The Illuminati (22 page)
In the melee, Cal Rutland picked up the notes Hunt had brought with him. They had fallen to the floor when the president fell, pulling the podium over with him. Swiftly he exchanged the notes from his pocket with those on the floor, sticking the president's notes in his coat pocket.
In the meantime, several secret service men had made their way to the president. Pressing his fingers against the president's neck, one of them said, “He's dead. There's no pulse.”
“Quick, call the emergency team!” one of his associates called out to the others in the room. “Begin CPR,” he commanded the agent kneeling over the president.
“It won't do any good,” the man said as he loosened the president's shirt collar. “Look!”
He was pointing to a small dart sticking in the president's neck.
“He's been shot with a poisoned dart,” the agent exclaimed as his eyes settled on the downed assassin.
The room was clearing quickly as the reporters and news people were brought under control. Several of the seasoned war correspondents had stayed at their positions, cameras running to record the events. The entire nation was treated to the scene of the most popular president in history being assassinated on live television.
One of the reporters snatched up the papers it appeared the president had been carrying. As he began reading them, he suddenly shouted, “Hunt had proof that the Constitutional Rights Committee was planning mass assassinations! He was going to declare martial law!”
Suddenly the fear that had gripped the media evaporated and they rushed back to see the notes for themselves. The reporter who had first picked up the papers suddenly realized he had a bonanza of news information in his hands and attempted to confiscate them for his network's use. Instead he was confronted by the imposing figure of Cal Rutland, who simply reached out and took the papers while two secret service men held the shocked reporter's arms.
“I will make copies of the president's notes available to all media representatives,” he announced calmly, as he held the papers up for all to see. “You may have two representatives from the media go with one of our agents to copy the notes.”
“What happened to President Hunt?” one of the women reporters asked. “Is he alive?”
“I regret to announce that President Hunt is dead,” Rutland said with as much emotion as he could muster. “We don't know all the details yet, but it would appear that he was shot with a poisoned dart fired from a plastic weapon of some kind. We will know more when the FBI concludes their investigation.”
“Who was the assassin?” asked a CBS reporter.
“All we know at this time is that he was using a phony press ID,”
Rutland responded, carefully concealing the elation he was feeling.
“Was he part of the CRC?” another reporter shouted from the back.
“We don't know that at this time,” Rutland said icily. “But if it turns out that he was, the American people have a right to be very angry.”
“Can we quote you on that?” asked a reporter from the
Post
.
“You can!” Rutland said emphatically. “We will not allow this nation to be intimidated by anyone, including religious fanatics.”
The melee that ensued as reporters rushed to call in their stories was reminiscent of a riot scene. Fist fights broke out over the use of available telephones.
Immediately the broadcast media carried repeats of the assassination, with endless rhetoric from those who were on the scene when it happened. Each report focused on the idea that President Hunt was assassinated by a member of the religious right because he was about to bring the full power of the government against them.
When the notes were made public, they contained a step-by-step description of how the president had thoroughly investigated the movements and intentions of the Constitutional Rights Committee and had concluded that virtually all of the fundamentalist churches in America were linked to the group.
The goal of the group, according to the report, was the assassination of leaders who opposed their philosophy, including Jews, Muslims, atheists, judges, and elected politicians, with President Hunt right at the top of the list. Their intent, the papers said, was to establish a government that would return to the fundamentals of the Bible. This message, followed by footage of the earlier riots, portrayed Christians as fanatical terrorists.
The reaction among the American people was, at first, stunned disbelief, then anger as more and more information from the notes supposedly written by the president was made public. Their anger was directed at those whom they knew to be outspoken Christians in their communities. Sometimes it was physical violence; more often it was resentment and an air of hostility. There was a witch-hunt mentality building that was gripping the nation, only it wasn't a witch-hunt. It was a Christian-hunt.
With his family safely tucked away in his father's cabin, south of Atlanta, Randy Cross decided it was time to check on some of the other members of his group. He left Harriet and Matthew and, over Harriet's objection, drove to the local gas station to use the telephone. He was afraid to use the phone at the cabin or his cell phone, since his calls could easily be traced.
He first tried to call his pastor; the phone rang several times, but there was no answer. Then he tried several of the church deacons, with the same results.
After calling a dozen other members of his church and support group, he finally got an answer.
“This is Paula,” a small voice said as she answered the phone.
“Paula, this is Randy Cross. Is your dad there?”
“Oh, Mr. Cross,” Paula cried. “They've taken Mommy and Daddy.” Even as she spoke, she began to get hysterical. Paula had been hiding in the closet in her parents' room for more than three hours, just as her father had instructed her when the men had come to their home. She had not come out until she heard the phone ringing. “Help us, please, Mr. Cross, help us! They have Mommy and Daddy!”
“Calm down, Paula,” Randy told her as gently as his racing heart would allow. “Tell me what happened.”
“Some men came to our house and beat up my mommy and daddy,”
she cried as the sobs shook her small body. “Then they took them away.”
Randy realized that she was not able to give him any more coherent information about her parents, so he asked, “Is there anyone there with you, Paula?”
“No, sir,” she replied, sobbing. “They've taken my mommy and daddy. Daddy hid me in the closet and told me to stay there. But that was a long time ago.”
“You do what your daddy said,” Randy told her in a calm, soft tone. “They will be all right. I'll be coming to get you, Paula. Do you think you can pack some clothes?”
“Yes, sir,” she replied a little more calmly. “Will you help my mommy and daddy?”
“I'll do everything I can, honey. But right now you need to be a big girl. Put some warm clothes in a suitcase. Do you have one?”
“Yes, sir.”Her sobs were subsiding as she realized that help was coming. “I got one for Christmas last year.”
“Good girl. Now you pack some clothes like you were going to Grandma's house, and I'll be there in a little while. And Paula, don't answer the phone anymore, okay?”
“Okay,” she said.“Daddy told me not to answer it, but they have been gone so long. I thought it might be him.”
“I know sweetheart, but you'll be okay now. You get packed and I'll be there soon.”
As he hung up the phone, Randy was shaken.
So it's begun for real
, he thought.
Randy drove back to the cabin with his mind almost numb from what he was hearing on the radio. Reports were coming in from all over Atlanta of armed mobs attacking people accused of being Christians. Salvation Army staff who had fed the poor and homeless in the downtown area were attacked and beaten by angry mobs of young people calling themselves vigilantes. The Atlanta police were attempting to restore order, but the sheer number in the mobs made their jobs hopeless. Often the most they could do was call for ambulances to pick up those who were attacked. “The death toll is estimated at more than thirty, and the injured may number in the hundreds,” the newscaster said. What was missing was any mention of an organized resistance to the violence. It was as if the civil authorities were allowing the mobs to vent their anger on the Christian groups.
As Randy entered the cabin, Harriet met him at the door. “Oh, Randy, thank God you're all right. You should see the awful things they're showing on television. It's on every channelâmobs of people running around the city attacking anyone reported to be a Christian. They've burned down several churches. It's gotten worse since the announcement about President Hunt.”
“What about Hunt?” Randy asked. He had turned off the car radio earlier and had missed the news bulletin.
“He's been assassinated in Washingtonâshot with a poisoned dart and he died instantly. Security officers killed the assassin. The newscasters say the president was about to deliver a message declaring martial law because of the riots started by Christians.”
“I can't believe Hunt would do that,” Randy said as he sat down. His knees seemed too weak to support him anymore.
No wonder the authorities are turning their backs on the mobs. They want them to vent their anger on someone
, he thought. He was feeling both fear and resentment about what was happening. “We're not behind any of this,” he told himself as much as Harriet.
“I've got to go into Atlanta. I want you and Matthew to stay here.”
“Into Atlanta!” she cried out. “You can't go into the city. They'll kill you, Randy. I've seen your picture on television twice today. They say you're one of the organizers of the riots.”Harriet was on the verge of hysteria. She felt her mind slipping into uncontrollable fear. “I won't let you go!” she screamed. “We need you here!”
“I don't have any choice, Harriet. I called Brent Olford's home and little Paula answered the phone. She's there alone, and she's scared. Apparently a mob attacked their home, and Brent and Betty have been taken away somewhere. I've got to go get Paula.”
“Let someone else go,” Harriet sobbed. “We need you here. We're your family.”
“I can't do that . . . and you know it, Harriet. There's a seven-year-old girl frightened and alone in that house. It's my responsibility to help her.”
“What about us, Randy? What will happen to us if you get killed or arrested?”
“You're not thinking straight, Harriet,” Randy scolded her. “We're Christians and these are our friends. Now's the time when we need each other the most. What if Matt was all alone and scared in our home? Wouldn't you want Brent to help him?”
The thought of her son frightened and alone at home with both of them gone snapped Harriet back to reality. “Of course, you're right, Randy. You have to help Paula.We'll go with you.”
“No!” he said emphatically. “That won't do her or me any good. If I don't come back, you and Matt will be okay here. Dad's old truck is out back. I started it, and it runs fine. He left a full tank of gas in it. Use it to get out of here if someone finds you.”
“I will,” she promised, obviously trying to control the waves of fear that swept over her.
“And Harriet, Dad's shotgun is in the closet. It's loaded with bird shot, but whoever you point it at won't know that. Use it if you have to.”
“I can't shoot a gun. You know that,” she said, her brow crinkling at just the thought of pointing a gun at another person. “You take it, Randy. You might need it.”
“No,” he said. “If I need a gun, that old shotgun wouldn't help. Besides, I couldn't shoot anyone either. I guess we're a pathetic pair of desperadoes, aren't we?” They both laughed, in spite of the anxiety they were feeling.
“Yes, I guess we are,” she agreed, wiping away the tears. “And the media says you're the organizer of a murderous mob, a real mad dog.”
“Someone is directing this campaign against God's people, and doing a very good job of it. But ultimately the decision will be in God's hands. We just need to trust Him.”
“Oh, Randy, do you think we'll survive this?” Harriet asked as she hugged her husband.
“Nero was the first politician who tried to exterminate Christianity, and he didn't succeed with all the Roman might at his disposal. We'll survive,” Randy said soberly. “It will be tough for a while, and some of us will fall. But we'll survive.”
