Chapter 105

105
BUCK STRATTON RADIO MINISTRIES SALVATION SERVICE CENTER, 
WASHINGTON, D.C.

The old Chevy was parked across the street from the Watergate's underground parking entrance. Fifty-six year old Mattie Oliver fidgeted as she sat behind the wheel, trying to look as nonchalant as possible. She had finally placed the cell phone on her lap. Her hands were so sweaty she was afraid she might short it out if she had continued to clutch it.

The words of Dr. Michael George reverberated through her mind. Dr. George was the Supreme Deacon of the Stratton Ministries in Washington, D.C. She could still remember the fiery stare of his eyes when he had explained to her this mission, this sacred mission. Yes, she had been frightened right at the moment, but when she had thought of her opportunity to contribute what she could, her composure had returned.

"Fighting the anti-Christ is a dirty business, Mattie. We have to be everywhere the false prophet may go. To do that the Ministry needs the eyes of the faithful, watching, reporting everything you can see. We have three cars spaced around the hotel, all watching for the beast to come out. If you see it, get on the cell phone. All three of you will try to track his car. If one falls behind, hopefully the other two will be able to stay in sight and report back." Dr. George had told her.

"Once we hear that he is moving, we can mobilize a small army of true believers. The anti-Christ must not be allowed to appear in public anywhere without the Army of the Mark of God there to meet him! Do you understand?"

She understood all right. She reflected with great personal satisfaction on the fact that she was working directly with the Supreme Deacon. That was almost like working for Buck Stratton himself.

In one end of the Watergate penthouse suite set aside for General Tower's ready room, plans were being finalized for the transport of Juan and Jesus across Washington to the barber shop. Colonel Nichols was filling in the details of the itinerary and preparations.

Pointing to a large city map, the Colonel ran through the route, street by street. It was a good mix of heavy traffic at first, then surface streets. "We'll pay the price for all this traffic, but it should make it almost impossible to follow the car -- especially with the Secret Service in behind us. After this point right here we should be able to open up and make some time. Total trip should be about thirty-five minutes."

"We already have a laundry van with eighteen Marines right here on this corner" he said, again pointing at the map. "And we will have our main back up in troop transports right here and right here, out of sight but ready to roll. We can have those troops on site in less than a minute if we need them. Both trucks are in transit now. We will have a hardened site in another ten minutes. The Secret Service has already been there for an hour."

The Colonel glanced at his clipboard before continuing. "We'll send the big state department limo with the insignia and everything out ahead. It'll be the main decoy. That limo and one Secret Service truck with just a driver will continue right on down through here, the more traffic the better." he said, pointing to the map.

"And Jesus? What are you going to do with Him?" General Tower asked the Colonel.

"Small armored Cadillac with one Secret Service unit right behind, loaded for bear. We'll have a second Secret Service unit a couple of cars back in case we need to flank." Colonel Nichols seemed quite pleased with his arrangements. He was relieved when General Tower thought for a moment, then shook his head in agreement.

"General, permission to ask a question outside my mission? the Colonel asked respectfully.

"Maybe. What is it?" General Tower felt as if he should be in a hurry.

"Who is Hernando?" Colonel Barnes looked directly at the General.

"You don't want to know. I promise you, you don't want to know. Now let's move 'em out. Remember that this funny little guy named President Haskill asked us very nicely if we wouldn't take care of this asset as a personal favor for him." Tower, turned and started to the door to the penthouse. "We'll meet you in the parking level in our secured area."

When Juan and Jesus appeared at the door of their quarters, the General had to bite his tongue. He had grown accustomed to two barefoot young men in too large Brazilian camouflage fatigues both needing a haircut. "You've done something with your hair, I see." he uttered without further comment. Juan's long black hair was a gooey mess that was actually sticking to the back of his fatigue tunic. Jesus had not fared so well in the transformation. His naturally curly mop, also as greasy as Juan's, was now trying to make a partial half-hearted afro.

Juan spoke first, responding to what he only expected to be the General's pleasure. "Yes, we found some mouse in the free stuff the hotel gives you."

The comment, in Portuguese, was lost on the General until Jesus repeated it. "Juan wanted to spruce up a little in case we met any girls."

"Well, let's get both of you to the barbershop. That will be a chance to have a real professional work on your hair."

The elevator ride to the waiting limo was filled with excited conversation in Portuguese, which hardly paused as the three of them climbed into the compact, yet quite luxurious Cadillac. The car was hardly innocuous, but it certainly blended into the D.C. street better than a limo could ever have.

Mattie, meanwhile, was glued to the bumper of the Blazer full of Secret Service agents. Of course they looked her over, but she was such an unlikely trail none of them really suspected her old Chevy until it was too late. She pulled off two blocks away from the Snip and Style, but she could already see the Caddy stopped in front of it.

Parked, she slid down so her eyes were level with the window and nervously dialed the Stratton Ministries. She had never been this important in her whole life! "I have to talk to Dr. George! Right away! I have news about the anti-Christ!" Her breathless pleading got her on hold. Finally, the calm voice of a salvation technician came on the line.

"This is Brother Kyle. How may I help you?" the voice droned in pure funeral parlor nonchalance.

"This is Mattie! You know, Mattie! I've got to talk to Dr. George right away! I've got news about the anti-Christ! I'm working with Dr. George!" She was rattling her way toward hysteria.

"Dr. George is a very busy man. He has a great flock of the faithful to watch over day and night. He's not always able to speak individually with everyone who calls. Now please try to tell me what is on your mind, Mattie." The voice was becoming even more soothing, if that were possible.

Suddenly, Dr. George's voice was on the phone. "Where are you Mattie? Where is the anti-Christ?"

"I saw them stop in the nineteen hundred block of South Jacinto. I can't tell what they are doing. I'm pretty sure they saw me. What should I do now?" Waves of relief swept over her as she delivered her vital message.

"You did a great job, Mattie. We'll handle it from here. Our people should be arriving in a few minutes, so you will be able to fellowship with them in the demonstration. I want to tell you how important you've been. Remember, the eyes of Our Lord are on you. God Bless!" Dr. George left the line.

Dr. George was issuing orders like a naval captain. "Start the phone trees. The address is nineteen hundred block of South Jacinto. Round up everyone and get 'em down there. Tell them to remember their signs. Call the press and get this thing covered. I want so many cameras that they'll be waiting on each other. Go! Go! Go!"

"Harry, give us a head start then tip off the Neo-Apostolics. Timing is the only thing that is going to keep us from being outnumbered. Also, move in the unfortunate incident crew. I want a good public relations fiasco for this bastard on his first trip out of his hotel. Play dirty. Get it done. A good target figure is one or two serious casualties inflicted by the damned Marines. It would be even better if some of the Neo-Apostolics wound up in custody for weapons or assault. Do your best. We want it to look like this guy is nothin' but trouble."

Jesus and Juan are straining to look through the heavily tinted windows of the armored Caddy. General Tower is on the cell phone, constantly checking and rechecking the arrangements at the destination. The young Brazilians are mesmerized by scenes of Washington street life, the traffic, the people.

After a few miles Juan broke the silence. "Jesus, look at that woman! Right there! That one!" He had singled out a young professional woman with a brief case waiting for a walk light. She quickly disappeared behind them as the car sped past.

Jesus turned to his friend and spoke in Potuguese. This time no one in the car could understand Him. "Instead of looking at women like that, why don't you just think of Nicole. I promise you that she is going to come back. I long for Brenda the same way, myself. I'm dreaming about some kind of normal life, a pretty wife and babies. If I could, I'd marry Brenda and go back to the island. Yeah. Go back to the island and buy My own navy to keep this madness away. Just raise My family the same way we grew up."

Juan nodded in agreement. "You know I used to hate what Senor Robeles did with us, but now I can see that he was a very wise man. I'm glad we didn't grow up to live like this."

General Tower broke into the conversation. "We'll be at the barber shop in about five minutes. When we get there, I want both of you to get out of the car on the passenger side. There will be some soldiers who will cluster around you until you get inside, so try to stay in the midst of them. They will keep anyone from getting a clear shot at you, Jesus."

"We'll want to follow the same drill on our way back to the car. I don't want either of you to feel pressured by any of these arrangements. They are all for your safety. They are also at your convenience. Don't feel like you have to hurry. Everyone here is doing his job. You come and go as you like. If these men weren't here doing this, they would be doing the same thing somewhere else."

Jesus could see two shiny black Secret Service Blazers parked strategically half a block ahead. The Cadillac slid in between them and stopped, making a sheltered passage right to the door of Hernando's Snip and Style. The three of them stepped from the car into a group of perhaps nine or ten Marines, all wearing body armor and carrying automatic rifles.

Jesus peered into the faces of the soldiers, faces without expression. "They are so young." He thought to Himself.

General Tower entered the little shop first. On this occasion he was actually carrying a sidearm, and his right hand was resting on the holster of the forty-five. A quick nod from the Secret Service agent that everything was alright reassured him enough to step out of the way for Jesus and Juan to enter the room.

The frowzy nature of the dingy shop was completely missed by the young men. After all, this was the only place they had been in Washington beside Andrews, press conferences and, of course, the Watergate. Hernando was fidgety as hell, but otherwise, in rare form as he stepped forward to greet his clients. He looked in dismay at the gooey mess on each one's hair, but simply smiled even more graciously and said nothing about it.

Bowing deeply, the over dressed little barber welcomed his customers. "Come in! Come in! Who will be first?"

At this moment every occupant of Dottie's Castle of Coiffures evacuated to South Jacinto Street and points beyond, shrieking. All were immediately "captured" by the Secret Service agents on the sidewalk beyond the little beauty shop.

"Do you work for the anti-Christ, too?" Ethel asked politely looking into the mirrored sunglasses of the agent.

He, and the other three Secret Service who had been watching the store front, showed her his badge and identification. "No, ma'am we all work for the Federal government."

Ethel turned to Dottie. "See. I told you so."

The women were herded into a secured coffee shop a few doors down and treated to breakfast by the taxpayers of the United States.

In the barber shop Juan looked at Jesus uncertainly. Jesus looked back and smiled weakly. "Why don't you go ahead, my friend. Your hair is ever so slightly longer than Mine."

Hernando was shaken by hearing the Portuguese and English at the same time, but continued his well practiced routine. "I think we should start with a nice shampoo. Please sit right here and lean back." he rattled off to Juan who had not a clue what he just said.

Jesus stepped in to translate the barber's wish and Juan settled into the shampoo chair. Moments later the Brazilian was sporting a turban style towel over his clean, wet hair as he was being led to the barber chair. Juan seemed to have a puzzled look as he sniffed the rather strong odor of the shampoo and conditioner.

Hernando unfurled the towel and began combing through Juan's mane of black hair. "What will we want to do with this now? Perhaps you would like to look at a few photographs?" He placed a book of styles in Juan's lap.

In just a moment, Juan had selected a cut which seemed to be a mix of punk rocker and Elvis Presley. General Tower stepped closer so he could see the selected cut. Looking up, Juan seemed to silently ask the General's approval. The older man shook his head disapprovingly and pointed to another photo of a more sociable style. Smiling, Juan agreed and showed Hernando who began shearing great chunks of hair.

Juan's transformation seemed to take only minutes. The results were flattering. Even General Tower was impressed. Jesus smiled broadly as He looked over his friend's haircut. He asker Hernando for an identical cut and was sitting in the shampoo chair at once.

So far, the little barber had said almost nothing to any of the men in his shop. Instead of rambling on and on in his normal chatter to whomever was presently trapped in his chair, he was almost desperately concentrating on Jesus long hair. The job had already taken twice as long as Juan's. The curly black locks of his special guest were littering the floor. Jesus watched with dispassionate approval in the mirror on the wall facing Him. Sensing the discomfort of the man behind Him, He finally spoke, "I think its going to look very good, very good indeed. You must realize that this is the first haircut I've ever had, that is by a real barber with real scissors. My mother, well that is, my adopted mother used to cut both of our hair with a knife."

"It is my pleasure, Sir. Yes. Two fine looking young men with excellent haircuts. Hernando knows who you are, Sir. I am honored that You chose my shop, that You chose Hernando for your barber!" The little man was about to finish when a rock exploded the front window of the shop.

"Jesus Christ!" yelled General Tower in surprise. Opening his cell phone, he immediately started repeating "This is number one! We are red in the barber shop! I repeat. This is number one! We are red in the barber shop!"

The Marines who had met Jesus' car had already formed a human shield across the window by the time the laundry van pulled up. Staring out through the broken glass, the General could see a few protesters with signs. More were arriving while he watched. The cars they had come in were beginning to block the street.

He looked back inside at Jesus. "I apologize for that outburst, Sir. It is an unfortunate habit of mine. I'm asking everyone to get against the back wall." Looking outside again he could see that there were now more than a hundred demonstrators with more arriving every minute. The street was an angry seething crowd lunging forward then retreating as the Marines held their ground.

Inside the shop, Hernando found himself standing next to Jesus. "Sir, may I ask a favor from You?"

Jesus turned to look into the man's eyes. "What is it Hernando?"

"Can we take a photograph of You and Your friend here in the shop?" He stepped over to the drawer and retrieved the small camera. The noise of the unruly crowd outside the front of the shop was growing to the point that conversation inside was difficult. 

General Tower and three Secret Service agents were clustered at the front door when another stone came through what was left of the window. Without any discernible fear, Jesus walked up to the group. "Will one of you snap this picture for Hernando?"

General Tower snapped "Can't You see that we're getting a little busy right now?"

Jesus peered in the Marine's face with the calm of ages. General Tower smiled peacefully, speaking to the Secret Service agent to his right. "Keep an eye on things here. I'll be right back." He placed his hand on Jesus' back and gently motioned Him back to Juan and Hernando. "You movie stars get organized now. Big smiles. Big smiles with those great haircuts."

Hernando was purring like a kitten between the Brazilians. General Tower snapped three flash shots of the trio. "Those should be great pictures, guys. Now, let's see about getting out of here alive." He flipped open his cell phone. "Move in the trucks and get me a cordon around this shop. Clear that street back sixty or seventy feet. It looks like we've got rocks but no guns."

The Fundies' numbers were continuing to grow. Their cars had effectively blocked the entire street, preventing the troop trucks from moving in. The Marines on those trucks were now filing in along the store fronts.

Hernando pointed through the front window. "Look, Jesus, some of Your supporters are arriving now. Those are Christians for Christ signs over there! Wow, they're beginning to scuffle!" The street outside, previously more or less organized, was now becoming a melee with fighting breaking out all around them. The Marines were having trouble trying to clear a path to the Cadillac, still waiting at the curb. The weather was suddenly becoming ominous with dark gray clouds and thundering lightening.

A Secret Service agent, holding the ear piece of his own radio, waved the General closer. "I'm getting about six thousand people out in front with more arriving. There are clearly some amateur instigators trying to get it mixed up between the Fundies and the Neo-Apostolics."

General Tower, being a both Marine and a general, showed only the slightest hint of concern in his face. "We'll chopper out." He walked outside the shop, oblivious the commotion all around him. Colonel Nichols and a handful of Marines instantly grouped around him. The general had to yell for his executive officer to hear over the din of the crowd. "Call me a chopper. I want a secure LZ right here in the street in the next five minutes. Push 'em back gently, but clear me a landing zone."

Just as the general opened the door to reenter the shop, a shot rang out. The report was from a revolver, but it was still loud enough to be heard clearly over the crowd's noise. He turned to see a young Marine slumped on the ground a few yards to the left of the shop. Two others were helping him. This time when he spoke it was in a low voice that was heard clearly by all of his men within earshot. "Suppress that fire." The rain suddenly deluged the street, growing fiercer by the minute.

Inside, he told Jesus and Juan to get ready for the chopper flight. Reconsidering, he turned to the little barber, "I think you had better plan on leaving with us in the chopper. There's no telling what kind of screwy idea that mob is going to have next, whether we're here or not."

Jesus looked at the General. "How badly injured in the young soldier?"

"I looked him over. The slug went under his body armor, right under his armpit. He's hurt pretty bad. A second helicopter is coming to take him to the hospital." General Tower was already back on his phone. Turning to the Secret Service agent, he asked "Where in the hell are the D.C. police?"

The agent turned to answer, ducking after another small stone came through the front window. "Oh, they're here. They're just dividing up and joining the mob. Just like Baltimore."

With the first signs of tear gas wafting into the room, Jesus asked no one in particular, "Baltimore again? Here?"

General Tower gave a practiced cough to clear his throat. "Don't worry about Baltimore, Sir. These are Marines. We were Marines when we got here and we'll be Marines when we leave. We don't change sides. Semper Fi. We'll get You right out of here. I can hear our choppers now."

"I have the greatest confidence in you, General Tower. I have no particular fear for Myself, but I am quite concerned for the safety of my friends here. I am also deeply troubled by what has happened to the young Marine. Shouldn't we bring him in here?"

Before he could answer, General Tower saw the first of the Marine helicopters setting down in the center of the street. The prop wash was blowing broken glass from the front window back into the shop. The second chopper set down beside it. Both machines were inside the perimeter curtain held by the Marines. The second chopper disembarked perhaps another dozen Marines, this time in full riot gear. Several of them immediately saw to the loading of the wounded man. It lifted off at once, laboring in the storm.

Colonel Nichols appeared at the door. He now had an automatic rifle on his shoulder. "Now would be a good time, Sir!" he yelled over the roar of the remaining helicopter.

Once in the street, Jesus could see the riot first hand. It was as if everyone had gone crazy. The Christians for Christ were mobbing towards Him, essentially ignoring both the beating they were getting from the Fundies and the ever more intense weather.

The party was airborne almost instantly. The dull thud of rocks against the chopper subsided as they gained altitude en route to the landing pad at the Watergate.

General Tower was already on his cell phone. "I want to know how they knew we were here. If I have a leak in my troops, it'll be plugged by dawn tomorrow! Bring me a truck full of 'em -- both flavors, Fundies and Neo-Apostolic. Make arrangements! Take 'em to Andrews and 'interview' them before you turn them over to the police. Remember that they are civilians and that we only have seventy-two hours, but I want answers!"

Hernando was in a state of shock sitting alone in the back of the craft.

Once the interior of the large helicopter had become a little quieter, General Tower turned to Jesus, "That wasn't supposed to happen, Sir. If we hadn't planned for the worst case scenario, we could have been in big trouble. Were You afraid? Let me be the first to say that I was."

"I was quite confident with you and the Marines there. But you may understand that I already know when I will die, rather, I already know that I will know when it is time. I am reluctant to discuss this with anyone, General. I will say that I don't know when you will die. I would only come to have that information if it became essential to My mission." Jesus spoke over the noise of the helicopter.

"Sort of a need-to-know basis, I guess." General Tower mused.

"Yes, I suppose it is." Jesus answered. Efforts to maintain the conversation in the midst of the helicopter's noise ended. The chopper landed at the Watergate within a few minutes. The Secret Service, already advised of the riot, surrounded the craft to escort the two Brazilians back into the hotel. Hernando was quickly ushered into the reception area.

General Tower spoke to Jesus one last time. "I'm going to go look after my Marine. I hope I don't wind up talking to that boy's folks tonight."

"Boy's folks?" asked Jesus.

"Yes. If he's dead, I plan to call his family personally." the General suddenly looked tired.

"Will you take the helicopter?" Jesus asked.

"I think so. It's fueled and ready to go. I have a pilot. My Marine is in The Endless Mercy of Christ Our Savior Health Center out in South Jacinto somewhere. It's quite a few miles." General Tower turned to reboard the chopper.

"I'm going with you, General. No one will suspect that I am there. I insist." Jesus proposed.

A cacophony of objections arose in stereo. On the left the Secret Service duty agent began a litany of dangers and preparation. To the right, General Tower was pleading his own case. No one spoke directly to Jesus because of His State Department status. All arguments were voiced in the third person.

General Tower had the honor of making the last of a myriad of objections. "But it's the middle of the night."

Jesus smiled broadly. "Well then, that's settled, isn't it."

Suddenly, all present were in complete agreement that the flight was quite practical and safe. Jesus looked at General Tower and said, "It doesn't matter if it's the middle of the night. It's the middle of a life. The young soldier is supposed to have much more of a life than this. I just received that information."

General Tower looked puzzled but cooperative as he followed Jesus back onto the helicopter. The flight to Endless Mercy took about fifteen minutes. Jesus and the General were left on the heliport. Their chopper had to take off again to leave the pad clear for emergency flights.

The Emergency Department was directly adjacent to the heliport. General Tower and Jesus stood at the counter waiting for the charge nurse.

"Why don't You let me do the talking. There's no need to get that language business started here if we don't have to." General Tower said as an aside.

The nurse finished her phone call and came to wait on them. "How can I help you?" She continued to stare at Jesus even as she spoke.

Two Marines who had been left with the injured man approached and stood at silent attention behind General Tower. "We've come to check on Lance Corporal Collin Scott. Can you tell us where he is?" the General asked.

She stepped back, becoming more and more agitated. Fingering a cross around her neck, she answered. "He's beyond your power now, you Satan! I know who you are! You're not going to steal any bodies out of this hospital. I'm calling security!"

One of the Marines standing behind the General offered the information. "They took the body to the morgue about an hour ago. We were just waiting for the Base Command to send a hearse to get it -- and us."

Hospital security arrived in a huff, one older man and a young brute who clearly wished he was allowed to carry a gun. The nurse, now standing quite a ways back from the counter started to shriek. "It's Satan the anti-Christ! They have come here to steal bodies from the morgue. Stop them! Stop them!"

Jesus turned to the General to speak in a low voice. "No matter what you may think, it is imperative that we see the body."

General Tower answered almost in a whisper, "I don't know why, but I agree with You completely."

The older security guard spoke up first, "Your party will have to leave the hospital or I will call the Police."

The younger one chimed in, "We're damned sure not going to let you get to the morgue!"

General Tower answered calmly, "How do you propose to stop three armed Marines?" then turning to the other two soldiers still standing at attention, "Lead us to the morgue."

Their destination was several floors below in the hospital basement, but the trip took only a few minutes. They walked past a speechless attendant sitting in the hallway outside the morgue. The two enlisted Marines were beginning to exhibit a questioning look, but not much of one. Following behind a two star Marine General had a reassuring feel about it.

All of the bodies in the place had been stored in a refrigeration unit that lined two walls. The death certificate of each one was held in a small bracket on the face of a drawer which held the corresponding body. It took only a minute for them to find the body of Lance Corporal Scott.

Opening the drawer revealed the body. It showed signs of death which were typical, but seldom seen. The eyes were wide open and the face was twisted in an expression of the boy's final agony. The chest area showed signs of recent surgery. The blood from both the wound and the surgeon's efforts was either frozen or simply dried. Lance Corporal Scott was as white as only death could leave him. He was also apparently frozen.

A single tear fell from Jesus' eyes as He placed His hands on the boy's face. The enlisted Marines were wishing they were somewhere else. General Tower was straining to see what was happening. Jesus turned and walked away.

Nothing happened.

General Tower walked over to Him. "Can You, ah, help him, Sir?"

Before Jesus could answer a new voice filled the morgue. "Jesus Christ! Get me out of this thing! I'm freezing!" The enlisted Marines helped him out of the drawer and to the floor. His teeth were chattering. He sat down cross legged. All signs of his injury were gone, save the dried blood.

Lance Corporal Scott finally focused on the General who was now standing directly in front of him. "Oh God!" he said through still chattering teeth, "I mean, General, Sir. I don't know why I'm naked here, I don't even know where here is! I don't know where my uniform is, Sir!"

General Tower, remembering himself, snapped at the enlisted Marines. "You two! Hypothermia drill on this man! On the double!" The two young Marines quickly placed the naked corporal between themselves, holding him tight by wrapping their arms around one another. Turning toward the newly revived corporal, "Take it easy son. Every Marine gets to wake up naked and not know where he is. Lord knows," he sheepishly turned toward Jesus who simply nodded, smiling, "I've done the same thing -- not recently mind you."

Jesus could see the police coming through the window in the door. "General, I don't know what your plan is, but the police are outside."

General Tower grabbed a blanket from cart in the room. "Can you walk, son?"

Lance Corporal Scott could only nod affirmatively.

"We're in way deeper than I had any plan for, but we're Marines. I say try the frontal attack. You two keep him on his feet and keep him moving! I think we should probably take this." he said as he snatched the death certificate from the now empty body drawer.

As the police burst into the room, General Tower did his own kind of magic. "I'm Major General Tower, United States Marine Corps. This is a strictly military affair for which I take full responsibility. We are leaving this facility at this time to meet our helicopter which will be waiting upstairs. I suggest that you forget everything you have seen here. If you wish to pursue it, contact the White House through the Joint Chiefs of Staff. I will not allow you to delay us, and I am authorized to use deadly force, if necessary."

The two patrolmen unconsciously stepped aside while they tried to comprehend the General's words. Jesus' party could hear one of them utter, "But. . . " in the distance as the elevator door closed.

The five of them sat facing each other in the helicopter. Corporal Scott was gradually getting warm due in large part to the efforts of the other two Marines holding him close.

The naked corporal turned to Jesus, "Are You, I mean, are You who You seem to be? Did You just do what I think You did? Why did You do that for me?"

"Collin, you were the one who willingly risked all of this for Me. You never even met Me! I am so thankful to you and to your associates in the Marines for watching over Me while I am here. I couldn't let your life end this way. As to why I did it, well, from what I could tell, you certainly needed My help." Jesus answered softly, smiling as always.

"General Tower," the young man continued, "I don't think I want to be a Marine anymore."

The General smiled, "What happened? Lose your nerve? I can understand that. Sometimes when I'm around Him I don't want to be a Marine any more either, but the pay is too good to quit." The General felt the young man's forehead, "This death certificate should be enough to excuse you from reveille tomorrow. I'll speak to General Veemer about this personally."

"You mean the General Veemer, Sir?" asked the young Marine.

"Yes, Corporal. There is only one." General Tower repeated, "I will speak to him personally about this. The General Veemer will just have to handle it."

At that point Lance Corporal Collin Scott, United States Marine Corps, fell asleep.

Tower turned to Jesus. "I don't know what to say. Hell! I don't even know what to think! We'll drop You off at the Watergate."