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by Robert L. Wise

  Bridges rubbed his mouth. “I—I see.”

  “Nice people always have an amazing capacity to become meaner than junkyard dogs.” Rashid raised an eyebrow condescendingly. “Sweet little old ladies can turn into ravenous wolves during a good old roaring church fight. Nice old men eat each other alive during such brawls. They remain perfect candidates to report deviates to the police. Am I right?”

  “Certainly!” Bridges agreed. “Sure.”

  “You will find that I am recommending you do exactly what Constantine did in the third century when he took the Christians out of persecution and propelled them into one of the most powerful groups in the empire.” Rashid smiled. “The Restored Church will become our national watchdogs to catch your extremists.”

  Bridges stared with his mouth partially open.

  “Yes, my dear Frank, we are going to turn these encounter groups into national persecution societies. Every city, town, and burg, will have eyes watching up and down the streets to see what is going on. Don’t worry. They’ll help us wipe out all the opposition that you fear.”

  CHAPTER 33

  IN A FEW DAYS, July 4 would slip around the corner, bringing with it the usual parades, picnics, fireworks, and celebrations of American independence. However, this year the merrymaking would be far more subdued. Citizens simply felt too much tension and apprehension to attend the festivities with their normal zeal. The Pecks certainly felt such hesitancy.

  Watching out the back door of their cabin, Graham knew the children had gone on a walk through the woods, so no one was around to hear him. Matthew was with them to make sure nothing unexpected happened. “Jackie,” he called into the kitchen. “How’s Mary been lately?”

  “Not good,” Jackie said from the stove. “She seems despondent and depressed. The school episode seemed to almost finish her off. I know she hates being isolated out here in the woods.”

  “If Mary would only consider our faith and make an honest inquiry, I know she’d quickly find her way out of her confusion.”

  “Mary seems completely determined not to believe in anything but herself,” Jackie said. “She’s certainly not going to pay any attention to us because we’re her parents.”

  “I guess you’re right,” Graham said sadly.

  He punched the television remote, and the high resolution set hanging on the wall instantly came into focus. The clarity of the picture left the feeling that the announcer was literally sitting in the living room.

  “And that completes our in-depth review of the recent war in India and Pakistan,” Donald Ruther said. “Tragically many, many people were killed, but both countries are now back in compliance with the demands set by Royal Arab Petroleum for both services and political support of the company’s position. Today we can expect the oil company to start looking at South America with greater interest.” The announcer laid down his script page and looked directly into the camera. “Tonight we have just received notice of a special announcement from the mayor of Chicago. We are going live to the mayor’s office.”

  “Hey!” Graham Peck yelled to Jackie. “Bridges is on national television. Take a look!”

  Jackie turned around with a dishtowel in her hand. “Your ol’ buddy’s made it back on big-time television. My, my!” She sat down next to Graham. “What’s the scoundrel up to now?”

  The television camera panned across the conference room where Graham had sat so often on the other side of the table from Frank Bridges and discussed political strategy. Bridges sat at the end of the long mahogany table, hunched over with a serious look on his face.

  “O-o-h! Frank’s got on that ‘I-mean-business’ face,” Graham said. “I imagine he’s going to lay some heavy thoughts on us. Hunker down, Frankie boy.”

  Adah Honi walked in. “Oh! I know that man.” She pointed at the screen. “The bad man.”

  “Only moments ago,” Bridges began, “I completed a conversation with Creighton Lewis, leader of the Sunday Encounter Groups meeting weekly across the United States. Recognizing the need for spiritual renewal in the land, Borden Camber Carson encouraged me to suggest to Mr. Lewis that his movement ought to have greater visibility and recognition. Our citizens should be giving their serious attention to the ideas and procedures endorsed by the Encounter Groups. We believe in spiritual values.”

  Graham looked at his wife and frowned. “Don’t tell me Bridges is going religious on us? That’d be bigger news than another terrorist attack.”

  “Creighton Lewis agreed with me that a new name is needed. Henceforth, we will use the title ‘The Restored Church’ for these groups. At Mr. Carson’s urging, we are recommending that the country consider recognizing The Restored Church as a national religion. Americans can expect Creighton Lewis to be highly informed and make important pronouncements on issues of national concern. Dr. Creighton has just been given the title of ‘Bishop in the Church of God.’ The Restored Church will stand for national security, and you can expect their leadership to help our country maintain a high level of defense. Your involvement with The Restored Church will give you a renewed sense of personal protection.”

  “This has got to be a joke!” Jackie said. “What an absurdity.”

  “Good Lord!” Graham scooted forward in his chair. “They’re creating a church they can control.”

  “I bet they’ve got Carson in the back room dictating their next copy of the Bible.” Jackie rubbed her hands together nervously. “I’m getting to where I can read the signs of the times unfolding before us.”

  Adah narrowed her eyes. “How very interesting. Just this morning I get an insight. Suddenly, boom! The next shoe falls.”

  “What do you mean?” Graham asked.

  Adah reached over to the coffee table and picked up her Bible. “I have been studying what the thirteenth chapter of Revelation tells us about this terrible shooting we have been watching on television. In the third verse, the beast, the Antichrist, is predicted to have a mortal head wound that healed. As unexpected as this passage seems, this prophecy we have seen in the Scripture has been fulfilled.”

  “The first time you showed me that passage,” Graham said, “I was staggered.” He glanced at the page. “But today the whole world has indeed marveled at Carson’s recovery.”

  Jackie nodded. “Has it ever!”

  “Farther down, we read in verse 11 about the lamb who speaks with the voice of the dragon.”

  Graham looked at the Bible.

  “It doesn’t take much thought to see the symbolism here,” Adah said. “The voice of the dragon is how the Evil One speaks to us. Now, he is going to speak through the lamb, or the phony church. This ‘church,’ as Bridges calls it, is about to become the voice of the devil.”

  “Oh man!” Graham shuddered.

  “A satanic trinity is slipping into place,” the Jewish woman said. “In the seat of authority, the first person in this hierarchy is the Evil One. Behind the scenes of these diabolical ideas is always Satan.” Adah pointed to the television. “This church we have just heard described is the next part of this trinity. The lamb with the dragon’s voice is the second persona.” She shook her finger. “Don’t ever forget, there is a daily, practical aspect of this extension of evil that we must pay attention to. The beast with authority is runaway government doing the bidding of Lucifer. That’s the third person. Government will take on a quality of anonymity about what it does. Evil will happen everywhere.” Adah shook her finger at Graham and Jackie authoritatively. “Get ready! The satanic trinity is about to confront the world with more confusion.”

  CHAPTER 34

  FRANK BRIDGES flashed another forceful smile and finished his television speech. “Your involvement with The Restored Church will give you a renewed sense of personal protection.” He kept smiling, waiting for the light on the camera to switch off.

  “Got it!” the cameraman said. “Donald Ruther in New York has already sent your message to millions of homes.”

  “Thank you.” Bridges stood an
d briskly walked out of the room. “Good job.” He saw Al Meachem standing out in the hall waiting for him.

  “We picked up Gillette,” Meachem said. “He wasn’t any happier this time than the last, but the good doctor’s getting acquainted with the routine. This time he threw up his hands and marched out to our car immediately, without any screaming or yelling.”

  “Okay.” Bridges nodded. “I want to observe this experiment. Let’s hope it accomplishes our purposes.”

  “Where do you want to do it?”

  Bridges thought a moment. “Gillette brought the top secret materials with him?”

  “Sure. Got ’em hidden in the car.”

  “Where would he suggest they be released?”

  “I asked him,” Meachem said. “He thinks from some high place like the roof of this building.”

  “Sounds good enough to me, Al. Get him up on the roof.”

  “I’ll be there in five minutes.”

  Bridges returned to his private office. He shut the door behind him. “Anyone else here?”

  Connie Reeves smiled seductively. “Why? You looking for a new girlfriend?”

  Bridges kissed her passionately. “How’d I look on television?”

  “Good as always. The man of the hour.”

  “Think I snowed ’em?”

  Connie kissed him again. “Like a blizzard.”

  “Any business I need to attend to before I go up to the roof?”

  “No. None.”

  “Good! Good. Look, baby, this is top secret. Make sure my phone calls are covered.”

  “You bet.” Connie waved him on. “Hurry along.”

  Bridges took the elevator on the other side of his inner office and in moments was on the roof of the thirty-story building. Al Meachem and Jack Stratton held Dr. Paul Gillette between them. At his feet sat a large metal trunk. On the top side had been stamped Top Secret.

  “Dr. Gillette.” Bridges rushed forward with his hands extended. “How good to see you again.”

  Gillette shook hands perfunctorily, but remained stone-faced.

  “Looks like another of those freak storms is blowin’ in,” Jack Stratton mumbled as he glanced upward. “Clouds look bad.”

  “Yeah,” Meachem agreed. “There’ve been tornadoes in Michigan and across Illinois. Strange for this late in the year for sure. I don’t like it.”

  Gillette jutted out his chin. “We don’t have much time,” he said stiffly.

  “I’m sure you’re completely aware of what we need to do,” Bridges began.

  Gillette nodded his head, but he looked worried. “I’m not sure this project is at all ready to be released into the atmosphere,” he said reluctantly. “We’ve had problems.”

  “Come now, come now,” Frank cajoled. “Your staff at the nanotechnology lab has been working on this project for weeks. I trust your people.”

  Gillette glanced nervously at the mayor. “We’ve had significant problems.”

  Brushing the comment aside, Bridges pressed on. “How do these gizmos work?”

  “Each camera is approximately one ten-billionth of an inch and shaped like a bullet. From the front end, the nanorobots send images to our computer system. They are propelled by the microtubules on the back side and float on the wind. The nanorobots are in the trunk, and I have only to release them and the project begins.”

  “Excellent!” Bridges beamed. “I understand that extraordinary possibilities are available to us.”

  “They have a miniature gallium arsenide photon detector in the front, which functions like the retina of the human eye,” Gillette continued explaining. “In addition, a bioluminescent factor provides a unique source of light. These nanorobots operate something like a primitive camera.”

  “What ya mean?” Al Meachem asked.

  “The idea of a camera obscura has been around for centuries. The Romans actually came up with the first one by making a small hole in the wall of a dark room and observing what light did. The image came through upside down on the opposite wall. Kids today do the same with their pinhole cameras. That’s the way images will be sent to our computer system.”

  “Hmm.” Bridges pondered. “Fascinating.”

  “That same idea is the principle behind these devices. When the nanorobots start performing, we’ve set up these particular robots to operate according to the algorithms our people developed,” Gillette continued. “We believe they will merge together and form their own network.”

  “That’s where each individual nanorobot will coordinate with the others and project a composite picture of what they see?” Bridges asked.

  “Something like that,” Gillette agreed. “We might think of it as a form of swarm intelligence. Because these camera nanorobots are so infinitesimal, we need every one of them to give us an orderly and structured picture of what they find.”

  “That’s exactly what we’re looking for.” Bridges kept smiling. “We want your gadgets to locate a group of six people, then shoot an image of the group back to us. None have been tagged with security markings.”

  “As you instructed earlier, we think this group of nanorobots are so programmed.”

  “You keep saying I think or I believe, Dr. Gillette.” Bridges frowned. “There’s a problem here?”

  “As I’ve tried to tell you many times,” Gillette barked. “We’re not sure what these gizmos will do. They could spin out of control.”

  Bridges chewed on his lip. “That would be most unfortunate.”

  “No!” Dr. Gillette said sharply. “That could be most deadly.”

  CHAPTER 35

  WITH THE FEROCITY of a sudden winter blizzard whirling down from Canada, the summer storm turned the clouds purple and sent hail flying across Wisconsin. Another outbreak of tornadoes smashed through Minnesota, hitting towns like Brainerd, Saint Cloud, and brushing over Minneapolis. The little town of Tomahawk braced itself as the unprecedented heavy rains washed through the forest and pounded roofs with golf-ball-sized hail.

  “This storm looks like one of those dark passages from the book of Revelation,” Graham told his wife. “The sun’s blacked out, and it’s almost as if the stars are crashing down on our roof.”

  “The weather’s been strange for over a year,” Jackie said. “For months the moon was red, but it’s never looked any more frightening than this storm.” She folded her hands. “Lord, keep us from a twister.”

  “I guess the children are okay,” Graham said. “Aren’t they?”

  “I think they are downstairs.” Jackie walked to the stairs leading to the second level. “George? Jeff? You down there?”

  “Yes,” Jeff’s voice answered.

  “And Mary?”

  “No.”

  Jackie frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “She’s not here.” George stuck his head around the door at the bottom of the stairs. “I haven’t seen her all afternoon.”

  “That’s strange.” Jackie turned to Graham. “I’m going down there to see what’s going on.”

  “How could Mary be out in this storm?” Graham scratched his head. “She’s got to be down there hiding somewhere.”

  Jackie hurried down the stairs and found George and Jeff playing a game on the floor of their room. She smiled and went to the next room. Matt had pushed himself up against the head of his bed and was reading a book.

  “Son, have you seen Mary this afternoon?”

  Matt shook his head without looking up. “No,” he said disinterestedly.

  Jackie stepped across the hall and pushed open the door to Mary’s room. The unmade bed was piled high with a tangle of sheets and a blanket heaped in the center of the mattress. Clothes were scattered everywhere.

  “Mary?” Jackie got no reply. “You have to be here!” she said resolutely and jerked open the closet door. The only thing she noticed was that Mary’s suitcase was not on the top self. Jackie felt her heart beat harder. She darted across the hall and pounded on Adah’s door. “Is Mary in there with you? Ha
ve you seen her?”

  Adah opened the door and stood with her Bible in hand. “Mary?” She shook her head. “I have not seen her all day.”

  Jackie’s heart thumped like a bass drum. “Graham!” she screamed. “Mary’s gone! Her suitcase is gone.”

  Graham bounded down the stairs, taking them two and three at a time. “She can’t be!” he argued.

  “No one’s seen her all afternoon!” Jackie’s voice trembled. “Her room’s the usual mess. I think our daughter has run off!”

  CHAPTER 36

  FOR TWO DAYS the Peck family searched every possible trail, lane, and street in Tomahawk and the town of Rhinelander, believing Mary had hidden somewhere in one of those two places. Maybe she had made a friend in one of the towns and hadn’t told anyone. When nothing turned up, they sought the help of Alice Masterson and a few of the believers in her study group. After looking for several hours without arousing suspicion, the searchers reassembled in the basement of the old church where Alice’s group met.

  “Has anyone found anything?” Graham begged. He had wanted to convey love to his daughter, the kind of affection that would crack the resistance and turn her back into a kind, thoughtful person who would embrace the faith. Instead, he had been swallowed by his own guilt. “Anything?” Graham repeated.

  “I’m sorry,” Alice answered. “I don’t think so.”

  “Oh, please! Please tell us you’ve found at least a clue?” Jackie pleaded.

  Alice looked around the basement. “I know these people well, and most of the town’s people are also acquainted with them. They won’t lie. Has anyone found out anything about the Pecks’ daughter?”

  The large man in overalls looked away, and an elderly lady stared at the floor. The other people didn’t speak.