Eddie leaned over to Jamie and whispered, “Why rename everyone?”
“A psychological ploy,” he answered. “So we stop thinking we had a life before joining the Brethren.”
“Silence!” Mordecai yelled, and Jamie stood at attention. Mordecai cleared his throat and continued. “It is the name you will go by from this day forward. And without it, you won’t be allowed through heaven’s gates.”
One by one, the Faithfuls went up to Mordecai. He took each person into his arms, embraced them, kissed them gently on the forehead, and gave them their new Brethren name.
Igal, the avenger. Thaddeus, the wise. Hannah, the graceful.
Then Peter walked up and Mordecai addressed him. “Ah, my special young man. I name you Caleb, from the tribe of Judah.”
Jamie whispered to Eddie, “Who the hell is Caleb?”
His answer was disturbing. “He was a spy.”
Eddie’s suspicions were right. Peter, now Caleb, was a spy for the Brethren. But was he spying on them? That didn’t seem possible. After all, no one had known they were coming. Not even the person who sent them the weird message.
Peter parted from Mordecai’s embrace and walked back to Jamie and Eddie. “Caleb,” he whispered. “What a cool name.”
Then Mordecai commanded Jamie and Eddie to come forward. He took them into his embrace.
“You two have a long way to go before achieving supreme consciousness. So I give you the names Esrom and Roboam.”
“Who are they?” Jamie asked.
“They’re nobodies in the Bible. They’re just two people in a long line of begets.”
Eddie asked, “Did they do anything?”
“No. Nothing,” was Mordecai’s answer. “And unless you give your hearts and souls to me, you’ll be just like them. And you’ll die without mercy.”
Chapter Eighteen
Ellen sat on her bed, unable to shake from her mind the weird document she’d found online the previous night. The computer expert who looked at her laptop said nothing was wrong with it and that she’d probably downloaded an executable file that ran a programmed task. In this case, it deleted itself. And since it didn’t leave a virus, she shouldn’t worry about it.
Too much, at least.
But she wasn’t going to take any chances. She backed up her computer to the cloud and wiped the hard drive clean. She planned to purchase a new computer at the first opportunity.
Christian had promised to stop by, so she grabbed her cell and sat by the window. To pass the time, she used her smartphone to surf the news sites, but her thoughts kept drifting back to Jamie and Eddie. They hadn’t called yet, and she was worried.
Opening the speed dial, she touched Jamie’s number. It rang and rang, and finally went to voicemail. She left the message, “Why don’t you call me?” Exasperated, she swiped the screen closed and threw the phone onto her bed.
Then it rang with a Rufus Wainwright song. But she knew it wasn’t the boys calling her. Their ringtone was Lady Gaga. Rufus meant that her computerized call-forwarding service didn’t recognize the number. And since the caller didn’t leave a name at the prompt, she figured it had to be a sales call. She let it go to voicemail and checked the time on her phone instead. Christian was late.
A couple of knocks came from the door, however. It was Christian, and he held out a small bouquet of flowers. Why would he bring me flowers? she asked herself. We don’t have that kind of relationship. “Thank you.”
“Sorry for being late,” he said, taking a step inside. “I tried calling, but my calls kept going to voicemail.”
Ellen quickly checked her cell and realized he must have been the private caller. “Now I feel dumb. My phone didn’t recognize your number. I’m sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry. It’s been hectic this morning, I haven’t gone into the office yet, so I called from my cell phone.”
“I hope everything’s okay,” she said, getting a vase to put the flowers in.
“Actually, better. I found the perfect security firm for your father and spent the morning working out the final details with them. All that’s left is to sign the contracts.”
“Wow.” She was amazed at Christian’s efficiency. “And the legal department already gave the contracts a once-over?”
“We don’t have the time for lawyers to get involved,” he said, helping her with the flower arrangement. “Your father has a public appearance this weekend, and he told me we need to have security in place.”
“Well, I bet it’s going to cost Daddy a lot more than the old firm did.”
“No, it’s costing less.” She looked up at Christian and saw pride on his face. “Rhodes Petroleum is a major player,” he continued. “So new companies practically lined up for the chance to be taken advantage of.” He laughed.
“You hired a new company?” That didn’t sound like something her father would approve of, either.
“Well, the company’s new, but their employees have been mercenaries for a long time.”
“Mercenaries?” She made a nervous laugh, but her stomach cringed at the thought of her father being protected by paid soldiers. Then again, she thought, aren’t most security people mercenaries in one-way or another? They got paid to carry a gun, and probably very few worried about who their client was.
Christian looked at his watch. “We should get going.”
“Where to?” she asked, slinging her backpack onto her shoulder.
“I thought we could go to Fenway Park. The Red Sox have an afternoon game, and Rhodes has a corporate box. I even hear Ben Affleck might throw out the opening pitch.”
“Well, I really wanted to discuss some projects that Rhodes Petroleum has in Boston.”
“We can do that at the game,” Christian insisted. “We lease a corporate box at the ballpark with a conference table in it. And if you ask something I don’t know, I can always look up the answer on my laptop.” He held up his briefcase and gave it a pat.
Ellen smiled. “A handsome movie star and a Red Sox game? Who could pass up such a great combination?”
“Great. But please, call me Chris.” He offered his arm and they left for the parking lot.
When they got outside, they found several doormen huddled around a shining BMW Z4 Roadster. Impressed, Ellen asked, “This is yours?”
He smiled.
*
Ellen didn’t learn much about Rhodes Petroleum at the game, but she had a blast with Chris. Boston won, and they left Fenway Park in a heated discussion.
“For my money,” he said, “Cy Young was the Red Sox’s best pitcher.”
“How can you say that?” she countered. “Especially when they had Smoky Joe Wood and Pedro Martinez?”
Waiting for traffic to clear at an intersection, he said, “I’m impressed. A gorgeous woman who knows about baseball.”
She gave him a demure smile. But when they got to Chris’s car, she wanted to get back to work. “We didn’t get much done in terms of Rhodes Petroleum, you know.”
“Well, I actually have an appointment,” he told her, tapping his watch. “But if you’d like, we can talk more tonight. Over dinner, perhaps?”
Ellen didn’t want to postpone working, but she did like the idea of dinner with Chris. They encountered heavy traffic on the interstate, and Chris had to inch his way along slowly. Traffic came to a complete stop in front of a huge billboard. It had a picture of Jesus leaving his tomb, and written in a fancy font was Discover the true meaning of Easter. Join us for the National Easter Sunrise Service in Boston. Televised Live! On the bottom in smaller lettering was The American Council of Conservative Christians.
“Boy,” Ellen said. “It looks like Easter is going to bring out the conservative faction.”
“Yeah, and traffic will be a mess, ’cause the world will be filled with crazies.”
She looked at Christian with surprise. That’s the phrase Daddy used.
Chapter Nineteen
A children’s Bible song comforted Zacchaeus, so he sa
ng it over and over. “Zacchaeus was a wee little man. A wee little man was he…”
The tune gave him a sense of place in the world, a sense of his responsibilities. He vowed not to worry about Eddie Delgado and Jamie Bradford. They would know what needed to be done and just had to wait until the time came.
Besides, he particularly liked today’s duties, away from Raamiah and his dirty tricks. Sitting on the edge of a whirlpool bathtub so large it almost occupied the entire room, he knew what to do. He was the Disciples’ manservant, and his only mission was to care for them. He set thick towels by the whirlpool’s edge. He rolled up his sleeve and dipped his wrist in the water to test its temperature. He adjusted the tub’s air streams so the bubbles wouldn’t be too intrusive. Today, the bath had to be just right because it was for Sharar, the head Disciple.
Zacchaeus worried that his affection for Sharar was sinful, that he liked him too much. Sharar was strong, handsome, and caring. Sharar only did bad things when the Lord’s work required it.
Footsteps sounded in the hall and he opened the door. It was Sharar, wearing a linen robe. Zacchaeus bowed and Sharar entered, dropping his robe on the floor as he walked to the bath.
Zacchaeus picked up the garment and closed the door. Keeping his eyes on the floor while Sharar stepped into the bathwater took all his resolve, but he still imagined the strong muscles of Sharar’s back, the hair on his firm legs and the softer hair on his buttocks.
Sharar splashed in the water and said, “Ah. The temperature is perfect.”
“Thank you, Disciple.” He kept his head down while addressing Sharar. Not out of fear or trepidation, but out of respect. Many of the faithful feared Sharar, but not Zacchaeus. Sharar wasn’t the enemy. He was a warrior for the Brethren.
Zacchaeus began to move back to the supply table, but Sharar stopped him. “I didn’t excuse you, did I?”
He froze. “No, sir.”
“I still have need of you, Zacchaeus. Come here.”
He returned to Sharar’s side with a cloth and soap in hand. Dipping the cloth into the warm water, he worked the soap into a lather and gently rubbed his Disciple’s back.
“Harder,” Sharar instructed. “Go deep into my muscles.”
He rubbed with all his might, but still Sharar requested he use more force.
“Maybe if you were in the water with me,” Sharar suggested.
Zacchaeus hesitated, not sure how to respond. He said softly, “But it wouldn’t be right, Disciple.”
“Then keep your clothes on, if you insist. But come next to me.”
He held his breath and did as Sharar commanded. He walked into the water fully clothed. Embarrassed by the way his linen clothing clung to his body, he kept a respectable distance. He tried not to think of Sharar, inches away, naked. He tried to think only of his duty. He rubbed Sharar’s back with even more force.
“You’re still not going deep enough,” Sharar said. “Perhaps if you came closer.”
He hesitantly nudged next to Sharar’s back. The intimacy excited him, and his body’s reaction embarrassed him. Sharar must have felt his hardness, his sin.
Yet Sharar said nothing.
Finally, his embarrassment was too much. He separated from Sharar and covered his loins with his hands. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“There’s nothing to feel sorry about,” Sharar said calmly, as if he were chatting about the weather. “Your reaction was natural, given to you by God. You shouldn’t be ashamed of what God gives you.”
Zacchaeus wanted to believe him, but couldn’t. Too many people had told him otherwise. “That’s not what Mordecai preaches.”
“And do you believe everything Mordecai says?”
“Of course I do.”
“That’s where you and I differ.” Sharar laughed and leaned back on Zacchaeus’s chest. “Sometimes a little sin can be a holy experience.”
Zacchaeus became frightened. His hands started shaking. “I don’t believe that.”
“Well, rest your head on my shoulder and tell me how it feels.”
Zacchaeus obeyed. He snuggled in closer and placed his cheek in the crook of Sharar’s neck. He shut his eyes and breathed in the scent of Sharar’s skin.
“So, how does it feel?” Sharar asked.
“It feels good.”
“See? I wouldn’t lie to you. You’re my little soldier.”
He was surprised at the comment. “I’m your soldier?”
“Didn’t I tell you? I want you to attend the field exercises, starting tonight. You’ll even go on our next mission.” Sharar stood, grasped Zacchaeus’s hands, and drew him to his feet. “And if everything goes well, you won’t be a manservant any longer. You’ll become a Disciple.”
“A thirteenth Disciple? Is that even allowed?”
“Why wouldn’t it be? I make the rules,” Sharar said. “Now, get me my towel.”
Zacchaeus scrambled out of the whirlpool and began drying his Disciple’s back. It felt natural attending to Sharar, the way God intended. But deep down he feared the feeling wouldn’t last long, and he trembled at what would happen at their next mission.
Chapter Twenty
Ellen sat at the bar of the fashionable restaurant L’Epicurean, reviewing more documents from the private investigator. She was anxious to start her investigation with Christian. He’d promised to meet her when his meetings ended.
He certainly keeps busy, she thought while writing down notes on her tablet. That’s probably why Daddy likes him so much. She wondered if her father would still like him if they were seeing each other on a personal level. She didn’t know. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to get involved with Christian anymore. He never seemed to be around when needed.
She looked around the fancy restaurant and another concern entered her mind. Even though this evening’s meeting would be on her father’s tab, Christian’s lifestyle seemed more upscale than his salary should allow. But I guess that’s none of my business.
Chris arrived, and she put aside her concerns. They shared some wine and cheese while their table was being prepared. “I’m disappointed,” she said. “I was hoping we’d be well into the investigation by this time, but we haven’t even begun.”
“Well, I’ll try my best to help,” Christian said. “But you need to be specific about what you’re investigating. You only say that you’re ‘searching for a connection’ or something equally vague.”
“I’m sorry.” His comment didn’t completely surprise her since she wasn’t sure what she was looking for. Perhaps she needed to start at the very beginning, in very general terms. No need to show her hand, at least not until she knew him better. “I’m hoping to find out if Rhodes Petroleum has any connection to a religious cult based in New York. It’s called the Brethren.”
She looked into Chris’s eyes and saw his pupils contract. Then he started coughing uncontrollably. She offered him a napkin and patted his back. Even the waiter came to their side, but he dismissed him with a wave of his hand.
He coughed a little more, and the emergency subsided. “Sorry,” he said, blinking and shaking his head little. “A piece of cheese went down the wrong way.”
She took another breath and started again. “I need to know if the Brethren might be involved with Daddy’s company. Even the smallest connection might be a clue.”
“The Brethren?” He shook his head and raised his eyebrows. “Can’t say that I recall ever hearing anything about them. But Rhodes Petroleum is pretty big, and I’m new.”
Ellen nodded, but she prodded him for more information. He finally said, “Since Rhodes Petroleum is a for-profit corporation, perhaps the connection you’re looking for is financial? A business deal of some kind?”
“I wondered about that, but according to the company’s accountants, the Brethren isn’t a vendor or a customer of Rhodes Petroleum. And the private investigator reports that the Brethren isn’t involved with oil, or even real estate. So what kind of relationship could they have?”
“Maybe it’s not a business relationship. Perhaps the connection involves philanthropy.”
It made sense. “Okay, what nonprofit organizations does the company support?”
“Well, your father covers his bases. He gives to liberal causes along with conservative ones.”
“I don’t understand,” she said. “Doesn’t Daddy have a mission statement that guides what kinds of donations he makes?”
“No. His only guideline is the potential for payback. But that’s why many companies donate money. They want to make sure that no matter who is in office, or what philosophical faction may be popular at the time, their company’s welfare will be safeguarded.”
“You don’t believe in sugarcoating things, do you, Chris?”
“Sorry, but in business every donation is self-serving in some way or another.”
“I don’t believe that.” When the waiter approched, saying their table was ready, Ellen stood up and grabbed her backpack. “Daddy’s gifts do good, too.”
“Of course they do. Philanthropy betters the course of mankind. But it also allows men like your father to make a buck.”
“Well, thank you for being honest.”
“That’s what I’m here for.” Chris offered his arm, and they walked to their table together.
Chapter Twenty-one
Jamie woke up with a beam of light shining in his eyes. Then it disappeared, leaving him blinded in the pitch-black dormitory. Then several pairs of hands grasped his limbs. They yanked him off the top bunk and he fell to the ground, crying out in pain. His attackers retaliated with kicks to his stomach.
Terrified, he fought back. He even screamed for help, but no one came. Only a couple of quivering chants in the distance. “Mordecai is great. Mordecai is good.”
The attackers—he couldn’t tell how many—bound him tightly with rope and dragged him through the rows of beds. They finally threw him into the dimly lit bathroom and tied him to a steel column. They left, only to return minutes later with someone else.
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