The Turning (27 page)

“They had an army on wheels.” Trent shivered at the memory, how they seemed to be drawn from the rain, so many he couldn’t count. “We were surrounded.”

“And yet all Della saw was the fact that they were unarmed.”

“They didn’t reveal their weapons. That’s not the same thing.”

“Precisely what I told her. It was your cool head that saved us from a potential calamity.”

Now it was Trent’s turn to hesitate. A second tremor coursed through him. For the first time, he was willing to accept what he was hearing. “But—we failed.”

“You retreated intact. You saved us from a calamity that would have turned public attention against us. You responded wisely to the unexpected.” The man gave Trent a chance to respond, then went on, “I confess I thought you were foolish to want to participate personally. A thrill-seeker gone bad, as it were. Now I see I was wrong.”

“That’s not why I went,” Trent said. The shivers assaulted his words, and he didn’t care. His entire being resonated to the realization that he had a tomorrow. “I wanted to show Mundrose Group that I understood the words,
whatever it takes
. Understood, agreed, and I would do exactly that.”

“The message has been received,” Dermott replied.

He knew he should just hang up. Accept the news was good. He had another day to prove himself. But the confusion would not let go. Not yet. “But Barry Mundrose is all about results. And I’ve been thwarted by them. Again.”

“On one level, that is correct. But on another, you have created an enormous success.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I will allow our superiors to explain. Good-bye, Mr. Cooper. I look forward to working with you again very soon.”

A half-hour later, Trent was still seated in a motionless daze when others began arriving for work. His mind, however, spun with brilliant speed. Beneath the stunned immobility burned a slowly mounting fury. The dream continued to whisper at him, only now his response was clear. He raged at how he had been assaulted at his weakest moment. He hated how the concepts made a mockery of his ambition and his hunger. He felt the tendrils of invitation and choice become consumed by the fire at the center of his gut. Until finally the whispers and the memories left him alone. But not even that was enough. He wanted revenge. He sat in his shell of rampant isolation. And he planned.

Barry Mundrose’s outer office gradually filled with executives seeking passage to the inner sanctum. Trent found himself studying the faces. Their expressions mirrored the hunger and the frustrated rage he felt within himself.

Trent forced himself to focus on the coming meeting with Barry Mundrose. He keyed in his project website and watched the latest advert put together by Colin Tomlin and his team. The stars from the television show and the film and the music videos danced with the ghouls beneath the flaming words,
Hope Is Dead
.

Trent had designed the message as simply a means to an end. He had created the slogan to help him reach his goals. But now he lifted his gaze to the executives clustered at the room’s other end. And he knew the logo was in fact branded upon his empty soul. And not just his. He could see it in the frantic aggressiveness shining from every face. Hope was indeed dead. The religious world revolved around a myth. All he’d done was clear away the dross and speak what most people already knew.

Gayle was the last to arrive. She did not look his way, or speak to him. Trent missed her and the closeness they had known in Los Angeles. But he did not know how to breach her carefully erected barriers. She waited until Barry’s senior aide was called into the boardroom. Then she drifted over and said, “I didn’t know what to do with your suitcase. So I brought it here.”

“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.”

WESTCHESTER COUNTY, MANHATTAN, and AUSTIN, TEXAS

T
hey 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 this 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.