The List

by Robert Whitlow

  In a few moments, Renny opened his eyes and raised his head. Jenkins smiled. “He is my glory and the lifter of my head.”

  Renny nodded. “It’s gone. Not just my headache. Something I didn’t even know was there is gone.”

  “It is. Now ask the Holy Spirit to fill every room in your house.”

  Renny didn’t need convincing. “Lord Jesus, send the Holy Spirit into every part of who I am. I give myself totally up to you.”

  Peace came. Then, quiet joy was followed by a confidence in God’s goodness. Over it all, an assurance of hope for the future flowed into the newly cleansed and yielded vessel.

  “Thank you.”

  “Thank you, Lord,” Jenkins responded.

  “Can we wait a minute before doing anything else?” Renny asked. “I need to process what’s happening to me.”

  The two men sat back, both enjoying the presence of the only One who could satisfy the deepest place of need within the human soul. For several minutes, they had silent church.

  Jenkins spoke first, “I appreciate you thanking me, Renny, but there are other people who deserve more credit than I do. When I was with the Lord this afternoon, he reminded me of an incident in the life of Moses. As the Israelites were on their journey to the Promised Land, a group of raiders known as the Amalekites began to harass them. Moses sent a military force commanded by his aide Joshua to fight them. Meanwhile, Moses, together with his brother Aaron and a man named Hur, stood on a mountain to watch the battle. At first the Israelites were losing, but when Moses lifted his hands in prayer to heaven, the Israelites began to win. But there was a problem. Moses’ arms grew tired, and when he lowered his hands, the Amalekites began to defeat Joshua and his men. To solve the dilemma, Moses sat on a rock while Aaron and Hur held up his hands until Israel won the battle.”

  “How does that apply to me?”

  “You have an Aaron and a Hur, two people who are willing to do what it takes to ensure your victory.”

  “Agnes Flowers and Daisy Stokes?”

  “Yes. They deserve your thanks. They’ve sustained the fight in the heat of the day when you didn’t even know there was a battle being fought.”

  “You’re right.” Renny stood. “Now, what do we need to do?”

  Jenkins shook his head. “I don’t know. The Lord only showed me the strategy for winning the battle in you. What do you think needs to happen?”

  Renny thought, then remembered. “Do you know anything about King Josiah?”

  Jenkins listened carefully to Renny’s story about the prophesied connection between himself and the ancient king of Judah. “There is something to it,” he said when Renny finished. “Your next step is to ask the Lord to bring it forward to apply it to today. I’ll pray, too.”

  “When will I see you again?”

  “I’ll be by in the morning. One other thing. Did Mrs. Stokes fax the financial information sheet to my secretary?”

  “I asked her to. You didn’t receive it?”

  “I haven’t gone by the office, but I’ll check on the way home.”

  Renny bit his lip. “There’s one other thing I’d like to do before you leave.”

  “What is it?”

  “I want us to pray for Jo.”

  “Of course. Go ahead.”

  Renny prayed, “Father, please forgive me for my role in Jo’s illness. I repent of my involvement with the power connected to the List and cancel every curse against her, especially those I initiated through my involvement with evil last Friday night. I pray again the promises you gave me for her deliverance from death in Psalm 23. In the name of Jesus, amen.”

  “Amen. Like I said, you’re a fast learner.”

  LaRochette awoke in a cold sweat. He was no stranger to evil, but the raw power and thinly veiled ferocity of the dark forms in the room scared even him.

  “What do you want?” he said, his voice trembling.

  “You.”

  “What?” his voice cracked.

  “You need us; we need you.”

  “But why?”

  “Just say yes,” the voice said with a force that LaRochette could not resist.

  “Yes!” he cried out, and the black forms poured in through his open mouth.

  32

  For we shall all stand before the judgment seat of Christ.

  ROMANS 14:10, KJV

  Do you think your lawyer would talk to me?” Morgan said from his bunk when Renny finally returned to his cell. Abercrombie was already asleep.

  “Why?”

  “Listen. I’ve had as many lawyers as you have fingers and toes, but I’ve never heard of one spending as much time with a godforsaken accused as yours has with you.”

  “It’s easy. I’m not godforsaken.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m not godforsaken.”

  “Oh, are you religious?”

  “Not the way you think. I used to have enough religion to make me occasionally uncomfortable. Now I have enough to make me regret my years without it.”

  “Ha! Your years of regret. Think about mine.”

  Morgan grew quiet. After a few minutes, he said, “Are you asleep?”

  “Almost.”

  “Wake up for a minute and tell me what happened to you.”

  An hour later, Renny went to sleep with a smile on his face.

  In the morning, Renny was eating the last bite of powdered eggs when a guard rapped on the bars. “Jacobson. Your lawyer’s here to see you.”

  “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it,” Morgan said.

  “Believe, Winston, believe.”

  Jenkins was wearing a gray suit, white shirt, and burgundy tie. “Going to court?” Renny asked.

  “Yes, I have a motion at 9:00 A.M. in another case, and I’ll talk to the assistant D.A. about you as soon as she has a minute.”

  “OK. What brings you here so early?”

  “The sheet your landlady faxed me. It may help us.”

  “It’s amazing, isn’t it? But I don’t see how it can help me with an attempted burglary charge.”

  “It can’t. I was thinking more about the Josiah prophecy. What if I took it to the IRS?”

  “Jo thought about the IRS early on. I guess they could audit everyone on the List and start asking questions. But with all the overseas accounts, I doubt there is a paper trail in the U.S. clear enough to follow.”

  “Well, I’d like to contact an IRS agent I know in Charleston about it.”

  “Fine. I think I gave up $16 million plus my percentage of the corpus of the List when we prayed yesterday.”

  “Any regrets?”

  “None.”

  “OK. I’ll get back with you later today.”

  “If things go well, will I get out tomorrow?”

  “Yes, if the judge accepts a plea with probation.”

  “Thanks.”

  A. L. caught up with Assistant D.A. Adams around eleven. He gave her a bare-bones account of Renny’s situation and obtained her agreement not to oppose a first offender petition. They decided to meet in Judge Kincaid’s chambers in the morning and review the case with the judge before court began.

  Back in his office, A. L. called the IRS regional office in Charleston. “Greg Barnwell, please.”

  A voice with a molasses-thick Southern drawl answered. “Barnwell, heah.”

  “Greg, it’s A. L. Jenkins.”

  “How are you doing, my friend?”

  “Can’t complain. Listen—I have a client with a situation you may be interested in.”

  A. L. gave a thumbnail summary of the information on the financial sheet and Renny’s version of the functioning of the List.

  “Amazing. Are there any Barnwells on the sheet?”

  “No. Why?”

  “I didn’t think so. It would be nice to have some of that money, but my great-great-grandpappy lived in a shack on stilts and caught crayfish for supper.”

  “How about my ancestors?” Jenkins responded. “They
probably called the original members of the group ‘massah.’”

  “True. Well, if we could get some of that money, it would fund a whole heap of pork-barrel projects for our friends in Washington.”

  “And give me credit on next year’s tax bill.”

  “Now, A. L. You know we don’t give anything to anybody for any reason at any time. However, if this works out, I’m sure an ‘attaboy’ would be in order for both of us.”

  “Just do your best.” A. L. chuckled. “Mr. Jacobson says the information on the sheet may be stale in a few days. Apparently they are considering a transfer to an account in the Cayman Islands.”

  “That’s a black hole we can’t shine a light into right now. Why don’t you fax me the sheet and let me talk with the big boss right away.”

  “I’ll send it as soon as we hang up.”

  In thirty minutes, A. L.’s secretary buzzed his office. “Mr. Barnwell on the phone.”

  “A. L. Are you sitting down on your big rear end?”

  “Yes. What’s up?”

  “I got the information and talked with Mr. Blankenship. Do you remember the names listed on the bottom, you know, the two Swiss bankers and a man named Carlos Parmero?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where would you guess someone named Parmero lives?”

  “Switzerland? Italy?”

  “No. Colombia. Not the capital of our fair state, but Colombia the country in South America. The phone number on the sheet is for an office in Medellín, Colombia, the drug center of the Western Hemisphere.”

  “All right.”

  “That’s not all. Mr. Blankenship received an arrest notice issued by the FBI in Miami a couple of days ago. We get a copy to see if there are assets of high-profile defendants subject to seizure in our region.”

  “And … ?”

  “A man named Carlos Parmero with a Colombian passport was on a yacht that caught fire and issued a distress call near Key West. The Coast Guard responded and took the people on board into Miami. Parmero’s name surfaced, and a routine check triggered FBI involvement. Bingo. Parmero turned out to be one of the key guys involved in handling funds for the South American drug czars.”

  “Wow. What are you going to do?”

  “I want to send the information you provided to Miami. Also, could you get an affidavit from your client outlining what he knows about the group?”

  “I’m on my way.”

  A. L. had a laptop computer and portable printer on the table when Renny came in and sat down.

  “How did it go with the D.A.?”

  “She’s fine. They will drop all the misdemeanor charges and not oppose a first offender petition on the felony. We’re going to talk with the judge before court in the morning. You will be brought over at 9:00 A.M., and I’ll see you in the courtroom.”

  “OK, but I’m getting nervous.”

  “We’ll pray Proverbs 21:1; the judge’s heart is in the hand of the Lord, and he will direct it. I’ve seen it happen many times.”

  “Thanks. Why did you bring the computer and printer?”

  “I need an affidavit from you. Let me tell you what happened with the IRS…”

  Renny shook his head when A. L. finished. “So, they weren’t satisfied with a Swiss bank’s rate of return and decided to go out on the open market and double their money in the drug trade.”

  “Apparently. If this guy Parmero talks, the whole thing could come down.”

  “When will you find out?”

  “I don’t know, but I told my contact they needed to act fast. Ready?”

  “Yes.”

  For a man with ham hocks for hands, the lawyer typed with amazing speed.

  “Here we go. ‘Before the undersigned officer, duly authorized to administer oaths, appeared Josiah Jacobson, who, being duly sworn, states the following on personal knowledge, information, and belief… .’”

  Fourteen paragraphs later, the big man typed “Further affiant saith not” and sent it to the printer.

  “If possible, I would like to soften the blow for Gus Eicholtz. I know there is some retribution planned against him because of our discussions.”

  “I’ll mention that in a cover letter to Barnwell with the affidavit.”

  While the document was inching out of the printer, A. L. asked, “What are you thinking?”

  “I was wondering if this affidavit is connected to the Josiah verses. It could possibly bring down judgment on the List. Can you think of anything else I need to do?”

  “Hmm, I’m not sure. Let’s get through tomorrow morning first.”

  As Renny’s flip-flops hit the concrete corridor, Daisy Stokes was walking in her bedroom slippers to the kitchen to get a sip of water. Over the last three days she had slept less than ten hours and had lost a noticeable amount of weight from her already spare frame. She had experienced two instances of crushing pain in her chest, and thoughts of a heart attack and sudden death assailed her in an effort to distract her from her mission and purpose. Though she wavered, she repelled the attacks and, like Aaron and Hur, stayed at her post. She called Agnes Flowers, and the two of them spent an hour strategizing, praying, interceding, and encouraging each other. Daisy started to mention the Lord’s word about being poured out to her new friend, but she stopped, realizing it was a privilege not to be shared with anyone else.

  As she grew weaker, Mrs. Stokes began experiencing the reality of 2 Corinthians 4:16–18: “Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.”

  Knowing that her physical strength was coming to an end, she asked the Lord, “How long?”

  He responded: “Through Shabbat.” Two more days, through sundown Saturday.

  Renny was alone in the cell. Unable to sit still, he paced back and forth with tigerlike restlessness. Something was building inside him, but it had not yet assumed a form he could express. He quoted Psalm 23 and prayed for Jo, but it failed to satisfy the burden within his spirit. He looked up Proverbs 21:1 and spent time asking for favor when he appeared before the judge the next morning. Next, he thanked the Lord for his help in the midst of incredible difficulty and pressure. Yet, the deep-seated unsettledness remained. What was wrong? What had he forgotten to do? What had he failed to consider? Without resolving any of his questions, he lay down on his bunk and tried to sleep, but spent the rest of the night tossing and turning on the thin mattress.

  After the sleepless night, Renny better fit the popular concept of a convict. Dark lines under his eyes, it took several splashes of cold water to bring his surroundings into clear focus.

  Still wearing his white jumpsuit, he was handcuffed and linked together with leg chains to four other prisoners for transport in a windowless van to the courthouse. A guard with a shotgun sat beside the driver in the front seat of the vehicle. The van parked behind the courthouse, and the prisoners were taken to a special elevator complete with bars across the door. On the third floor, the shotgun-toting guard followed them down a short hall to a special holding cell. Another guard removed the handcuffs and leg irons from all of the prisoners except one, a surly, brooding man who had “love” crudely tattooed across one set of knuckles, “hate” across the other, and a large black spider etched on his neck so that four of its legs and part of its body appeared to be creeping up from beneath his shirt collar.

  “His Honor will see you now,” the judge’s secretary told the two lawyers.

  A. L. and Virginia Adams entered the private lair of Judge Wray Kincaid, a balding, slender man in his late fifties who rarely smiled and maintained an inscrutable demeanor to all who appeared before him. Surrounded by hundreds of books containing the wisdom of judicial sages long since departed to the place of their own final judgment, Judge Kincaid waved them t
o two seats before his polished wooden desk.

  “Who’s so important that you need to see me?” he asked brusquely.

  “Josiah Jacobson, Your Honor. He’s on today’s docket for sentencing on an attempted burglary charge.”

  Judge Kincaid found Renny’s name on the morning’s order of business. “Yes?”

  “We would like to enter a guilty plea on a first offender petition.”

  “Do you have the incident file, Ms. Adams?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.” She handed him the folder.

  They waited while the judge scanned the few pages in the file.

  “You’re sure the defendant has no prior criminal convictions?”

  “We found none on the computer,” she said.

  “He’s a lawyer from Charlotte,” A. L. said. “He just passed the bar exam, so he would have undergone an extensive background check in North Carolina.”

  Judge Kincaid’s eyes narrowed. “A lawyer. Did he think it appropriate for an officer of the court to come to Georgetown County and attempt to break into a beach house?”

  “No, sir, and he wants to enter a guilty plea without any delay.”

  The judge opened the incident file and squinted at the investigator’s handwriting.

  “There were no weapons involved?”

  “No sir.”

  “Any indication of threats against the victim, Mr. LaRochette?”

  “No sir.”

  “Ms. Adams, what is your position on the first offender petition?”

  “We do not oppose it, Your Honor, and defer to your discretion.”

  “I imagine you would,” the judge said dryly.

  “Mr. Jenkins, your client may enter his plea, but I will not commit at this time to accepting the petition. You may so inform your client.”

  A. L. felt sweat running down inside his shirt. “Yes, Your Honor. Your consideration is appreciated.”