The Veritas Conflict (70 page)

“I know that my father—my whole family—is involved in something mystical I don’t fully understand. I know many things about the business that I need to share with you.” He looked up at Ian; then his eyes flickered downward. “But I haven’t been involved in the spiritual ceremonies; I haven’t taken the blood oath. There has always been some weakness holding me back.”

Edward tapped his cane against the floor. “ ‘Some weakness!’ ” He harrumphed. “That’s called the Holy Spirit, young Stefan! The word of God says that He has set
eternity in our hearts. Even people with a generational curse such as yours have the choice to listen to the tug of God. That’s why God opened your eyes to something that most of us will never see. I’m thankful for that weakness’ of yours!” He leaned forward, his face intent. “But you must make a choice. Will you renounce not just this evil spirit over your life, but also your selfish
control of
your life?”

The fire crackled in the background as Edward explained the gospel to the young man.

Ian watched Stefan’s face, could see the wavering, the longing, revulsion, fear.

“The man you saw with Mansfield at the end,” Edward finished, “was Jesus. Mansfield made his choice and will spend eternity with Him. Where will you spend eternity, young Stefan?”

Stefan stared at him for a long moment. Then he held up his hand. “Look, this is a lot to assimilate all at once. And I’m not sure I believe that its as easy as you say for someone like me—”

Ian jumped in. “It doesn’t matter what you’re like, Stefan. It—”

“Look, I’m just not ready But I don’t … I don’t want to see Claire hurt. I have an idea of what is planned, and,” he shuddered, “we have to stop it.”

“If you mean that,” Ian said, “then tell us what’s going on with the Pike business. That may be the only leverage we have.”

Barbara Rivers knelt before their fireplace, the swift pop of the flames an urgent backdrop to her prayers. Tom was beside her, and David, and Margaret. More people were arriving all the time.

With every phone call to their home, every quavering question, the same answer was given: Come over and pray.

The room filled with people—sitting quietly on chairs or on the floor, walking around the room, praying silently or aloud. It didn’t matter. Their prayers filled the air like incense ascending to the throne.

All around the country, the same. Amid the grief, the uncertainty, the shock at another massacre, another senseless tragedy, the prayers came forth. Prayers were whispered from shaking lips that had not prayed in decades; knees were bowed that had never before hit the floor. On television, on the radio, pastors who were interviewed about the tragedy called for prayer, awareness, repentance.

And on a stricken college campus, the students repented.

In a dorm room filled with people, Jo Markowitz sat, stunned. There were no more tears left in her eyes.

A friend walked up and put her hand on Jos shoulder. “The news just said a memorial service is scheduled for Dr. Mansfield and the others on Monday. They said Brad was taken to the hospital over an hour ago. They don’t know anything else.” Her voice weakened as she tried to dredge up vain encouragement. “He could still be okay.”

Jo nodded, dully. “I made fun of him, you know. Not as bad as Niles, but after class I would join the others in ribbing him behind his back. Maybe we egged Niles on. Maybe he wouldn’t have done this. Maybe its our fault.

“Don’t be silly.”

Jo grabbed her friends hand and looked up at her face. “I thought the protest was funny! But would I want to be made fun of? Don’t we share some responsibility?”

FIFTY-EIGHT

C
LAIRE’S EYES FLICKERED OPEN
. H
ER HEAD POUNDED
. She was lying on a thick carpet, her nose in the soft weave.

She stiffened, trying to stuff down terror as memory flooded back. She moved a bit and, despite herself, let out a low groan. She could feel every nerve ending in her legs, her throbbing arms. She flexed her fingers. Her hands were still tied behind her back.

She managed to maneuver her leg? around and roll over.

Anton Pike was standing about two feet away, looking at her, a nasty smile on his face.

She stifled a scream and closed her eyes. A frantic prayer shot through her mind, and she took a deep, quivering breath before opening her eyes again. He was no longer smiling. His face was contorted, inhuman. He bent down and slapped her hard across the face.

The violent motion flung her head sideways and her mind reeled. They were going to kill her. They were going to kill her. She began to pant in short, panic-stricken gasps.

Anton knelt and pulled her chin around so that she faced him. He stuck his finger in her face, and his voice came out on a hiss. “No prayers. No prayers to your God in this house.”

In an instant of fierce will, Claire stared belligerently into his eyes. “Lord God, I ask for Your protection over me in this house—”

He reared back and slapped her again, and tears leapt to her eyes. But she didn’t stop.

“Jesus, I love You—”

Anton roared, holding his head, and shouted out an order.

Claire struggled to a sitting position—“and I know that He who is in me is greater than he who is in the world!”

The door opened and two men came running in.

“You will not win!” Claire shouted. “You
will not win!”

In a flurry of motion she was again pushed to the floor. She did not fight this time as one man reached into his pocket and brought out a white cloth. She closed her eyes and prayed even as the sweet, cloying scent was brought to her face.

And in a flash, she was overwhelmed by a strong sensation of power. Her eyes flickered as she slipped under, giving her the barest glimpse of a strong, noble figure kneeling, watchful, by her side.

As they prepared to move her, Gael had his orders. They had come straight from the throne. He still did not know what was to happen, and his ability to work would be limited as he ventured into the dark strongholds, into a place he had never been before. But the Lord of heaven and earth had ordered his access, and the dark ones had no choice. Gael would stay beside his charge.

Stefan was surrounded by open mouths as he laid bare the secrets of Pike Holdings. He had explained to Edward and Kathryn what Ian already knew—Pike Holdings owned companies in many types of industries: pharmaceuticals, entertainment, publishing—the list was long.

He had been given a large pad of paper and with a black marker had drawn a chart. A box labeled Pike Holdings was at the top with a line down that branched into three other boxes below labeled P
HARM
, E
NT
, P
UBL
.

“There are many more,” he said, gesturing to the three boxes, “but this will give you the idea. Essentially, the company is a conglomerate made up of two parts. First, there are the surface companies.” He tapped the three black boxes. “Mainstream companies with prestige, clout, and the potential to impact our culture in a chosen direction.”

“Hm,” Edward grunted. “Let me guess what that direction is.”

“I’m sure your guess would be right. The pharmaceuticals push for everything from overuse of hyperactivity drugs to the legitimizing of cloning and genetic manipulation. The entertainment companies spread—as religious people are always screaming about—a worldview that is less values driven and so on.”

All the religious people in the room cocked their eyebrows as he blithely turned back to the chart.

He picked up a different marker. In green ink, he drew a dotted line down from each of the three P
HARM
, E
NT
, P
UBL
boxes. Then, at the end of the dotted lines, he created new boxes. Ian’s eyebrows rose as Stefan labeled them D
RUGS
, G
AMBLING
, P
ORN
.

Stefan turned back to the group. “The second part of the conglomerate is what no one on the outside knows. We call these the shadow companies, and they are where we get our large, resilient earnings that the analysts are always going on about. Some are
legal businesses, some not, but we secretly own or majority control all of them. These are companies that get stronger and more profitable as traditional morals weaken.

“For example,” he pointed at the DRUGS box, “a legitimate pharmaceutical company, or perhaps an international trading firm, will use its distribution network to shuttle around illegal drugs for staggering profits that can then be funneled upward as needed to boost the work of the top level companies.

“Do you know what a drug operation can make in return on investment? its staggering! Five thousand dollars’ worth of heroin or coke in Peru, for example, would probably bring—oh—one hundred thousand dollars on the streets of any city in America. Or more!”

Edward’s face grew hard, and he spoke almost under his breath. “And every dollar represents another ounce of addiction, another ounce of life stolen from a man, woman, or child.”

Ian leaned forward, tapping the chart. “So a reputable publishing company might work with a shadow company like, say … Peephole Publications?”

Stefan—and Edward and Kathryn—looked at Ian in shock.

Ian recounted his conversation with D. J. about the Excellence Award, their reporter’s accidental glance at a tantalizing clue in a spreadsheet, the immediate retraction of those records. He watched Stefan carefully as he explained that the company was waiting for more research, for the “smoking gun” that would either prove or disprove their growing suspicions.

Stefan shook his head once or twice as he listened, but he didn’t seem agitated about all the findings that had already been released, and showed no signs of backing down from his explanation.

Surely he must know that by sharing this with us, it could be the end of Pike Holdings
, Ian watched Stefan fiddle with one of the markers in his hand.
Why is he doing this?

Edward leaned back in his chair, ruminating over Ian’s revelation. “Where do the Pike Fellowships come in?”

Stefan made a green stick figure in each of the original black boxes. “Each recipient of a Pike Fellowship is a person that my father and uncle have chosen to be a liaison between the surface and shadow companies. Ostensibly, these people are rising stars in their company, hotshot managers of a legitimate business purpose. But in reality their job is to secretly manage the connection with the shadow companies. Each of the Fellows—as they are called—has also bought into the spiritual side of this scheme and has taken a blood oath of loyalty to our mandate, either before or upon graduation.”

Edward cleared his throat. “So what were saying is this: Satan gradually undermines the moral foundation of our country, raising up thinking that denies God, denies the existence of absolute truth or values. And Pike Holdings is secretly upheld by businesses
that all prosper as the ‘anything goes’ worldview spreads.” Edward looked around at the little group. “its devilishly brilliant.”

“And then,” Ian gestured at Stefan’s drawing, “the money from those shadow companies is used not only to funnel profits into mainstream companies that can gradually influence our culture in a chosen direction, but also to finance the education for people who will run those companies.”

Stefan sighed, looking down at his hands. “That’s about it.”

“So how do we prove it?”

“You don’t.” Stefan looked up, a rueful smile on his face. “That’s the problem. There’s no proof. They have had years to come up with a structure in which their control of the shadow companies is very real but impossible to trace.”

“It sounds like the Mob.”

“There are some similarities. But instead of their control being based on guns or knives, its based on much less … 
visible
means of persuasion.”

Ian shuddered at the tone in Stefan’s voice. He looked around the room. Edward was watching Stefan with a measured gaze. Kathryn was sitting quietly at the end of a sofa, observing, her lips moving from time to time in silent prayer.

Stefan continued quietly. “I know there must be something that ties Pike Holdings to all the shadow companies, but I have no idea what it is. I know, for example, that they have several office ‘stations’ around the country that they use as coordinating centers for all the underground paperwork and all that. I heard something once that made me think that each Fellow is assigned a desk at those offices if they need it. But I have no idea where those offices are, or how you’d even find them. I’m sure they look like legitimate, normal businesses from the outside.”

For a suspended moment, Ian’s gaze traveled to Claire’s backpack, sitting in the corner of the room. Then he looked back at Stefan. “Would one of those offices perhaps be in New York City?”

Within moments, the incriminating pages were being passed around the room, every eye intent on the identical number that was highlighted on a half-dozen pages.

Ian looked down at the sheet he was holding. The highlighted number was followed by several neon exclamation points drawn with the yellow highlighter. This must have been the first record she found.

His fingers tensed, crinkling the paper, and he bowed his head in pain. How were they going to get her back? What was happening to her now?

Claire awoke again on an airplane. This time, she was lying on a bed. Her eyes opened wider. A bed on a plane?

She sat up, trying not to wince at the pain in her head. She was on a narrow cot lined with bed rails, in a tiny room near what sounded like the back of the plane. She tried to lift her hand to feel her jaw, but didn’t get very fer.

She stared sourly at the bands tying her wrists to the bed rails.

Why wasn’t she afraid? All of the terror she had felt earlier seemed to have drained away. She breathed a quiet prayer of thanksgiving.

Thank You, God! She
paused.
And please get me out of this mess!

For many long minutes she sat and prayed for rescue, for Ian and the members of HCF Her thoughts turned to her parents, and tears burned her eyes as she thought of their fear, their questions.
Please God, be with them.…
She prayed for Sherry and Stefan and her non-Christian friends on campus.