.”
* * *
In his report to Robert Koontz, Paul blamed the underhanded dealings at Demetrius & Demetrius on the elder brother. Apparently he had diverted silver and funds, and a huge shipment he bought never made it to the company. He died in a freak accident when he was locked in the vault past two opening times and was asphyxiated. The younger brother was exonerated and would continue to run the firm.
“So no religious shenanigans,” Koontz said.
“No shenanigans,” Paul said.
“The guard business? That was because they saw the body in the vault?”
“Right.”
“What about that curse? Is the place infested with subversives?”
“There can’t be many, Bob. The woman who supposedly cursed them was a recent hire with no real ties to her coworkers. She’s vanished—to avoid arrest, most likely, though the police found no evidence of foul play.
As for us, I think we just keep an eye on the company and see if Arthur Demetrius complains any more of proselytizing or other underground manifestations.”
* * *
Straight was euphoric. He embraced Paul and said, “Look what you’ve done! Talk about a quick study. First time out, you go and make a convert.”
“I couldn’t believe it when I felt that pulse and realized he was alive, Straight. To actually feel the power of God working in another person—
well, it was incredible. And somehow I was given just the right words.”
“You were led.”
“Definitely.”
“And how about the big picture? Have you decided if you’re on board?”
“The answer is yes, Straight. It seems to have been decided for me.”
20
“Straight wants to take me to a regional chess tournament this weekend.”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Jae said. “You were stuck in New York till last Sunday, and now, rather than spend a weekend with your children, you want to go play?”
“It’s not a question of ‘rather.’ Tournaments, when you get to play real people in the flesh, not just on-line, don’t come along that often. Straight thinks I’m ready.”
“Well, whatever good ol’ Straight thinks.”
“Look, I’m proud that I’ve gotten good enough to play tournaments again in such a short time.”
“Yeah, real impressive, Paul. But let’s face it, you’ve had nothing else to do for months. If you can waltz out of here with a clear conscience, then you and Straight just go ahead and enjoy yourselves.”
“I can tell you don’t want me to go.”
She shook her head and put her hands on her hips. “Thank you for clarifying the obvious. Where is this tournament, anyway?”
“Toledo.”
“Toledo! More than two hundred miles away.”
“What difference does it make how far it is?”
Would it make a difference to you, Paul, to know your family is leaving you next week?
* * *
“Maybe we shouldn’t have come,” Straight said when Paul told him of the argument.
“Maybe. Lately she doesn’t even seem to want me around. It’s like she’s given up on me. But I guess I can’t blame her. I’ve been no prize either.” He grew quiet.
“Paul?”
“I’m worried about my family, Straight. The kids, especially. What does it mean for them that I’m a Christian? It’s one thing to put my life on the line, but do I have the right to drag them into it? I can’t put Jae and them at risk by telling them the whole truth, even if it would make me feel better.
“It would be so much easier if I could tell Jae all that’s been happe
ning to me—how I got my sight back, what I’ve been studying, making the decisions to become a believer and to become a double agent. But her father is as rabidly antireligious as they come. He once said, referring to Christians, ‘I hate snakes.’ And he heads up some kind of covert service at the NPO.”
“Nothing like having your head in the lion’s mouth. But, Paul, you’re going to have to figure this out. Do you want to protect Jae and the kids from physical danger and lose them for eternity?”
Paul had to catch his breath after that one. “Even before I got hurt, Jae and I had grown apart—mostly my fault—but I always thought there was a chance we could reconnect. Now that seems impossible. I can’t imagine ever again getting close enough to Jae to trust her with this.
“You know that verse in the New Testament that says, ‘He who loves God must love his brother also.’ Well, I’ve been having trouble loving my own wife.”
“These are the toughest questions, Paul. As for Jae, things may be difficult now, but you have the same job: to honor her and serve her. Keep it up, and you’ll be amazed at the change you’ll see in her. It’s an investment. You do this because it’s the right thing, not for what you get in return. But you will get what you give. Invest kindness, service, love, and understanding, and you’ll get it all back in spades.”
“Guess I’m wondering when—if—that will ever happen.”
“Faith means trusting God to sort it all out.”
“Well, in the meantime, I hate being at home. I feel so alone—like a triple agent in my faith, at work, and in my own house.”
* * *
As they neared Toledo, Paul’s eyes kept darting toward the outside rearview mirror. “Hmm . . .”
“What’s up?”
“Don’t make it obvious, but you see the gray sedan back there?”
“Yeah?”
“How long has it been behind us?”
“Maybe almost all the way from Chicago,” Straight said.
“Take the next exit.”
“The truck stop?”
“Yeah, perfect. And do it at the last minute.”
When Straight swept out of the traffic and up the ramp, Paul noticed the sedan switch lanes too late. “Let’s casually head inside, get a bite, and see if that car waits for us farther down the interstate.”
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