The Veritas Conflict (17 page)

When all hands had been shaken, Victor smiled at the group and led the way through the front door. “You all are in luck today. Some of my highest-level business managers from all over the world are in town for our semiannual strategy meeting. We are taking a break for a few hours, and you’ll get a chance to meet some of them. I hope that will be interesting for you.”

They passed through the foyer and into the spacious common area beyond. Oak tables, cream sofas, and overstuffed chairs were scattered about. A two-story wall of windows showcased the view of the bluffs. About twenty men and women rose to their feet when the students entered, broad smiles on their faces.

Late that night the same twenty men and women, along with Anton and Victor, huddled around a conference table in one of the secure lower areas of the house. Old portraits and heavy, oddly patterned wall hangings lined the thick stone walls. Whiteboards sat on easels around the room, each section labeled with a name: Nathan, Tomoki, Amy … On the table in front of them, each of the twenty Fellows had a file laden with extensive background information on each candidate.

As the group assessed the candidates, the important factors were listed below each
name. The most important factor of all—one they had to get right—was loyalty. Would the candidate be loyal to the organization and it’s leaders? Each person there had been put through the same secret screening process when he or she had been a candidate. And with few exceptions, they all had proven their loyalty at the deepest levels. Over the decades, the company had made very few mistakes on recruits. It couldn’t afford to.

Anton leaned back in his chair, his eyes glinting as he listened to the discussion. The family had done a remarkable job of setting the stage on campus. He had enjoyed playing his part in the long tradition, and had done it well. It was so easy now, every year, to find a good group of malleable students that they could nurture and mold into their own image.

His eyes flickered to several portraits across the room. He had pored through the old records and knew that his ancestors hadn’t always had it so easy. But generations of physical and spiritual effort had been paying off handsomely for a long time now, even if temporary nuisances arose from time to time.

One portrait, weathered and faded, stared its usual challenge, and Anton again silently promised that nuisances were all they would allow. The witch-hunts of earlier times were gradually being replaced by tolerance and peace. Judgmentalism was being swept aside by progress, an inexorable evolution. They were getting close.

Anton took a deep breath. He could feel the welcome forces moving just beyond his sight, feel their guiding presence in this room. He basked in their presence for a moment before returning his attention to the recruiting discussion. As long as the guides helped them find the loyal ones, they were fine.

FIFTEEN

B
EEP
! B
EEP
! B
EEP
! B
EEP!
SHERRY ROLLED OVER
, head foggy.
Beep! Beep! Beep!
She found the offending alarm clock and smacked at the ten-minute snooze button. Below her, she heard Claire rustling around; then silence fell.

Beep! Beep! Beep!
Sherry slapped at the off switch and summoned up a mighty force of will to avoid going back to sleep. “Claire.” She spoke in a low tone. Maybe if Claire wasn’t awake—

“What? Huh?”

Darn
. “You still want to go to church today?”

A pause.

“Yes. Yes, I do. Thank you.”

Claire moved around the room, gathering her shower things. She looked up at Sherry’s unmoving form. “You coming?”

Sherry forced herself to sit up, squinting at the light pouring through a crack in the curtains. Her head hurt, and her voice was hoarse. “Yeah. I’ll be right there.”

Claire pulled on her robe and headed toward the girls’ shower room down the hall.

Sherry backed slowly down the steps from her loft. She peered at herself in the mirror as she passed. Hmm. She
looked
like someone with an almighty hangover. Not that she was going to admit that to her roommate.

She drank a few glasses of water, then reached for her basket of shower things, stifling her irritation. Stefan or Mercedes could have at least warned her about the kick in those drinks.

Thirty minutes later Sherry and Claire slipped into the back of Memorial Church, the beautifully appointed student-faculty church in New Harvard Yard, not far from their dorm. The carillon began to chime just as they slipped into a crowded pew. Like everyone around them, they remained standing.

As the last notes died away, the choir began to sing. Their voices were beautiful, but Sherry took little notice. It was all in Latin anyway.

When the choir had finished, a man wearing a robe stepped up to the pulpit. His resonant voice rang out over the microphone. “The Lord be with you.”

“And also with you!”

Sherry started at the congregation’s loud response. She glanced sideways at Claire and was relieved to see her flipping hastily through the church bulletin. At least she didn’t know the liturgy either.

“Lift up your hearts.”

“We lift them up to the Lord
.”

“Let us give thanks to the Lord our God.”

“It is right to give Him thanks and praise.”

As the man in the pulpit began a prayer, Sherry looked at the bowed heads around her. The couple next to her had lowered their heads but didn’t seem to be praying. In fact, most people in the congregation looked as if they were simply waiting for the leaders prayer to be over so they could sit down.

Precisely one hour later the choir sang a benediction, and the congregation trooped out into the crisp air of New Harvard Yard. Claire and Sherry emerged with the pack. They walked out alone, not having recognized anyone.

They walked a ways down the path without speaking. After a moment, Claire spoke. “So, what did you think?”

“Well, it’s a beautiful church.”

“That it is.”

“And the choir was amazing. But I didn’t … I don’t know … really
get
much from the service itself.”

Claire gave an inward sigh of relief.
Thank You, God
. “I know what you mean.” She started to elaborate, but a still small voice kept her quiet.
Let Sherry talk
.

“You know how I mentioned the church my parents went to in Georgia? Well, it reminded me of that. All beautiful on the outside, but nothing much on the inside.” Suddenly she giggled. “And I couldn’t follow the liturgy at
all! I
never knew what page we were supposed to be on!”

“That wasn’t the main issue though, was it?” Claire asked. “I mean, you’ll learn the worship style of whatever church you go to. And I’ve been to several churches with formal liturgies that I loved.”

“No. You’re right. It wasn’t the formality. It was … look, I don’t have as much experience with church stuff as you, but I know there has to be
more
than what we heard in there.”

“Was it just that a guest pastor was preaching? The regular pastor is supposed to be pretty good.”

Sherry pondered that. “I don’t think that’s it. Did you notice that the preacher never
once used the name
Jesus
in his prayers or sermon? I mean, Jesus is the point of the whole thing, don’t you think?”

Despite herself, Claire broke up laughing at the childlike expression on Sherry’s face. “Yes, I would say Jesus is the point of the whole thing.”

“Oh,
I
know how to describe it!” Sherry suddenly snapped her fingers. “You know that old quote ‘There was no
there,
there’? That’s what I felt like.”

“Gertrude Stein.”

“Pardon me?”

“Gertrude Stein. Famous author—nineteenth-century graduate of this very school. That’s who said ‘There was no
there
, there.’ ”

Sherry pushed her away in playful disgust. “How do you know these things?”

Claire grinned and hooked her arm through her roommate’s, steering her toward the dining hall. “What would you say to helping each other stay accountable here?”

“You used that word before. What do you mean exactly?”

“I mean, just—well—agreeing that we’ll hold each other to acting like Christians should. That we’ll ensure that the other gets up for church on Sunday or that we’ll confront each other if we see things that look wrong. You know, like if you see me suddenly wanting to shack up with some guy, you’d better hit me over the head with a two-by-four!”

“Gladly. I’ve always wielded a mean piece of lumber.” She pulled her arm from Claire’s and mimicked swinging a baseball bat. “So what would be involved in this accountability thing, seriously? Like we’d report in to each other every day?”

“No, nothing like that! We would just sit down and list out the things that we think are important enough to hold each other to a high standard on—like doing a daily quiet time or living a Christian lifestyle. And then we’d just bring it up if we see the other person slipping. I for one
need to
know that someone is going to call me to task if I slip up—it’ll make me less likely to cross that line.”

Sherry didn’t say anything, just continued walking.

O God, help her not get defensive. Lord, help me know how to be the friend she needs. I know she wasn’t all that excited about going to church this morning. Please place that desire in her heart. Draw her heart to You!

“What would you say to discussing this over lunch at the beautiful Annenberg Dining Hall?” Claire asked. “Maybe we can say grace over our meal and startle some other poor spiritually deprived student into thinking there’s something wrong with the food.”

Sherry grinned, her expression lightening. Then she grew serious. “Let’s do it.” She stopped walking and turned toward her roommate. “I mean it. Let’s do that accountability thing. That would be good for me.” She started along the path again, her voice
light. “And then next week maybe we can find a church where there is some
there,
there.”

For just a moment Claire couldn’t respond through the tears that sprang to her eyes.

Gael saluted his colleague, and Caliel leaped into the air. His wings became a blur as he left New Harvard Yard and the two girls far below. Boston, then Massachusetts, faded behind him as he sped like a comet toward his destination.

He entered a small town, flying at a moderate pace, taking stock of his surroundings. People were pouring out of church doors and into parking lots. Televisions were tuned to football games, and pillows plumped up for a good nap. A typical Sunday afternoon in Georgia.

Several shining warriors atop a redbrick church waved as he flashed by. The roof of another little church held only dark beings with hate-filled eyes. They hissed at his passing. Caliel read the signboard out front. Today’s Topic: Find Your Personal Truth. He shook his head, wondering why the church bothered to keep the cross primly atop the peak of the building.

He descended into a neighborhood of stately homes, eyes flickering in every direction, and found one particular house on a corner lot. Graceful oak trees cast mottled shadows on an artfully landscaped lawn. Caliel could hear the sounds of a meal being served around back.

Caliel headed toward the deck at the back of the house. He cut through the parlor, carefully avoiding several other rooms. He knew the den was lined with souvenirs from business trips to India, statues of many-armed Hindu gods featured prominently in a backlit hutch. Caliel had had several previous run-ins with the occupants of those statues.

He could hear a computer game being played in the study next to the den, the sounds of electronically generated shots, screams, and evil laughter surrounding that part of the house like a fog. Caliel sighed, forming a mental picture of the teenage boy who would be seated at the controls. Several of the demons residing in that game would be out into the room by now, enjoying the sight of their own pictures flashing by on the screen from time to time.

Caliel was careful not to reveal himself as he slipped by those rooms. Hovering at ceiling level, he entered the kitchen. A slim, elegant woman was conveying the final dishes out to the deck, where the rest of the family waited at a long table. A grandmother in a lace collar and pearls sat primly on one side, with two other children, an aunt, and an uncle on the other. Only two chairs were unoccupied.

The woman settled into her seat. “Why don’t we say grace? It is Sunday, after all.” The others at the table nodded.

A heavyset man at the other end of the table put down the roll he was already chewing on. Turning his head, he hollered through the kitchen. “Trevor! Get in here
right now.”

A long moment later a sullen teenager shuffled into view, his shirt untucked, baggy pants looking like they’d been slept in.

“Yeah, I’m coming. Keep your shirt on.”

The man looked furious but was quelled by a glance from his wife.

Three demons within and around the teenager’s body started when they saw Caliel standing quietly behind the woman.

“What
are you
doing here?” one seethed.

Caliel stayed where he was and didn’t answer.

The smallest demon jumped on the table and minced his way over to the heavy-set man. He poked him in the chest.
“Are you going to take that from your son? He’s disrespecting you in front of the whole family! Be a man and stand up to the boy!”

As the teenager shuffled by, the man rose to his feet. He cuffed his son on the side of the head. “You live under my roof, you’ll pay me proper respect. Got it?” He took his son’s arm and tried to push him into his seat. The others at the table looked bored, as if they’d seen it all before.

The teenager twisted his arm out of his father’s grasp, his hands balling into fists.

“Yeah, hit him!”
The demons turned now to their host.
“Do it. You don’t have to take that from the old man!”
Ont dark form stepped even with the boy and seemed to dissolve within him. The other demons turned to Caliel, triumphant looks on their faces, and stepped one by one inside the teenage body.