The Blood of the Lamb

by Thomas F Monteleone

  CALHOUN:

  Huckstering? What are you talking about?

  CARENZA:

  Let’s see if I can remember everything: $19.95 for a “lucky prayer coin”; $49.95 for a boxed set of your choir’s gospel music on CDs; $199.95 for a bible autographed by you, and bound in white vinyl. Vinyl, Deacon? Just for fun, I located the jobber who supplies you with those bibles. Would you like me to share with our audience how much each one of those “books which shine with the white, glorious light of God” costs?

  CALHOUN:

  I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, son. What jobber?

  CARENZA:

  The R. D. Dalhousie Co., located on 3909 West 85th Street in Chicago. The owner, a Mr. James Dalhousie, says he charges you fifteen dollars apiece for those two-hundred-dollar bibles. Now, would you like me to tell the audience how many thousands of “lucky prayer coins” you can buy from your distributor for your “special on-air price” of $19.95?

  COOPER:

  I think this has gone far enough. You’ve made your point, Father Carenza.

  Freemason Cooper, had a naturally pleasant timbre. It was a well-trained voice—trained, controlled, appealing, and literally dripping with reason and common sense.

  CARENZA:

  And what point was that?

  Cooper hesitated, but only for an instant.

  COOPER:

  That there are churches in operation whose…priorities have been…let’s say…juxtaposed.

  CARENZA:

  That’s an interesting word for it.

  COOPER:

  But what about you, Father? Isn’t it true your “Foundation” receives hundreds of thousands of dollars in donations every day?

  CARENZA:

  Of course it’s true. I’ve mentioned the fact publicly many times. But I have never asked my audiences for a cent. In fact, I tell them not to send me anything. Since they continue to do so, I was forced to open a Foundation to see that the money is redistributed to those who need it.

  GOODROP:

  Do you mean to sit there and tell us you are not trying to recruit members to your own…your own church? Why call it a “Foundation,” when you know that’s not what it is?

  CARENZA:

  The books of my Foundation are open for public inspection—anyone can come take a look. But please, Doctor, don’t tell me what I “know” or how to think. Save it for your followers.

  GOODROP:

  You have nerve, young man. I’ll give you that, at least.

  CARENZA:

  Thank you.

  GOODROP:

  But while we’re on the subject of followers, I thought I might ask you about yours.

  CARENZA:

  I think “followers” isn’t quite the right word. But you can call them whatever you’d like.

  GOODROP:

  How do you feel about being responsible for so many of their deaths?

  The screen behind Cameron divided itself like an electronic blastocoel, displaying all the guests as Goodrop’s question sparked an outburst from practically everyone.

  O’BRIAN:

  That remark is totally uncalled for!

  SMITH:

  Gentlemen, do we really have to carry on like this?

  CAMERON:

  If I may step in here, gentlemen, I think it’s only fair to note that Doctor Goodrop’s question has been addressed rather extensively in the media. Whatever happened at Vernon Ranch, eyewitnesses and participants have testified that Father Peter was in no way responsible.

  COOPER:

  How do we know those “witnesses” haven’t been paid by your so-called Foundation to say whatever is most favorable to you?

  CARENZA:

  You know because I can tell you quite plainly—they’re not.

  COOPER:

  And because of that, I’m supposed to believe you?

  CARENZA:

  Frankly, Reverend, it isn’t important whether or not you believe me. Only the members of the audience matter.

  Clearly, Cooper hadn’t been expecting such a reply. He paused to summon up the right comeback, but the moment was lost and the point had been chalked up for Peter Carenza. Marion smiled as she watched Peter take on the charlatans. That he’d done his homework didn’t surprise her at all. Being thorough and dedicated was natural for him.

  “Boy, the battle lines have really been drawn haven’t they?” asked Billy. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

  “No,” she said. “It’s beautiful. He’s beautiful.”

  Sensing the awkwardness of the moment, Mel Cameron cut in.

  CAMERON:

  Perhaps, Father Peter, you have touched your finger on the single most important aspect of any discussion of religion—and that is faith. Gentlemen, it all depends on what the people believe, doesn’t it?

  SMITH:

  I agree, Mr. Cameron. We church leaders can get wrapped up in our own affairs—because we are after all humans and prone to error—and we forget churches are comprised of people.

  CALHOUN:

  Maybe you forget, but I never have! I love my people! They’ll always come first with me.

  CARENZA:

  Well, at least their bank accounts will…

  GOODROP:

  This is getting ridiculous, Mr. Cameron. Do we have to put up with this kind of abuse?

  CAMERON:

  Gentlemen, I—

  O’BRIAN:

  Father Peter is only defending himself, Gerry. He was, after all, accused of bribery.

  COOPER:

  Which, reminds me, Father Peter, of something I wanted to ask you. Are you an official representative of the Catholic Church?

  CARENZA:

  No, I am not.

  COOPER:

  Really? Haven’t you received a special—what’s the word for it?—“imprimatur” from the Vatican to go about delivering sermons of a distinctly non-denominational flavor?

  CARENZA:

  No. As a matter of fact, I have never received any kind of communication from the Vatican.

  Freemason Cooper smiled and shook his head.

  COOPER:

  Don’t you find that a bit odd?

  It was Peter’s turn to smile.

  CARENZA:

  Actually, I do.

  O’BRIAN:

  Didn’t the Pharisees try to ignore the presence and the influence of Jesus?

  Goodrop’s face grew red with the force of his anger and shock.

  GOODROP:

  You dare compare this man with the Savior, Our Holy Lord Jeezuz?!

  O’BRIAN:

  Oh come on, now, Gerry…I certainly wouldn’t be the first! The tabloids and magazines have been full of it! And how can you deny the beauty and the power of what this man has done in the name of God? If there was ever a time in the history of the world when the people needed real proof of a caring God, it is now, gentlemen. I think Father Peter has fulfilled that need better than the rest of us thrown together!

  SMITH:

  Well spoken, Father O’Brian.

  As he began speaking, Freemason’s image burned fiercely among the six squares behind Cameron.

  COOPER:

  Yes, let’s talk about those miracles of yours, Father Peter.

  CARENZA:

  They’re not mine, I’ve said that many times.

  COOPER:

  How so? You raise your arms and things happen, Father.

  CARENZA:

  I am no more responsible for the events than a musical instrument being played by a virtuoso is responsible for the music it makes. God makes the music, not me.

  COOPER:

  How wonderfully metaphoric, Father. Did you learn such things during your Jesuit education? No matter—despite what you say, I’m forced to wonder if maybe you don’t believe your own party line.

  CARENZA:

  What do you mean? That maybe I am responsible for what happens?

  COOPER:

  You said it, Father. Not me.


  CARENZA:

  I detect more fear than sarcasm in your voice, Reverend.

  COOPER:

  Fear? Why should I fear you?

  CARENZA:

  Not me. Listen. I’ll try to explain what I mean.

  Peter leaned forward, stared directly into the camera. His image was so powerful, so handsome, so sincere. He obviously had complete and total control over the situation.

  CARENZA:

  When I first became aware of the…the power…which manifested through me, I was terrified. Anybody would be, I think. It was only after I learned to use the gift of this power, this “talent” as my late friend, Father Daniel Ellington called it, that I stopped fearing it. So I don’t blame you or anyone else for feeling suspicion, fear, or even loathing. You see, I feel a certain inevitability about my situation—I have no choice, Reverend. I must continue along the path God has laid out for me.

  COOPER:

  I see…And tell me, Father, where does that path lead?

  CARENZA:

  I’m not sure. But I do know where it does not lead.

  COOPER:

  And where is that, Father?

  CARENZA:

  To the door of the Church of the Holy Satellite Tabernacle.

  Freemason Cooper chuckled very softly as he digested the remark. The screen behind Mel Cameron registered a variety of reactions ranging from merely stunned to Deacon Calhoun’s wide-eyed outrage. The only one who stayed calm was the supremely cool Freemason Cooper. In that single instant, Marion recognized him as the archetypal dangerous man. An aura of dark power surrounded him like a dirty halo. He was a man who disliked being screwed with.

  The Reverend leaned back in his chair and steepled his hands as though deep in thought. It was a pose he affected so often on his satellite channel, stand-up comedians all over the country could elicit immediate laughter at its mere imitation.

  COOPER:

  You find my church not to your liking?

  CARENZA:

  Frankly, I find your kind of religion offensive.

  Cooper smiled.

  COOPER:

  Well, that’s a surprise. I would have never suspected such a sentiment.

  CARENZA:

  I’m compelled to be truthful. Millions of people belong to your church—after sending in a variety of fees of course. I’d say you’re more interested in saving money than saving souls, Reverend.

  COOPER:

  The funds needed to operate a twenty-four-hour satellite broadcast are staggering. I don’t need tell you that.

  CARENZA:

  No you don’t, Reverend.

  Peter turned and retrieved a print-out from his nearby desktop. He paused for an instant to glance at the sheet.

  CARENZA:

  Your operating expenses last year totaled in excess of 456 million dollars—for everything from launch and orbit fees to paper clips. Your income, as close as I’ve been able to ascertain from public records for the previous year, comes to more than 503 million dollars. Is that correct, Reverend?

  Cooper appeared stunned for an instant. Then he smiled flatly.

  COOPER:

  Ah, I have no idea. That’s why my church hires accountants. You’d have to ask them that question.

  Peter smiled.

  CARENZA:

  Well, then, it must be correct. Because that’s exactly what I did—I asked the firm which did your books.

  COOPER:

  You what?! And they gave you this information?!

  CARENZA:

  Yes, they did.

  Cooper was obviously angry, but he was doing very well to control his outrage. Several veins had thickened across his brow, and his left hand had knotted into a white-knuckled fist, but that was it.

  COOPER:

  I see…

  CARENZA:

  And so, assuming their calculations are even close, we’re talking about more than 47 million dollars going into somebody else’s pockets. I don’t know about the rest of the viewing audience, but the questions which spring immediately to my mind are: whose pockets? And: how much?

  COOPER:

  I really don’t pay that close attention to the monetary matters of the church, Father. I’d have to consult the financial officers or the board of directors on such things.

  CARENZA:

  Yes, I’m sure those fellows would have a very good idea where all that excess cash is going…

  COOPER:

  I don’t like your tone of voice, Father. Are you suggesting malfeasance in my church?

  CARENZA:

  I don’t know what you would call it. But tell me, Reverend—isn’t it true you practically own the towns of Bessemet and Birmingham, Alabama. That you, in fact, have controlling interests in almost all the industries and franchises operating within Shelby County?

  COOPER:

  Several corporations do a lot of business in Shelby…

  Peter checked the computer printout on his desk for an instant, then looked back at the camera.

  CARENZA:

  Ah, right…companies with names such as Lamb of God, Ltd.; Mount Olive, Inc.; and The Freecoop Corporation…which are in fact, wholly owned by you. Isn’t that correct, Reverend?

  COOPER:

  It appears you’ve done your homework well, Father.

  CARENZA:

  Thank you.

  The image changed as Mel Cameron’s face suddenly dominated the screen. He appeared as smug and pleased as he would allow himself to look. The show had been as volatile as he’d obviously hoped.

  CAMERON:

  Gentlemen, I’m sorry to interrupt the proceedings, but we have to break for some commercial messages.

  The screen behind Cameron flashed from one close-up of each guest to another. Freemason Cooper’s image reflected a lot of bottled-up stress and anger.

  COOPER:

  Wait a minute! How dare you stop things now?!

  CAMERON:

  I’m sorry, Reverend, but we must give our affiliate stations a chance to identify themselves. It appears we will extend beyond our allotted time, and our affiliates should stand by for this program to continue.

  COOPER:

  What about the fairness doctrine!? I demand equal time!

  CAMERON:

  You’ve been afforded equal time, Reverend. Everyone here tonight continues to receive it.

  The screen de-rezzed into a computer-generated network logo, which faded quickly into a new round of commercials. Taking the remote from Billy, Marion muted the sound, then turned to Billy.

  “I didn’t expect Peter to bring out the heavy artillery, did you?”

  Billy shook his head. “Nope.”

  “Incredible,” she said, shaking her head slowly. “It’s like he’s declaring war on them.”

  Billy nodded. “Did you see Cooper’s face at the end?”

  “Sure was pissed, wasn’t he?”

  Billy cleared his throat. “That’s not what I meant. Didn’t you see his face, Marion? I think Cooper’s a snake, man.”

  “Billy!”

  “No, I mean it. Anybody with Cooper’s kind of money can get anything he wants. I think Peter is crazy to want to take on a guy like that.”

  Marion looked at him for a moment before saying anything. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “Serious as cancer,” said Billy. “Mark my words. This guy Cooper is nobody to screw around with.”

  “All right, I believe you,” said Marion. “You think maybe we should tighten security around here—especially for Peter?”

  “Yeah,” said Billy. “I’ll talk to the boys about it in the morning.”

  Marion looked back at the screen. Mel Cameron’s emotionless face filled its dimensions. Marion keyed up the sound in time to hear him reintroduce his guests. Then he gave Reverend Cooper a chance to comment on the facts mentioned by Peter. But with a not very surprising tactic, Cooper avoided the issue. The moment having been defused by the long break, Cooper chose to emphasize t
he need for religion in today’s troubled world—citing the recent rash of calamities. He made the obvious links between the coming end of the millennium and the sudden multiple occurrences of floods, tornadoes, volcanic eruptions, the horrors of the South African civil war, and the general breakdown of law and order throughout the world.

  Calhoun added undocumented information about the rash of birth defects in Chicago hospitals and the reports by Illinois fanners of many monstrous births among their domestic animals. Marion wanted to discount these generalities but some of the catastrophes mentioned could not be overlooked. The world did seem to be careening toward that singular event which was far more than just the turn-of-the-century, and sometimes she felt civilization was on the brink of true cataclysm.

  If signs and portents were in the air, as the preachers were saying, perhaps Peter could mitigate the situation. She watched the wrap of the show, which was admittedly more tame than she would have expected. Peter, remaining quiet, had apparently said all that he wanted to say, and when Cameron sensed the show was losing energy, he made preparations to shut it down.

  Marion looked at Billy, who sat silently watching Cameron say goodnight to all the guests. Peter had reached out to a huge audience this evening—reached out, and succeeded. The Colorado disaster faded into insignificance. She could almost feel his power growing.