by Rich Foster
“I didn’t hear you! Do you want to die? Do you want to see Jesus?” he yelled.
“No!” blubbered Leeds.
“What did you say? I can’t hear you!” Goodman screamed at Lester’s bloodied, deafened ear.
To his eternal shame, for the third time, Reverend Leeds shouted “no! I don’t want to see Jesus! Please don’t kill me.”
“You hypocritical pig!” Robert spat out the words. Gaines watched, helpless to stop the drama unfolding on the other side of the locked doors. Robert raised the gun up and swung the butt viciously downward on the Reverend’s head. Leeds fell over as if dead.
Robert grabbed the organist, like her pastor, she too was at her breaking point.
“Do you want to see Jesus tonight?”
Helen wailed while begging, “Please no? Not me!” and then she snapped. Like a frightened animal, she tore away from him and scurried on all fours off the dais. She hid under the first pew, cowering between people’s legs, trembling like a dog afraid of a beating. Goodman laughed at her, but he let her go.
Quiet fell on the church. Robert breathed deeply, collecting himself. Some foolishly hoped that he was pulling back from the brink of destruction. Sweat covered his forehead; he wiped his face with the back of his hand. He looked at the congregation. Some covered their faces, others looked down, some stared in wide-eyed shock and terror. The chill breath of death passed through the stifling church.
After a pause, Robert picked up the microphone from the podium and softly spoke into it, crooning like a revival tent preacher. “Who is willing to go see Jesus tonight?” People glanced around stealthily, not wanting to make eye contact with this madman.
Sheriff Gaines left a man by the door and retreated outside where night had fallen yet the church was bathed in floodlights. He waited impatiently as a technician ran the coaxial cable from the church nursery across the parking lot. Soon the static on the black and white monitor flickered, and he was seeing Goodman at the front of the church. A plaintive voice came from the speaker. “Who wants to see Jesus?”
Gaines turned to his men. “Any ideas how we can take him out, without killing everyone in the church?”
Different men voiced ideas.
“Rowley could take him if he had a clear sight.”
“What about a flash-bang grenade through the window?”
“Sure, and what if Goodman drops on top of that plunger?”
Gaines let the talk run. Meanwhile, Rowley arrived, his sniper rifle in hand. Gaines nodded to him. “Okay”, quiet.” he ordered holding his hand up. “Rowley, if you were set up straight back from the church doors, and if they opened, could you shoot over the heads of anybody who was on the other side.”
“Sure, but what am I sighting on?”
“I want to know if you can sight in on a theoretical target. Goodman is moving around but he is staying near the altar. If we can use the monitor to figure how high that podium is…”
“I see”, said Rowley interrupting. “We use the height and distance to the target to figure how much to elevate my position. Then when Goodman is in the center line of the church, I squeeze one off, dropping him! It could work but I may have only five inches above their heads.”
Gaines pointed to Gonzales, “Go measure the length of the church for the distance to our target. Rowley go set up.” Then he turned to Egan and the others.
“Second, get the flash-bang grenades ready. I’m putting two shooters on either side of the front windows. We’ll use the monitor to keep tabs on Goodman. If he moves far enough away from that detonator, we can put a grenade through the window. After it goes off they are to shoot to kill. If we go this route they’re to empty their clips. One man aims for the body, the other goes for the head. It doesn’t look like Goodman is wearing body armor but I’m taking no chances.”
Thirdly, kill these floodlights. If he tries peeking out a window I want him at the disadvantage. We can see him, but he can’t see us. I don’t want shadows on the windows tipping our hand. Plus if he’s at a window we might see his silhouette for clean kill.
Egan executed these orders. Gaines turned his attention back to the monitor. Robert paced the stage behind the altar. But he seldom strayed more than an arms reach from the detonator. His voice came through the night.
“Are there twenty of you who are willing to meet Jesus tonight? Are there twenty? If there are twenty, I will let the rest of you go.”
It reminded Gaines of the altar calls he heard in his youth. No Southern Baptist service ended without one.
“No one? No one is willing to die that others might live?”
“I’m willing.” A voice said. Heads turned toward the back where Elijah James stood. He was an old man. His face was a web of wrinkles, the skin a pale white even in summer. He was soft spoken. Even though jeans and casual shirts were accepted at church, James continued to wear a dark suit, white shirt and conservative tie.
Despite the fact he faithfully attended the church for five years, no one really knew him. They didn’t care to; he was not important.
Had those who did talk to him on Sunday mornings ever reflected on their conversation, they would realize that he was a man who said little. He listened to people’s complaints and prejudices while putting forward none of his own.
His house was an old clapboard not far outside of town. It was neat but in need of paint. Obviously he had limited means. He was retired from some sort of business. No one could really say from what. Several years prior, Reverend Leeds, with an eye to the church budget, noted that a check with Elijah James’s name never crossed the offering plate. Upon asking the ushers, he learned that James put a folded five-dollar bill in the plate each Sunday. It was hardly worth calling on the man to curry his friendship.
Church members, who had never found Elijah James an interesting person, were now fascinated by him. He stood there lean and gaunt, facing Robert Goodman without fear. Goodman eyed the man who had accepted his offer.
“You’re willing to die for these people?”
“If you let them go, I’m willing to die!” he answered.
“Well hallelujah! Come on down brother!” Robert said with mocking sincerity. “Come to the altar. Are there others? Are there nineteen more?”
As Elijah made his way out of the pew and down the aisle, murmured whispers filled the room.
“He’s crazy!” hissed some.
“He’s going to get us all killed”, said another.
Others hung their heads in shame, relieved that someone else had volunteered.
On the monitor Gaines saw the back of Elijah James as he walked forward and knelt at the altar. The sheriff watched for any sign that Goodman was ready to shoot. Instead Goodman looked up toward the camera, as though he knew he was addressing a television audience.
“I have one! Are there more? Who else is ready to meet Jesus?” He waited. “Are there fifteen? If there are fifteen who will die, the rest of you can live. Who’s ready to see those streets of gold?”
At the back the church Desmond Jones stood up and came forward.
“I’m willing to die if God chooses.” he said with voice that did not falter.
“It’s not God that decides tonight, it’s me!” snapped Robert.
“God always decides, brother!” Desmond answered softly.
“I’m not your brother, nigger.” Goodman snapped.
“We’re all brothers, my friend.”
There were those who admired Desmond’s courage. They had underestimated the man he was. But more than one person thought him to be a moron. If he was dumb enough to get himself killed then that was his business.
Some preachers get filled with the Spirit. Robert was filled with evil. It seemingly crept into every crevice of his mind and body. His one purpose was to inflict suffering.
Again, he wiped the sweat from his face. “I have two! Are there more who will come? Do you hear God calling your name? Who wants to see Jesus? Who wants to see all those folks who ha
ve died and gone to heaven?” Goodman’s voice was filled alternately with sarcasm, derision, and the call of a carnival barker. Come and bet with your life it seemed to say.
“I want to see Jesus!” a small voice blurted out. “I want to go see my daddy in heaven!”
Ruthie Haskell slipped past her mother and into the aisle of the church. Calley lunged after her. Caleb hindered her on her lap. Ruthie ran happily forward.
“No!” Calley shouted out. “Come back baby!”
Calley dropped Caleb on the pew and rushed into the aisle. Caleb awoke crying.
“Come back Ruthie. Not tonight, Jesus doesn’t want to see you tonight!” Calley shouted desperately, her arms stretched out toward the altar. Goodman aimed the gun at her.
“Are you ready to die, Mrs. Haskell?” he whispered.
“Let her go, please? She’s just a child!” Tears streamed down Calley’s cheeks.
“She’s made her choice. You can join her and go see that bastard husband of yours, who killed my family, or you can sit down!”
Caleb slid off the pew. Walking into the aisle crying, he grasped the hem of her skirt. Calley scooped him up and held him tight to her chest. She looked back and forth from Ruthie in the front to her two other children sitting on the bench.
“Well Mrs. Haskell?”
Calley saw the hate in the man’s eyes. She visibly trembled as she sat down with her other children. Silently she prayed that God would protect her daughter.
Outside a floodlight displaced the darkness. At the bottom of the hill a Channel 13 television truck hoisted its satellite boom. Gaines sent Egan hustling down the hill. When Pat drew near he saw a familiar reporter beginning her broadcast. She was blond, blued eyed, trimly built, with a wide toothy smile favored by the networks.
“This is Tanya Talbot, LIVE, for Channel 13 in
Mason Forks, where a man identified as Robert Goodman has apparently taken the members of the New Life Redemption Church hostage. According to unconfirmed reports, he has wired the building with explosives and is threatening to kill everyone.
Mr. Goodman’s wife and daughter were tragically killed last year when they were struck by the church’s bus. His other daughter was seriously injured. Oh here comes Detective Egan, now!”
Tanya stepped toward the deputy as the cameraman followed.
“Deputy Egan, what can you tell us about the situation in the …”
“Kill the floodlights, now!”
“But we have a legitimate right to be here!”
“Of course you do, but either kill the lights, move up the street, or be arrested for interfering with a peace officer.”
“You can’t threaten the freedom of the press! We’re on live T.V. officer!”
“Then your lead story can be, Tanya Talbot gets one hundred people killed!” he said bluntly.
She glared back at him a small pout on her lips and one hand on her hip.
Egan turned to the nearest officer. “Deputy, if those lights aren’t off in ten seconds shoot the lights and put Ms. Talbot under arrest. Arrest her cameraman too!” He turned his back on them and walked briskly up the hill. Before he reached the top of the drive the lights faded. He was wrapped in darkness.
Meanwhile, Lou Harding of the Clarion gathered a detailed scoop from Sally Kendal and Mrs. Deitz. Sally recounted what she saw on the television from the nursery. From his car he wrote and e-mailed a piece for the morning’s paper. They would hold off on printing the front page as long as possible, hoping for closure to the story. His article would be a good background piece.
In the church parking lot, a flatbed parked opposite the church doors. Hydraulic jacks lifted the bed off the springs, making a steady firing platform. Rowley set up behind a pile of sand bags. His long rifle rested on a tripod mount. Nearby a laser level spun casting a ruby level line on every thing it met. Inside the foyer of the church, a deputy held a tape measure against the sanctuary doors; the ruby light shimmered at 52 inches off the floor. Above the deputies head another red light danced on the panels. A pinpoint of red light that moved slowly down until it became fixed on the center of the doorway, seven inches below the jamb of the eight-foot doors. The deputy wrote down the height of the dot. The laser turned off. The deputy came back to the truck. Rowley turned on a small pocket light. Quickly, he calculated numbers. Gaines came over. Rowley glanced up as he finished.
“I’m set for almost a dead level shot at only two hundred feet. My sight is 7’ 6” off the church floor. The stage is 3 feet high give or take a couple inches. That puts my line of fire at 4’6” off the stage. According to your rap sheet, Goodman is six-foot even. At four foot six inches I should be looking at his heart.”
“How long to make the shot?”
“I’d have to wait for him to move into my line of fire. If I try moving around, while shooting over hostage’s heads, well… it might get ugly. If he comes off the stage I could take a head shot as he comes down the steps.”
The sheriff stroked his mustache. “A shot through the door is probably too risky to chance, huh?”
Rowley shook his head. “Those are two inch oak doors. All bets would be off.”
Gaines rubbed his face. A headache pushed on the back of his eyes. He knew Rowley was good but the thought of a high-powered rifle bullet ripping through a crowd surging out the door frightened even him.
“If those doors open, and Goodman’s hand is not on the detonator, take your shot. Don’t wait for my action call, I just made it!”
Gaines hurried off to the monitor where he saw a black man, a lanky old man, and a small girl kneeling at the altar. Egan looked up.
“We should use the grenades and storm the church.”
“Not yet. So far, he hasn’t killed anybody. If he gets his volunteers he might actually let the others walk.”
Goodman stood behind the altar; one hand on the detonator and the other waving a pistol in the air, the way a preacher might wave his Bible.
“Only three? What about you Mister Mayor?” The gun lowered and pointed down the aisle where Herb Loudon sat on the floor against the locked church doors. Blood from his broken nose stained his shirt.
“Okay, I’m a reasonable man. You all killed two people in my family and crippled my daughter. Five to one sounds fair. If there are ten of you who are ready to die, then the rest can walk out of here. How many of you saints love Jesus?”
People squirmed in their seats. Every one of them hoped that someone else would choose to die. They all had inner reasons why it was important that they should live. They whispered to themselves that God would not want this to be the way their life would end.
Elijah James stood up. “Why not let these people go?”
Robert lowered the gun and aimed at Elijah’s head.
“An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth!” He snapped.
“Then if you must have your vengeance, blame me for your wife and daughter.”
“Then say hello to both them and Jesus!” He squeezed the trigger. The back of Elijah’s James head opened up and bits of brain tissue and blood splattered on those in the front rows.
People were frozen. Instead of screaming and panicking they were shocked into inaction. James head snapped back, his knees folded underneath him and he fell to the floor dead. A woman in the first row threw up. Desmond clutched Ruthie and turned her head away, whispering words of comfort to her. The smell of cordite, sweat, and vomit mixed in the air.
Ruthie cried out softly, “When is Jesus coming?”
“He’s already here, child. We just can’t see him yet.”
On stage, Robert continued his challenge. “Are there ten? No? I didn’t think so! Well how about five? I have three people who have come. It’s not too late. One of you is already on his way to heaven. Do I hear an Amen?”
Silence filled the air. “Do I hear an Amen?” he repeated. Again he waited. He moved his hand on the detonator, leaned forward and yelled “DO I HEAR AN AMEN?”
Frightened
people choked out a weak “amen.” “I can’t hear you!” Robert’s voice sing-donged back at the congregation until a roaring “AMEN!” came back from the congregation.
“When Egan saw Elijah James fall, he looked up at Gaines. “We’ve got to move on him Sheriff!” anger filled his voice.
“Detective Egan” Gaines said, dropping the use of first names, “I will tell you when we have to move. Right now we have one down, but there are still ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall. Goodman has a case of dynamite. This is not the time for us to lose our cool.”
“You’d let him shoot five people to save the others?” Egan asked incredulously.
“Five hostages are better than a hundred. And if it comes to it, five deaths are better than a hundred, too! Our best chance to take him out is if he lets the others go.”
“You think he’d actually kill the kid?” asked Egan in disbelief.
Gaines mouth grew tight. “Yea,” he said reluctantly, “if we don’t stop him I think he’ll kill the kid!”
“What a sick bastard! If he hurt my kid I’d rip his heart out and let him see it as he died.”
“I’d guess that’s what he’s trying to do, Pat. He thinks the church killed his kid. He plans to tear their heart out.”
Outside, the crowd at the bottom of the hill heard the shot. The Baptist church was out. They stopped to see what was happening. Word spread to Moses’ bar; the news emptied out everyone but the hardcore drinkers. The crowd moved with agitation. A voice yelled, “Why don’t you guys kill the bastard?” Another shouted, “I’m going home and getting my gun!”
Tanya Talbot went back on the air live. She spoke in a hushed voice how a single shot just rang-out. The low level lighting of a flashlight on her face accentuated the drama. The crowd pressed forward.
A voice came across Gaines’s police radio. “This is Adams, we need more security down here by the road.”
Gaines glanced up from the monitor, “Egan take five men and put in a show of force. If anyone gives you trouble put him down hard. Make an example of him. Give them a statement, but keep it short.”
Egan moved down the hill, flanked by five other deputies. The large crowd milled in the moonlight. Several more news trucks were now on the scene. Reporters called out questions, while others in the crowd shouted criticisms.