by Davis Bunn
“Thank you.”
“I should have asked. But I wasn’t thinking clearly, and I—”
“You did right.”
“Anyway, I’m sorry.”
Only then did Trent realize she was not speaking about his case at all, that her words were for the benefit of the execs clustered in the waiting area. “Gayle, it’s fine. Really.”
“You’re sure?”
He smiled and lowered his voice, filled with an exquisite realization that they had just survived their first fight. “Absolutely. And thanks for saying this.”
She let down her guard long enough to reveal her other side, the open longing, the from-the-heart smile. “You were right and I was wrong.”
“Actually …” Trent went silent as the phone on her desk pinged, the special sound he had come to know as signifying a summons from the inner sanctum. He watched her cross the office and speak too softly to be overheard. All the execs at the room’s far end watched, hoping their chance had finally arrived.
Instead, Gayle put down the phone, looked at Trent, and announced clearly, “Mr. Mundrose will see you now.”
The strange combination of numbness and secret rage continued to hold Trent as he entered Barry Mundrose’s office. The CEO of the Mundrose Empire was seated behind his desk, idly playing with a silver pen as he spoke in undertones with his daughter. As before, Edlyn Mundrose leaned on the ledge by the rear window. Barry greeted Trent with, “Dermott tells me you think you failed.”
“I don’t know what else to call it,” he answered, standing before the enormous desk. “Nothing I threw at them left a mark.”
Father and daughter exchanged a long look. Edlyn said, “You don’t know, you can’t imagine, how refreshing it is not to have the guy in your seat try to gloss over a failure.”
“I don’t gain anything by hiding the truth. They’ve bested me at every turn.”
“Bested us, you mean.” Barry said to Edlyn, “Take a seat, why don’t you. Both of you,” he added, turning back to Trent.
Edlyn left her perch and walked around to seat herself next to Trent. “On one level, maybe.”
“I don’t follow.”
“You’ve learned a valuable lesson here,” Barry said.
“A lot of them.”
“One of special importance. One we’ve known for years. One we aren’t ever to discuss beyond these walls.”
Father and daughter waited together, Edlyn swiveling in her chair to face Trent. Their measuring gazes probed deeply. Challenging him to deliver the words they looked for.
A manic glee rose from deep inside, carrying the force of a tsunami wave. He’d never felt anything like this before. Speaking aloud what he had carried with him for years. “The church is our enemy.”
Father and daughter had never looked more alike than now, when they smiled. Tight and swift and filled with the same secret anger Trent felt in his gut. “We’d say God is the enemy, except he doesn’t exist,” Edlyn said.
Barry said, “You understand why we can’t speak about this openly.”
“It’s not about the church,” Trent said. “It’s about the audience.”
“We remain astonished by how gullible people are,” Edlyn said. “All this religion garbage should have been left to the Dark Ages.”
Because it was a rare moment of divulging secrets, Trent confided, “I was raised in a church family. I still bear the scars.”
“Then you know.” Barry had gone back to playing with his silver pen. “Our goal is to demolish their power, one brick at a time. So we lost this one battle. The war goes on. We know it, and so do they.”
Edlyn added, “Sometimes the best thing we can do is force people to choose sides. So the church is against us. So what? It doesn’t matter, when we have this mob of others who flock to our banner.”
Trent looked from one to the other. “What about the lost sponsors?”
“Temporary,” Barry said.
“We’ve already filled the slots with others who are only too happy to go after the younger audience,” Edlyn said.
“The Millennials are firmly in our camp. That is a victory in and of itself,” Barry said.
“Anytime we can guarantee a young audience, we can charge whatever we want for adverts,” Edlyn agreed. “We’ll clean up.”
Barry flicked his pen like a wand, moving on. “We have a new project. Very delicate. We want you to handle this.”
But Trent wasn’t done. “I want one more go.”
It caught both father and daughter by surprise. “You weren’t listening,” Edlyn said. “Your campaign has delivered the audience.”
“It’s not enough,” Trent said, looking first at Edlyn, then Barry.
“Revenge doesn’t work unless it has a positive impact on the bottom line,” Barry cautioned.
But Trent had the bit between his teeth. He punched his way through a thirty-second pitch. And waited.
Father and daughter exchanged a long look. Then Barry said, “I like it. A lot.”
“It’s risky,” Edlyn said, then allowed, “but the upside could be huge.”
“Another sweep of advertisers,” Barry agreed. “Either they are with us, or they’re clinging to the myths of history.”
“If we succeed, we could crush the opposition,” Trent reminded them.
Father and daughter smiled once more. Edlyn said, “I have just the hammer for you.”
34
“… renew a steadfast spirit …”
WESTCHESTER COUNTY, MANHATTAN, and AUSTIN, TEXAS
They gathered in Ruth’s bedroom because she had requested it. The invitation from the Mundrose Group had arrived an hour earlier. Ruth lay on her divan and listened as they discussed the request for John to appear on the nation’s most-watched news talk show. Craig Davenport was with them via telephone. He declared, “This is a terrible idea.”
The group exchanged glances. And they waited. John could see they wanted him to respond. He was not accustomed to opposing a well-known pastor, but in this case he had no choice. “I’m not sure I agree.”
“You have no idea, you can’t begin to imagine, what they’ll have in store.” He spoke forcefully enough to rattle the speaker. “Who do they have on anchor?”
Kevin replied, “Katherine Bonner.”
“Who happens to be the most aggressively anti-Christian commentator in cable news,” the pastor said. “It just keeps getting worse. Look, I’ve been down this road. You haven’t. Let me tell you, they may claim the discussion will be unbiased. They may promise you the moon. But all that flies out the window the instant the lights come on.”
Ruth lay beneath a beautifully hand-sewn quilt, staring out the tall windows into the surrounding sunlight and green. Heather was seated on John’s other side, nestling his hand in her lap. Across from them, Jenny Linn was seated between her father and Kevin. Craig was saying, “These cable news programs have an agenda, and their audience matches them, believe you me. Who are his other guests, did they tell you that much?”
Kevin replied, “They gave me just one name. Reverend Radley Albright.”
The Austin pastor’s voice grew even more strained. “Okay, first of all, the man is not a reverend. He was. Before. But he turned away from his faith. It happens. He now teaches philosophy at NYU.”
Jenny confirmed, “He’s published two national bestsellers on how God does not fit into the national equation.”
“They’re waving a red flag in front your face,” Craig warned. “Challenging you to come out and fight.”
“You’re probably right,” John said. “But I’m still not sure—”
“You still don’t get it. Ruth, talk sense to the man.”
She replied softly, “I have complete confidence in his judgment.”
Time and again John’s mind returned to the dream of several nights back. How he had seen himself living a different world. One unsullied by his mistakes. He understood the message. It was what gave him the strength to be here in th
is place, preparing for a leadership role he had never imagined. God was taking the old life and making it new. For his divine purpose. Nothing else should matter. Not even the enormous misgivings he felt over being used in such a manner.
Craig sighed and declared, “This is nuts.”
To their surprise, it was Richard’s normally quiet wife who spoke. “Please excuse me for disagreeing, sir. But John is right in this situation.”
The quiet voice, the slight accent, the unexpected comment all gave additional power to her words.
Richard said, “My wife is correct in what she says.”
“Friends, please, you don’t—”
Jenny said, “What if God intends to use this?”
Craig was silent for a moment, then, “The risks are huge. Especially now. This thing is building fast. We haven’t seen anything like this in years.”
“It’s true,” Richard agreed. “There has been a tidal wave of support.”
Jenny added, “The center is overwhelmed.”
Alisha said, “I heard from my pastor’s wife this morning. Our church has become a prayer center for the whole region.”
“This is true pretty much everywhere,” Heather offered. “Churches from as far away as Australia have picked up on what is happening; they want to know how they can help.”
Kevin agreed. “Our staff is overwhelmed with responses by email, phone, Twitter accounts—”
“You see?” Craig Davenport almost pleaded. “You really want to risk slowing this down? Even stopping a move of God? And that is what indeed could happen. What will happen, unless …”
Jenny finished for him, “Unless there’s a miracle.”
John could tell that Ruth was tiring. “We’ll pray about this and get back to you, Pastor. Thank you for your insight. And please continue praying with us and for us.” He cut the connection, then asked the group, “Anybody?”
Richard asked, “Is it all right if I say something?”
Jenny replied, “Of course, Daddy.”
“I feel we need to do this.”
John looked at the lady on the divan. “Ruth, what do you say?”
Ruth replied quietly, “We’re surrounded by miracles. God’s hand is on us. And this.”
Richard said, “I remember something I often thought of while Jenny was growing up, but somehow managed to forget. That this must be how God feels about each of us, his most precious creations. And how here, in this feeling, I have found my greatest moments of hope. For the future, and for the moment.”
John looked at the young man holding Jenny’s other hand and said, “Call the network. Tell them I’ll be their guest tonight.”
John stood in front of the main house and watched them load up for the trip to Manhattan. Two old vans so dusty the Barrett Ministry logos were almost impossible to read. John watched his wife set a case in the rear, and it hit him just how absurd the whole deal was. A convicted felon wearing a borrowed suit was going up against the might of the greatest entertainment empire the world had ever seen. His support group was a motley assortment of people drawn from every walk of life, every race, every culture.
Heather chose that moment to walk over. She smiled as she held out the phone. “It’s your nephew.”
John hesitated. “Now isn’t a good time.”
“You need to hear this.”
He took the phone, turned his back to the others, and said, his voice low, “What is it, Danny?”
“Uncle John, I know it’s probably a bad time. But I had to call. I worked the early shift today, and I got home, and I’ve got a few hours before I head out to the evening service—a church about three blocks from here.”
John felt the tension ease from his shoulders. “I’m glad, Danny. Really glad.”
“I’ve been reading my Bible. And I found something. It rocked my world. Can I read it to you?”
“Sure, Danny. Of course.”
“It’s in—let’s see—it’s a Psalm numbered 51. I wrote it down. I’m gonna pin it on my wall. I put verse 17 first, then 10 and 12. ‘My sacrifice, O God, is a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart you, God, will not despise. Create in me a pure heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me. Restore to me the joy of your salvation and grant me a willing spirit, to sustain me.’”
The air seemed to tremble, as if the power John felt was taking shape in the meadow and the sunlight around him. “Those are powerful words, son.”
“What I wanted to say is, thank you. I came out of that prison a broken man. You gave me the gift of hope.”
The word seemed to take form and shimmer in the air before him. Hope.
When he didn’t speak, Danny went on. “I’d forgotten what it means to have that. I have so much to thank you for. Meeting me at the prison gates. Getting me this job. The money. The handshake and the words. But right now, all I can say is, thank you for the hope, Uncle John.”
John nodded. I get it—thank you, he silently said to God. “Danny, will you do something for me?”
“Anything, Uncle John.”
“Heather and I, we’re involved in something here. This—well, this venture, it’s … I don’t know exactly how to describe it, except that it’s big and growing bigger. I’d really appreciate it if you’d pray for us.”
“I’ll do that, Uncle John.” The young man’s voice cracked. “Thanks for asking me. Night and day I’ll be praying.”
The entire drive into Manhattan, John kept waiting for the fear, the dread, to assault him again. Instead, he remained unattached. They were seven in the first van. Richard drove with the same steady smoothness John suspected he applied to everything he did. John asked the group, “Any advice on what I should I say?”
“As little as possible,” Kevin replied. “Accept the fact you will not have the upper hand. Whatever you say will be twisted and thrown back in your face.”
He shrugged. “I’ve pretty much lived with that all my life.”
“But not in the public eye.” Kevin’s face was creased in a visual apology. “They will want to shame you.”
John surprised himself at how easy it was to smile. “That’s all probably true, Kevin. But you know what? This is the first time in years I’m not ashamed.”
Once across the bridge, traffic slowed to stop-and-go the closer they drew to Times Square. John could see Jenny’s forehead crease in concentration. “You have something on your mind?”
“I do, yes. I agree with Kevin, and what he has said is the same as what we heard from Reverend Davenport. On the surface of things, we are headed for failure. But this has been true since the beginning of all these encounters.”
Alisha harrumphed a chuckle. “And look how God has turned that one on its head.”
“Exactly. I feel this is what we need to prepare for here as well,” Jenny went on. “What if God moves in this place? That is the question we need to hold before our minds and hearts. That is why we did not follow Reverend Davenport’s urging. On the surface he was absolutely right. We are risking a great deal here.”
Richard said, “A very important point. Even if it did come from my daughter.” He smiled at her through the rearview mirror.
John realized what this was leading to. “You have something you want me to say.”
“If it is what I want, then it’s all wrong.”
“No, no, that’s not the way to look at this. Look, we’re a team. Why shouldn’t the Spirit use you to deliver the words?”
“Because you’re the spokesman.”
“But you’ve already been helping shape what needs saying, right?”
“After we left Ruth, something came to me. It’s very rough, but it’s all I had time for.”
He held out his hand. “May I see?”
She hesitated so long, Richard said, “Daughter, John is right. Show him.”
She drew a folded sheet from her purse, handed it over.
John unfolded the pages and read. Breathed in and out, slowly. Read them again.
“It’s better than that,” John replied. “It’s inspired.”
Aaron chose that moment to announce from the backseat, “There is something I wish to say.”
Jason Swain sat in his cubicle, one of many in the large room, and pretended to work. Like all the senior programmers of the Austin-based electronic game company, “senior” had nothing to do with age since he was barely twenty. His office walls were only high enough to mask his computer screens from view. The intent was to offer privacy so long as he remained seated. If he wanted to connect with anyone else, all he had to do was stand.
The space was far removed from the office complex where the suits hung out. For one thing, the ceiling here was almost thirty feet overhead. For another, the programmers could decorate their space any way they liked. The young woman directly opposite Jason had a thing for giraffes. Her cubicle held twenty-four of the beasts, the tallest almost nine feet high and grinning down on Jason every time he lifted his head.
The tall, western-facing windows were veiled by diaphanous blinds that automatically descended as the sun began tracking toward the day’s end. Beyond the lawns sparkled their very own lake. The programmers had a score of paddleboats they liked to take out at sunset for high jinks and impromptu races. In the far corner was a space the size of ten cubicles that the programmers called the playpen, filled with games and bouncing toys and a pair of unicycles.
When Jason had first entered the chamber, he had thought he never wanted to leave. Today, however, he pulled up the clock on his computer and wished he could just wind forward to the moment he walked out, maybe for good.
His work area held four oversized LED screens, standard for programmers. Two held the code he was supposed to be working on. A third showed the storyboard and script governing the game. A fourth revealed the characters running the various options available to the gamer. As the gamer made choices, the various avenues would either open or close. Jason’s current task was to make the action flow smoothly. But right now the figures on his screens were frozen in place. Three ghouls gnashed their teeth at him, holding clubs and swords and other weapons over their heads. Waiting for him to get back to work.