by Jim Magwood
make things better. Should you not? Do you just let the evil, in this case, keep on rolling over everyone? Do you just stand back and let it happen?”
“Mr. Baxter, I could quote you some verses from the Scriptures that speak to this subject, but let me put it this way.
What is it you want? And then, how can you go about making those things happen? Also, do you want to go about making things happen legally, even though you might not get too far, or do you want to add to the problems taking place by going after things around the laws? You can do either, and while I might give you some reasoning from my viewpoint, you still have to make up your own mind. I can tell you what’s right or wrong according to the Bible, which is where I stand, but you can get many other people—even religious people—to give you answers from their own views that sound just as good, or bad. But, the real answer is still, what do you want? What are you looking for?”
“You said you had some Bible verses?”
“Sure. Let’s see… One is from the book of Romans in the New Testament, chapter 12 and starting at verse 17. It says, Repay no one evil for evil. Have regard for good things in the sight of all men. If it is possible, as much as depends on you, live peaceably with all men. Beloved, do not avenge yourselves, but rather give place to wrath; for it is written,
"Vengeance is Mine, I will repay," says the Lord. And that verse, the vengeance is mine verse, comes from the Old Testament, Deuteronomy 32, verse 35. That verse, or its general concept, is repeated a number of times and basically means that God will take care of avenging the wrongs of the world in His time, in His way, and we should keep away from usurping His plans.”
“So your God will do it. When He’s good and ready—and we’ve all been boiled in the oil waiting. Is that it? Okay, I can accept that you would decide along those lines, Reverend, but what about the real people out there who are having to fight this stuff every day of their lives? How long are they supposed to wait for everything to get peaceful again? And what are they supposed to do about keeping their families safe in the meantime—while some of us sit in nice offices and wait for God to be ready?”
“I understand what you’re saying, Mr. Baxter, and I really do sympathize with the situation the world is in. But let me ask you another question. If you were seriously overweight, would a doctor tell you to lose the weight in a couple of weeks? Or would he say that it’s going to take you almost as long to get the weight off as it did for you to put it on? If you lost a pound a week, it would still take one hundred weeks to lose one hundred pounds.
“How long has it taken for the world condition to get to where it is today? Maybe hundreds of years, or thousands, gradually? And how long have the people, in general, been ignoring the problems and even voting in ways that allow the problems to remain? How many times have they voted the same immoral, irresponsible officials back into office? The same way as dieting, how long do you think it will take to reverse the trends they have let get installed and get the problems removed? It will be another year or two or five before they get the chance to vote that person out of office. But, when the time gets here, will they even then do the right thing and vote him out, or will they just continue to ignore everything?
“It’s the only way, Mr. Baxter. Unless you, or the people, want to resort to doing the same things the evil ones are doing.
Fighting evil with evil. But, will that make the evil go away, or will it just bring about another form of it? What we decide to do with our lives, Mr. Baxter, is the way life will be. It may not be what God wants for us, and it may not really be what we want, but it’s what we allow to happen.
“Ayn Rand wrote, in her book, Atlas Shrugged, that evil is made possible in the world because of what we allow to take place. We sanction it; we allow it; we give in to it. It wins when we let it win.”
Henry sat silently, feeling as though he was a schoolchild being lectured in class. In his heart and deep in his mind, he knew these things. But, he didn’t know what to do with them, how to handle the answers he already knew. And, he knew he was too close to it all. I’ve jumped into the snake pit and am just hoping they won’t bite, he thought. And now, can I even climb back out of the pit?
CHAPTER 61
“I got your call, Mr. Baxter. How can I help you?”
Randall Johns sounded tired. There was a hollowness to his voice that Henry hadn’t heard before. He’s always been so up, and positive. Where’s this coming from? he wondered.
Henry jumped right in. “I have a suggestion. Why don’t you appoint some individuals around the world to continue your work, to spread it further? If you and a few friends can do what you’ve shown you can do, think what a group of a few hundred could do to bring some sanity back to the world.”
Johns was silent for so long that Henry asked, “Are you there?”
“Yes, I am.” Another long pause. “Why are you suggesting this, Mr. Baxter? You’ve been behind the scenes until now? What do you have in mind?”
“I’m beginning to see what could be done if our, or your, group expanded, that’s all. You’ve implied that you’re just a fairly small group of friends. If you expanded to have several, maybe even several hundred, operatives, think how much more you could do. We could likely put this planet back on a solid footing.”
“We, Mr. Baxter? Are you including yourself in this venture now?”
Henry thought for a moment, then replied, “Yes, maybe I am. No, I—I—don’t know. But, maybe I am. Would that be acceptable?”
“And what would you do, and the others, when the heat was turned up, Mr. Baxter? What about when the authorities were knocking on your doors? What then?”
“I don’t know what you mean, what then? I’m sure you could find many people who would stay in the action until the very last minutes. There are many who would have the strength to keep on working.”
“And you, Mr. Baxter? How much would you contribute?
How long would you stay in the fire?”
“I haven’t really thought it all out yet, but if I joined, you would be able to count on me. I would have time around my work here to help.”
Randall Johns was silent again for a long time.
“Mr. Baxter, when you join an organization with a cause, a deep, perhaps complex, purpose, you don’t just jump in and then jump back out. You do a careful study and you analyze what it is you’re considering. You analyze what the group is doing, or planning. Then you make a decision, a careful decision, before you commit. You make sure you understand all the rules and goals. And you count the cost, Mr. Baxter, you carefully count the cost. Because once you get in, you should not be trying to get out. You commit. Do you understand that word, Mr. Baxter? You commit your everything.
“You will find there are rules or laws or societal codes and regulations that are going to stand in your way, that will prevent you from getting to your goals. And you must accept that you are going to have to step outside the bounds of what might be called normal, or legal, or right. You may have to break those laws and rules in order to achieve what you have planned. But, if you are truly committed, completely dedicated, you will keep your mind focused on your goals and will cross those lines in the sand. You may have to give a little, bend at times, and even back up, but you will keep moving forward. Because the goals you have set are worth too much to ever stop, to ever give up.
“You may begin to doubt. You may be scourged and beaten. You may die for your actions. But, the cause, the goals, the reasons you started are still there and will drive you until you win—or die. You try and try, because some goals are so worthy that it’s impossible to not try. You fall, or are beaten down, over and over, but you keep getting back up. If you have committed.
“Have you committed, Mr. Baxter?”
Henry was silent.
“I need to tell you something that has just come up, Mr.
Baxter. We have made the decision to discontinue our actions immediately. There are three events that have been in the planni
ng for a long time and they will be completed, but there will be no more events planned and we will not be heard from again after these three are completed.”
The shock in his voice was evident as Henry asked,
“Why? I thought things were going so well. You said you would be staying in. Why?”
“Several reasons, Mr. Baxter. First, we are tired. It is not easy planning and conducting these types of events. And the various authorities are turning up the heat against what we are doing. But second, and more importantly, what we committed to making happen, a groundswell has begun with citizens around the world beginning to take action on their own. We hope and believe this will continue, and will grow as each event develops on its own and is shown to be successful. People will see they can do this, and will step out to be involved.
“And, lastly, it has become apparent that our continued participation will keep the people from rising up on their own.
Granted, they may be taking up the banner now on their own, but we—our group—want to step back and let the people do what they should have been doing all along. It is time to give the reins back to those who will now continue, hopefully, to get the job done.”
“But, what if they won’t? Or if they fail? What if they can’t keep the momentum going and—and—and have to stop?” There was a sound of panic in Henry’s voice, almost a crying out of fear.
“Then, they will fail and be back where they were.”
“You—you—would just leave them?”
“We have enabled them to begin, Mr. Baxter. We have given them sight, a vision, a glimpse of what can be. Now, the people of the world need to show that this is what they want.
They need to commit, Mr. Baxter. They need to pick up their swords and march into the battle. Does that maybe sound too pious? Then we could say it this way: The people have seen what can be if they will turn around, repent, if you will, and work for what they want. If they will not, then they will reap what they sow—or won’t sow. Or, perhaps, someone else will reap what has already been sown. I believe that concept is in your Bible also, is it not?”
“But…”
“Goodbye, Mr. Baxter. You will receive the packets for the next three events, but you will not hear from me again. We do wish you the very best as you decide the direction you will take from here.
“And Mr. Baxter, I, personally, hope you will pick up that sword and continue the battle.”
CHAPTER 62
Parker Kent heard them coming from a dozen blocks away. The sound was a low rumble and he thought he could feel the floor of the store actually vibrating. At first he wondered what the sound was. Not a real earth tremor. Not a sound of screaming or shouting, or high flying jets, or heavy vehicles. Just a rumbling, a vibration. And it pushed in front of it a feeling of fear, almost a voodoo feeling of something in the air that was frightening. But what…
He turned off the radio, and the silence, but for the rumbling, was deafening. He was alone in the store. But the sound continued. And the feeling of fear became almost tangible. He felt a bead of sweat run down his back, an icy chill, and he thought, “This is ridiculous.” But it was there—the feeling, the apprehension. Something…
Then he heard a distinct sound from within the overall sound that he identified for just a moment. One voice raised in a high pitched tremor—a quivering. And suddenly he knew.
They were coming. It wasn’t a rumbling of machinery or the earth shaking. It was voices—low, rumbling, growling, hoarse, menacing—and the pounding of many feet. They were coming.
He had lived in Kenya most of his life and remembered as a child hearing stories of the screaming, frenzied, insanely an-gry voices as the Mau Mau mobs tore things apart—stores, homes, people. Those voices had been savage and barbarous.
There had been no leadership—just mobs that had had enough and were uncontrollably taking out vengeance. This sound was bringing those stories back.
Over the past two months, there had been a dozen incidences of violence against businesses, a few churches, one clinic. There were some leaders in those groups, instigators—
and the people had been ready to join. Someone had begun pointing out the businesses that were taking major advantage of the people, and the people had come up quietly, but viciously, in arms.
There had been some who had tried to stand against the mobs, but it was like trying to hold back a tidal wave. They had simply been crushed under the hundreds of feet and left behind to rot in the sun. Some buildings had been physically torn down piece by piece, hands passing tools to the front and then passing pieces of the buildings to the back. After the fourth incident, the people in the businesses knew well enough to just get out the back way and run.
And that’s what Parker did. He cleaned out what money was in the till, grabbed his shotgun and pistol and a sack of food that was already stashed, and went out the back door. His Range Rover was there with a full tank of gas and packed tightly with canned goods and clothes. He would get back to the house, empty the safe and get as much more into the Rover as he could and be gone.
As the rumble got louder and he could hear the cadence of feet approaching, he turned on the engine and quietly turned up the alley—then stopped as the first bodies turned the corner ahead into the same alley. He started to throw the vehicle into reverse, looked in the rear view mirror, and stopped. More people coming in the other end of the alley. Slowly, just walking, pressing on toward where he sat, the sound of feet pounding and voices rumbling—the deep, ghostly reverbera-tion now becoming like the pounding of a terrible thunder-storm moving over the veldt.
Parker Kent slowly turned off the engine of the beautiful Range Rover and laid his head down on the wheel—and waited.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
In a freezing third floor room in Wiesbaden, the mob was pitched to a frenzy. The meeting had gone on for more than two hours already, and the two speakers had been literally screaming at the crowd for most of that time. The message couldn’t even be heard now for the pounding and shouting of the crowd. The beer kegs had been emptied and were now being thrown around the room like pillows in a dormitory pillow fight. One woman lay at the edge of the crowd, pushed over to the wall after a keg had landed directly on her. Two small children huddled by her. No medical care had been called and the woman was still bleeding.
Two men who had been shoved into each other by the crowd had fought for several minutes until one had been pushed through the window and still sprawled out on the roof edge. No one noticed he was gone.
The main concern of the group had started out to be the factory on the edge of the city that was reputed to be cutting back wages and jobs while pocketing obscene profits. The speakers for the meeting had produced proof that Mr. Ayalon, the owner, was sending all the profits back to Israel instead of paying higher wages here, and they had encouraged the group to solve the situation by striking the factory. That had quickly evolved into marching on it instead of just striking, and all kinds of plans had quickly formulated. The group was now at a fever pitch, being stoked higher and higher after each keg of beer and the many private bottles were emptied.
While there had been caution and concern in the beginning of the meeting over the rights of the workers to strike, the speakers kept fueling the fires with tales of other workers around the world who were taking care of their problems on their own. The vigilante groups had been mentioned more than once, and the argument of “taking care of it ourselves” was now being screamed back and forth across the group.
As the meeting evolved into a screaming match, most of the women and several of the more cautious men had tried to quietly sneak out and away from the fearful gathering. Some had been seen leaving and had been caught and stomped into silence and continued to lie in corners or where they had been tossed into other rooms.
Somehow, a spark ignited the group and all sanity was lost. The shouting and screaming became deafening and the crowd began to surge toward the exit. Shouts of mayhem and vengeance rolled fr
om dozens of voices and the mob was ready for the factory. Mr. Ayalon’s name was being screamed out along with what would be done when he was found.
As the first few got through the door out of the room, the doors to the stairs that opened inward stopped them and the mob piled up behind them. Within just a moment, there were hundreds of bodies pressing tighter and tighter and the screams of rage started turning to screams of pain and fear. In just another few seconds, the crowd pushed those at the front through the doors and bodies began falling down the stairs, landing at the bottom and immediately being crushed by more bodies falling on them and then packing on top of each other back up the stairwell.
Before it was over, twenty-eight had been killed in the crush and sixty more were hospitalized.
Mr. Ayalon and the factory survived another night. Ayalon heard about the riot late that night and was seen quietly driving out of the city in the early morning hours in a battered little Opel. All his “riches” were packed into a single handbag and amounted to two suits and a pair of shoes, the financial ledgers from the factory, a photo of his wife who had not survived Buchenwald, a checkbook with a balance of $3,621.42