"I call it soaking the gullible."
"It works."
"Did work. But no more."
"Guess it worked too good," Eldon Sluggard mused, staring at the ceiling.
"The idea is sound. But now you go after the second-most-gullible demographic group possible."
"Second?"
Victoria Hoar nodded firmly. "Second."
"There's nothing more gullible than a seventy-five-year-old widow with nothing better to do than watch game shows and listen to her joints creak," Reverend Sluggard said flatly.
"Little old ladies don't go off to fight wars."
"Of course not. Who'd be crazy enough to-"
"Teenagers. "
"Huh?"
"Specifically teenage boys. Girls seem to mature faster. "
"Teenage boys don't have the disposable income. Not to part with. They're all spending it on teenage girls and cars and drugs or whatever. The youth of this nation are going to pot."
"You don't want their money."
"Sure Ah do. Money is what the God Game is all about. "
"Not when you can have their bodies," Victoria Hoar said, running her tapered fingers through his pomaded hair.
"Ah don't want their bodies. Ah want your body."
"We'll get back to that. But listen. Do you remember your European history? The Crusades?"
"I didn't go to school much."
"But you know what the Crusades were?"
"Sure, Slim and Jaimie had one before they got all jammed up. They called it their Crusade for Cash. Ah laughed when Ah first heard about it, but the bold approach must have worked. They were raking it in until Jaimie's mascara ran during that press conference rainstorm and everyone saw that she was a he. Gave new meaning to the term TV evangelist."
"That's a different kind of crusade. The original Crusades were launched into the Islamic world by the popes. It was a little like your operation. A scam. They called in soldiers to reclaim Jerusalem in the name of God, but they were really just using God as an excuse to capture land and pillage. It worked for a while, too. They had Jerusalem for a long time."
"What good would that do me? Ah don't want Jerusalem. Hell, the Jews got that sewed up anyway. And they're meaner than snakes when you stick your nose into their patch. Ask any Egyptian."
"I'm not talking about Jerusalem. I'm talking about some of the most coveted land on earth."
"Palm Springs?"
"No. Places like Iran. Iraq. Oil-rich places."
"Oil ain't worth piss these days. Ask any Texan."
"Not now. Not today. Ten years ago, yes. But not now. Do you know why not, El?"
"Too much of it. Market's saturated. Like mine."
"There has always been too much of it. But it's the Iran-Iraq war. While they were fighting they sold cheap to keep their war machines going. Now they're selling cheap to rebuild their shattered economies. OPEC is practically in shambles over it. The price of oil is so soft now that in Houston they can't afford to pump the oil they know is down there. Why bother? The Iranians or Iraqis will only undercut their prices by ten dollars a barrel. "
"So?"
"So if someone, some extraordinary person, could gain control over those oil-rich areas, they could dictate the price of oil. And much more."
"How come you know so much about this oil stuff?"
"My daddy's in the oil business."
"And what business are you in?"
"The pleasure business," Victoria Roar said with a nasty little laugh before she went down on him again. When Reverend Eldon Sluggard had pried himself off the ceiling, he panted out a question:
"How can Ah make this happen?"
"You have a TV cable network that can reach millions of people. You have a powerful way of speaking. You can do the recruiting. Just shift your efforts to reaching the teenagers of America. They'll respond. Kids these days are very militaristic. Why do you think Vietnam movies are so big? Get them worked up against Iran. Lay it on thick. We'll start a camp here. We'll separate the curious from the committed and then train the committed to fight."
"How do we get them to Iran?"
"I still have connections in the oil business. Leave that part to me. You deliver the crusaders and I'll get them to the crusade."
"Ah don't know. Ah'm tempted. But Iran. It's a big place. "
"Seven years of war has drained Iran of fighting men. Its economy is on its back. It's a pariah nation. It can barely hold back the ragtag Mujahideen rebels, and half the populace will see us as liberators. If we can hold the oil fields long enough, the country will fall into anarchy. There will be a mullah hanging from every lamppost. We can just walk in. Trust me."
Reverend Eldon Sluggard considered. Finally he asked, "Can Ah still work the old ladies on the side?"
"All you want," said Victoria Hoar, sitting up and reaching for her neatly folded skirt.
"Hey! What about you?" Eldon Sluggard asked.
"What about me?" Victoria responded, absently hooking her bra.
"I got off twice. You ain't even got off once. Don't you want to?"
"No. I get off making things happen."
They were happening again, thought Eldon Sluggard. The new Cross Crusade spot hadn't even run to the end and the phone banks were lighting up. New recruits were calling at a rate of three a second. Volunteers manning the phones hastily took down the names of the recruits. This time, Eldon Sluggard was going to launch a bigger and better crusade. One that would work. He could feel success now.
Besides, as Victoria Hoar had said just this morning, Eldon Sluggard had no choice. He had angered the mullahs in Tehran. They were after him. And their kind never gave up until they got their way or got run over.
They were not going to get the Reverend Eldon Sluggard, he promised himself. No sirree. Not even if the Pershing Gulf ran red with blood.
Chapter 13
"You're very good at what you do," Victoria Hoar told the man she knew as Remo Cleaver.
"He is adequate," sniffed Chiun.
"I do all right," Remo said. They were in Eldon Sluggard's conference room. Victoria Hoar was looking into Remo's dark eyes. Remo was looking at her breasts. He decided that his first impression had been wrong. They were not too small. They just looked that way. Probably they were perfectly proportioned for Victoria Hoar's eel-slim body.
"That is what I said," Chiun put in. "He is all right. Another word for 'adequate.' I am glad he admits it."
"Oh, he's just being modest."
"Not him," said Chiun, eyeing the pair with undisguised concern. Victoria Hoar had drifted up to Remo as if he were a flower and she was a bee. Or was it the other way around? Either way, they were drawing together in a pre-copulation way. Chiun knew the signs. He would have to do something about this before Remo ruined their assignment.
"No, not him," Chiun repeated, suddenly appearing in the space between the two. He looked up at Victoria Hoar's dreamy face. "On the other hand, I am modest. Extremely modest. Possibly unsurpassed as a modest person."
But the white woman named Victoria Hoar did not deign to take notice of the Master of Sinanju. She continued looking into Remo's hard face. Chiun looked again. Remo's expression was no longer hard. It was softening. Worse, it was soft.
"Arrggh!" Chiun said.
"What's that you said, Little Father?" Remo asked.
"I said 'Arrggh!' "
"I thought so," Remo said absently.
"Why don't I show you around the grounds?" Victoria Hoar said suddenly, taking Remo by the hand. "Get you acquainted with the fine work of Eldon Sluggard World Ministries."
"A good thought," said Chiun, taking Victoria Hoar by her free hand. "You may show us both around." Victoria Hoar felt Chiun's hand in hers. It was strong for a hand so frail-looking and thin-boned. She looked down at the shiny head of the tiny Oriental, which was bald but for two white tufts of hair over each ear. Chiun was smiling up at her. He looked like a pleased little elf. But his hands were grinding the compli
cated bones of her palm against one another. It hurt. Victoria Hoar attempted to disengage her hand, but the little Oriental would not let go.
"Yes, of course. I did mean both of you," she gasped painfully.
Only then did the pressure stop.
When she led them from the room, Victoria was holding no one's hand.
"What's with her?" Remo whispered as they followed Victoria Hoar down the corridor and into the coolness of the late-spring afternoon.
"Fickle," Chiun said. "I would watch that one."
"Funny. She seemed so warm only a minute ago."
"A certain sign of fickleness," said Chiun. He looked around the quadrangle. "We are obviously working for a man who likes to see his name on everything."
Hearing that, Victoria Hoar turned her head. "Reverend Sluggard believes in glorifying God," she said. She adressed her statement to Remo, not Chiun. Remo smiled. She smiled back. Chiun decided this was an appropriate moment to speak up.
"How does putting his name on every building glorify the Supreme Creator?" he asked.
"Reverend Sluggard is God's representative on earth. What glorifies Reverend Sluggard glorifies God."
"Says who?" asked Chiun.
"Hush, Little Father," Remo admonished. "Victoria is explaining."
"Call me Vicki if you wish," she said, impulsively taking Remo's hand once more. Chiun moved to her other side to grasp the other hand. Obviously this white woman was stubborn. But Chiun saw that she had entwined her arm around Rema's and laid her other hand upon his forearm.
"I asked a question," Chiun said huffily. "Who says this man represents the Supreme Creator?"
"Why, Reverend Sluggard does," said Victoria Hoar, as if that explained everything. "He was fasting one day and God spoke to him. God gave him a holy rapture, and told him to build all this."
"Were there any witnesses?"
"No. Why should there be? God's personal representative would never lie, now, would he?"
"I've been thinking about God a lot lately," Remo said.
As they walked, Victoria pointed out that just last month the Reverend Sluggard had raised over a million dollars, which he donated to the starving people of Ethiopia.
"It used to be two million a month, but donations have dropped off. Those bad religious figures," she added conspiratorially.
"What bad religious figures?" Remo asked.
"Well, there's Slim and Jaimie Barker, Moral Robbins-"
"Never heard of them," said Remo.
"Don't you watch television?" Victoria Hoar wanted to know.
"No, not really," Remo said.
"Or read newspapers?"
"I try to keep up with the Sunday funnies," said Remo.
"Good," said Victoria Hoar.
"How long has this Sluggard been donating money to the starving Ethiopians?" Chiun put in suddenly.
"Oh, I don't know. Years."
"More than two?"
"At least three."
"Then why are the Ethiopians still starving? If you gave them over seventy-two million dollars, even Ethiopians could find a way to feed their populace," said Chiun.
"I don't really know," answered Victoria Hoar. "I never thought about it. I guess they breed faster than we can donate money."
"That makes no sense," Chiun said scornfully.
"Sounds about right to me," Remo said brightly. He was looking into Victoria's eyes again. In another minute, Chiun was sure, they would fall onto the grass and begin rutting in front of everyone. The Master of Sinanju looked around. Maybe if he pretended to stumble against something and break it, the spell would be broken. There was a towering cross in the middle of the quadrangle. It looked like gold, but Chiun recognized at a glance that it was only brass polished to a high sheen. Etched in the horizontal bar of the cross was a legend, "Do Unto Others . . ."
"Why is the rest of the quotation missing?" Chiun asked suddenly. He had decided against destroying the cross. Knowing Remo's present sensitivity, he would probably accuse the Master of Sinanju of violating some silly white taboo.
"What?" asked Victoria Hoar, whirling. Her eyes followed Chiun's pointing finger to the cross. "Oh, that. I think they couldn't fit it all in."
"There is plenty of room," said Chiun.
"Reverend Sluggard says it's easier to remember."
"It changes the meaning," said Chiun.
"Is he always like that?" Victoria asked Remo. Remo nodded.
"And this is one of his good days."
"I heard that," snapped Chiun. He hurried to catch up with them. The female was leading Remo to a building marked "World Broadcast Ministries." Chiun understood that had something to do with television. Perhaps this female wanted to copulate with Remo in front of a TV camera for all the world to see. The Master of Sinanju had heard that there were harlots in America who did such things for money. He decided that they were in an evil place and the sooner they were done with this assignment, the better.
Naturally, it was at that moment that Remo chose to say what was on his mind.
"You know, I kind of like it here. It reminds me of when I used to go to Sunday school. The crosses. The cool breezes on the grass. Everything is so clean and pure. I was thinking just the other day that it's been years since I've been to church. Wasn't I, Chiun?"
"I am not privy to your ridiculous thoughts," Chiun grumbled. "Except when you insist on braying them to anyone who will listen."
"A lot of people find inner peace through Reverend Sluggard," Victoria said musically. "He was telling me just the other day that he's had wonderful success with teenage boys. I guess they're drawn to him because he's so filled with the Holy Spirit."
"I guess everyone here prays a lot."
"Are you kidding?" Victoria said dryly. "Reverend Sluggard has me get down on my knees two or three times a day."
"I'd like to hear him preach," Remo said.
"He is a magnificent preacher. Why, he knows the entire Bible by heart. He can open it up to any page, and without glancing at the page more than a second, recite entire passages."
"I knew a nun who could do that. Sister Mary Margaret," Remo said in a wistful voice. "She was a big influence on my life."
"But at the first sign of disappointment, she spurned you," Chiun put in. Remo ignored him.
"Where are those people going?" asked Remo. He pointed to a dome-shaped glass building. Buses were pulling up in front of it.
"That's the Temple of Tribute," Victoria Hoar said. "It's where Reverend Sluggard pays tribute to the Lord and his flock pays tribute to Reverend Sluggard. Each day, after he tapes his daily program, Reverend Sluggard ministers to the faithful. These people come from all over the country to receive Reverend Sluggard's blessing. He heals through faith. I have an idea. Why don't we watch him work? We can finish the tour later."
"Is that all right with you, Little Father?" Remo asked suddenly. "I really want to see this."
The Master of Sinanju hesitated. He would have said no, but Remo had asked, and there was another reason. "Yes, let us all go," Chiun said. "I am curious to see how American religions work. Perhaps I can learn how they so enthrall even those who have been raised above them. "
They melted into the converging groups. The Master of Sinanju noticed that most of the people were old. Many had infirmities. Some walked on crutches. Others were pushed along in wheelchairs. Many joints made tiny sounds of misalignment. Here and there, hearts beat irregularly. Heart disease. It was common in America, he knew. In his home village of Sinanju on the West Korea Bay, it was nearly unheard-of, thanks to a steady diet of fish and rice.
The interior of the Temple of Tribute was a great circular room. The roof was like the inside of a crystal cone. Beams of white pine supported it, and shafts of radiant sunlight kissed the seat sections, which resembled a pie cut into four wedges. And in the center, there sat a raised dais and a podium with a microphone. Every element was either glass or white pine or birchwood.
"Let's sit up front," said
Victoria Hoar, leading Remo by the hand. She had to push through the crowd to get to the first row. When she arrived, she blinked.
The Master of Sinanju, who had been behind them, was already seated.
"I saved seats for both of you," he said, beaming. He indicated a seat on his left for Victoria and a seat on his right for Remo. All the other first-row seats were occupied.
Victoria took her seat, fuming. Remo was sniffing the air.
"Incense," he said.
"Sandalwood. A terrible kind," Chiun said, wrinkling his nose.
"I don't know. It kinda reminds me of the incense they used to burn in Saint Andrews. Makes me feel kinda nostalgic."
"Is that another word for 'nauseated'?" asked Chiun. When the room had filled, there was a long pause. Organ music came in through the loudspeakers. And from behind a door curtained in white strode the Reverend Eldon Sluggard. His meaty frame was encased in a white silk suit accented by a canary-yellow tie. He stepped up to the podium to thunderous applause.
Chiun watched carefully. Never had he heard of a priest who was greeted by his faithful followers with applause. Was this some new wrinkle the American whites had added to Christianity? Perhaps there was something to be learned here after all.
"You!" shouted Reverend Eldon Sluggard. The word bounced off the accoustically perfect ceiling panes. The applause stopped dead. The echoes of the word hung in the sandalwood-laden air.
"You! You! And you! You are all sinners before God," yelled Reverend Eldon Sluggard, stabbing a fat finger at the audience.
"You are the dust beneath the feet of the truly righteous.
"You are the dirt that is consumed by the lowly worm.
"You are scum, all of you. All of you!" Reverend Eldon Sluggard's holy righteous voice resounded through the Temple of Tribute.
"Obviously he means those other than his security force," the Master of Sinanju whispered to Remo.
"Hush!" said Remo. "I want to hear this."
"All of you!" shouted Eldon Sluggard. His eyes scourged the first row.
The Master of Sinanju jumped to his feet, "Did you hear that, Remo? He has insulted my awesome personage. For that I will-"
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