The Resurrection File Page 16
“He is a terrorist. Surely you do not share his penchant for blowing up American cities?” Mullburn asked.
“Most assuredly not,” the moderator responded. “But Allah has many who profess to serve him. Allah moves through his followers like a whirlwind. That wind, like a sandstorm, cannot be controlled. And sometimes people are destroyed by it.”
With that, the moderator gestured in parting, and as he returned to the conference, the thick library door closed with a heavy thud.
Mullburn collected his several assistants who were waiting in the lobby of the villa, and quickly motored out to the landing strip where his private jet was waiting. On the way he was briefed on how he was doing on the NASDAQ, on his holdings in the foreign markets, and on a new oil field that was being surveyed by his geologists.
“Did the monthly income reports arrive from our casinos yet?” Mullburn asked.
“Yes, Mr. Mullburn, and I think you will be pleased,” his aide said, passing him an e-mail report.
“Just make sure that I’ve got a few straw men listed as the new owners of those casinos,” Mullburn ordered. “We don’t want to offend our new friends on the Council of Islam—at least not yet.”
23
WILL CHAMBERS WAS SITTING IN HIS CORVETTE with the top down, wondering where Tiny Heftland was. There was no sound that evening except for the chorus of crickets out in the dark. An occasional passing car would momentarily flood the parking area outside the little country grocery store with light from its headlamps that would then sweep by quickly like a searchlight.
The general store, a small, square clapboard building with a turn-of-the-century false front and an ancient-looking gas pump out front, was closed. Will had been careful to follow Tiny’s directions to their rendezvous point. He had even arrived fifteen minutes ahead of schedule. Then his cell phone rang. It was the detective.
“Hey Will, did you find the spot?”
“Yeah, where are you?”
“Okay, so listen, good buddy, I’m really sorry to do this to you. Something came up on this other case I’m working on. I’ve got to get up to Philly earlier than I expected. So I’m really sorry I can’t meet you. I feel bad about this.”
Will bristled, and snapped back, “Tiny, I can’t believe this. You’re the one who insisted on me driving all the way up here to Maryland to meet you. This was your idea.”
“Hey, I know your time is money, counselor,” Tiny said, trying to smooth things over. “But look at it this way. The point was for you to get a firsthand look-see at Reichstad’s research center. So you can still do that. I faxed you directions to the place. It’s only about a mile-and-a-half away from where you are right now.”
Will quickly finished up the phone call with Tiny. Still annoyed, he started up his car and wheeled it onto the country highway. He took two more turns onto smaller and smaller roads until, out of the darkness, he saw the small, unassuming sign announcing the Center for Biblical Archaeo-Anthropology. The building off in the distance looked unremarkable. It was a two-story, beige-brick office building in the middle of a clearing. There was a large satellite dish on the roof and several imposing antennas, but no other buildings or houses within sight. The only unusual thing, however, was that, with the exception of a plate-glass window at the entrance, there were no other windows in the structure. Yet in all, Will could not understand Tiny’s insistence that he drive several hours just to look at it.
As Will started to drive away, he looked back at the building in his rear-view mirror. One more thing caught his attention. There was no fence around the property. If this building was as secret as Tiny had suspected, and as forbidding as MacCameron had painted it, why was there no visible security around it?
Within an hour Will was cruising on the interstate just outside of Baltimore. He started noticing signs for the city’s inner harbor. He glanced at his watch. It was 9:05. He remembered that Fiona’s concert had started at 8:00. If he took the exit for the harbor he could be down there in ten minutes.
Well, it really didn’t matter, he mused, because he had forgotten where he had put the stage pass that MacCameron had given him. Of course, he could always go in through the front gate and try to buy a ticket like everybody else. But why bother? Then something jogged his memory, and he punched the button on the glove compartment of the car. The door flopped open, and the stage pass for the concert was lying there on top of his collection of maps. Off in the distance, as the signs on the freeway indicated, the exit ramp for the harbor area was approaching.
Without any reason that he could articulate, Will took the exit and made his way downtown. He knew where the Pavilion was. In a matter of minutes he was parking half-a-block away, and walking quickly toward the concert hall. He banged on the stage-door entrance, still wondering why he was there. A man with a headset and a T-shirt that read “Fiona In Concert!” opened the door. Will showed him the pass, and the man gave him a wide smile and welcomed him in.
“You must be a friend of Fiona’s,” he said in a semi-whisper. “Her dad was supposed to meet you here but he was not feeling well, so he couldn’t make it.”
The stagehand showed Will to a seat off stage left, next to a black curtain that draped down from the catwalk above. He could see Fiona inviting a group of children onto the stage. In one corner there were musicians at a grand piano, an electric keyboard, and a synthesizer, and in the other corner there was a drummer, a guitarist, and a woman with a violin.
In the center of the stage Fiona was laughing, and kissing and hugging each of the little children as they squirmed and scampered up to join her.
“Oh my, I love children,” she said radiantly. “Aren’t these little ones the most precious blessings from the Lord?”
And with that her voice cracked a little, and she covered her mouth with her hand. She apologized for getting teary and laughed at herself, and soon the audience was laughing with her. Off-stage, mesmerized by Fiona, Will began to grin in spite of himself. Even amid the staged unreality of a huge concert hall and in the glare of the spotlights, Fiona seemed uncommonly authentic.
Fiona arranged the children into a small semicircle on the floor around her. As she did, her musicians moved quietly into a simple, soothing lullaby.
Fiona sat in the midst of the children and began to explain her next song.
“One day Jesus was approached by a group of boys and girls. I bet they looked just like you!” And with that she touched the noses of a few of the children, who giggled with delight.
“Well,” she continued, “the disciples of Jesus didn’t want these boys and girls to bother Jesus. I suppose they thought that he had very important business to take care of—and they thought that being with little children was not important. But Jesus corrected them. He told them to let the children come to Him. Jesus is the kind of Savior who loves to hug children, and surround them with love, and bless them with his big strong carpenter’s hands.”
The music swelled and Fiona started to sing in a voice that was sweet and light—
Let the children
come to Me—
My kingdom shall
forever be
Reflected in their
joyful faith
With beauty and
simplicity.
Fiona finished the little ballad and helped the children to the waiting arms of their parents as the concert hall thundered with applause. Then the house lights dimmed and a single spot shone on Fiona. Though quiet at first, the music started slowly to build.
When the two Marys
came to the tomb,
To anoint their dear Savior
who lay there,
They met, quite instead,
an angel who said
That a thing most amazing
had happened.
The small orchestra then cranked up to a charging beat, led by the synthesizer, as she sang,
HE HAS RISEN!
HE HAS RISEN!
He is not in the tomb
He is meeting you soon,
He has risen in power,
Conquered death in that hour,
HE HAS RISEN!
HE HAS RISEN!
HE HAS RISEN!
Some laser lights flashed across the stage at the finale and the crowd roared. But to Will, there was no sound, no audience—only Fiona. This dark-haired beauty who exuded joy and grace—she sang like an angel, yet had a down-to-earth sense of humor that seemed to spring not just from wit, but from generosity of soul.
Fiona ran off stage and gave a hug to the stage manager. He whispered something in her ear, and she stepped over to Will.
“Mr. Chambers, how wonderful of you to come.” She took both of his hands in her hands. “I heard that my dad is not feeling well. I think my friends have him on the phone. Will you excuse me just for a moment?”
Fiona stepped away and picked up the telephone on the soundboard desk and talked for a few minutes. She ended by saying, “Love you, Da. Get better. Tell Mum I love her.”
Then she turned to Will. “I had planned on going out with you and my father. Do you still want to go out? Have you eaten? I want to have you meet some friends of mine.”
Before Will could really respond, she was whisking him out the side door and into a waiting limo. They chatted politely while the car cruised down toward the Little Italy section of Baltimore and stopped in front of a place called “Luigi’s.” The sign said “Closed.”
The door of the restaurant swung open. A stocky man with dark hair combed in a high flattop, wearing a white apron, spread out his arms to greet them. He set them at a table by the window decked with a checkered tablecloth. The rest of the restaurant was empty. Will and Fiona were waited on personally by Luigi and his wife, Maria, a quiet, good-natured woman with gentle eyes and a gracious manner. They lit a candle on the table, and after they brought the food out Luigi and Maria joined them for dinner. Luigi folded his hands and said a short prayer, and then they all began a frenzy of dish-passing, eating, and conversation.
The four of them talked nonstop amidst the pasta, the meatballs, the thick aromatic sauces, the garlic bread, and the Neapolitan lasagna. Luigi and Maria talked about coming over from Sicily to Brooklyn as children, within a year of each other—about how their families had known each other back in Italy. They talked about their courtship—and their marriage—and their two little children. The little boy and girl were supposed to be asleep in the apartment above the restaurant, but they kept sneaking down the stairs and peeking around the corner at the foursome, and giggling until Luigi would chase them back up the stairs.
Will had the strangest sensation that he had known these people forever. Fiona would roar at Luigi’s stories with a belly laugh that was a peculiar and potent contrast to her classic beauty. But when she was not laughing, and her face was bathed in the golden glow of the candlelight, Will found himself struggling not to simply stare unabashedly at her. In the warm laughter of these wonderful people, and in the presence of this woman, Will was starting to feel—resurrected within—the powerful joy of being alive. It was a feeling he hadn’t experienced any time in recent memory. And it was a feeling he did not want to lose.
When the conversation slowed down it was late, and Luigi and Maria started collecting the dishes from the table. Luigi said he would call the limo driver to come pick them up. The two restaurateurs insisted on doing the dishes, and as they disappeared through the swinging doors that led to the kitchen Fiona and Will remained back at the table.
“So tell me frankly, how do you feel about my father’s case?” Fiona asked.
“It’s too early to tell,” Will responded.
Fiona laughed and said, “That’s a lawyer’s response.”
“I’m being as honest as I can. I’ll be in a much better position to say after the opposing attorney takes his deposition next week.”
“You know, my father speaks very highly of you.”
“Well, I’m flattered. But frankly, he hasn’t seen me in action on this case yet. Maybe he ought to reserve judgment,” Will noted.
“He is a very good judge of people. I believe that the Lord has given him a real gift of discernment. I have to confess that I originally had some doubts about you.”
Will was taken aback. He struggled a bit, and after a few seconds he said, “What kind of doubts?”
“My business manager had investigated you and recommended to Dad that he not hire you.”
“Oh?”
“He had some concerns about your personal life. Personal problems that might affect your ability to represent my father.”
“Like what?”
“Well, Mr. Chambers…”
“Please. Call me Will.”
“All right—Will. I was told that your wife had died and that you took it very hard. That you were a heavy drinker, but you were getting the problem under control. You know, my heart breaks for you. To lose your wife has got to be so hard.”
“Yeah, it’s been hard.”
“If I may ask, how did she die?”
Fiona had just moved into an area that Will was rarely willing to discuss. But tonight he was feeling different about life. So he answered her. He took a breath before he spoke quietly.
“She was murdered.”
Fiona didn’t speak at first. She brought her hand up to her face and closed her eyes. When she opened them Will could see tears.
“Dear Father,” she said, fighting back the tears. “How awful for her—and for you.”
Suddenly Will was conscious of a wall of emotion rising up, like a freak tidal wave that had appeared out of nowhere. It was threatening to engulf him. He struggled for control and said nothing for a while, but stared at the candle that was burning low. Finally he managed a question.
“You said that you had your own doubts about me. What were they?”
“Oh, I don’t think that’s important anymore. If my father’s happy with you then I’m happy with you.”
“No, that’s not fair. I disclosed something personal to you,” Will said. “Now it’s your turn. What doubts?”
“Well,” Fiona said, “in addition to the problems with alcohol, I just could not understand how an attorney who used to work for the ACLU could possibly represent someone like my father.”
“You mean, how could a liberal like me represent a Christian fundamentalist?”
“I’m suspicious of that word when non-Christians use it,” Fiona said firmly. “The media loves to use that term ‘fundamentalist’ to paint people—particularly Bible-believing Christians—as lunatics or fanatics.”
“I don’t think your father is a lunatic. He’s unique, that’s for sure. But he’s no lunatic,” Will said with a reassuring smile. “Besides, what makes you assume that I am a ‘non-Christian’?”
“Well,” Fiona replied gingerly, “you have a point there, Mr. Attorney. So, are you a Christian?”
“I have nothing against Jesus. I think he had a lot of great ideas. But when it comes to the big question about God, I’m probably more of an agnostic.”
Fiona wrinkled her brow slightly and leaned toward him with her arms folded in front of her. “Everything I’ve heard about you is that you are a man who is not afraid of taking an unpopular stand—even against all of the odds—as long as it is something you can believe in. But here is the most important issue of all—the question of whether God exists and whether he loves you and wants to save you—and on that issue, here you are, sitting on the fence.”
“Some questions just don’t have easy answers,” Will retorted.
“And sometimes the answers are right there in front of you. All you have to do is open your heart.”
“I don’t know what that means—‘open your heart,’” Will countered. “Religious lingo like that really turns me off.” For an instant Will regretted coming back at Fiona so aggressively.
“It turns you off?” Fiona shot back. “I thought you were in the business of pursuing the truth.”
/> “I never said I wasn’t.”
“So if it’s truth you want—then who cares whether it turns you on, turns you off, or turns you upside down,” Fiona said, pursuing the issue. “Truth is truth.”
“Okay,” Will replied, but before he could make his point, Fiona pushed on.
“And just for the record, Mr. Trial Lawyer, if you dare to confront the real truth about God, he will turn you upside down. Which is a good thing, not a bad thing. So, the question is—are you willing to face the truth? Are you willing to have God turn your life around?”
Will smiled as he saw Fiona pressing in. She seemed to have a unique power of combining tenderness with a will as tough as an oak board. He paused for a minute and stared thoughtfully at the candle.
“Now that I’ve endured your cross-examination, it’s my turn,” Will started again. “Tell me, do you spend a lot of time on the road?”
“Yes, I do,” Fiona said, “at least lately.”
“For the record, I think you are a beautiful performer,” Will said, and then realized that it had not come out the way he wanted it to. “I mean, you sing beautifully.”
Fiona laughed and blushed a little, and then nodded in thanks.
“So, you must have a lot of dates with lots of men around the country,” Will said somewhat indelicately.
Fiona hesitated for a moment. “No, I find my life very busy doing what the Lord has called me to do. I have a lot of friends who I love very much. And to answer your real question, I am single—as in not married. I am single by choice. I believe that God may have called me to singleness. And if that is the way I can best serve him, then I am happy with that.”
The front door to the restaurant swung open and the limo driver appeared. Fiona and Will gave their goodbyes to their hosts. As they walked outside they could feel the wind picking up. While the limo took them back to the Pavilion the two of them made small talk. They could now hear the sounds of distant thunder. When the car arrived at the spot where Will had parked his Corvette, he climbed out.