Chapter 65

65
HEADQUARTERS, STRATTON MINISTRIES, SAN DIEGO

Buck Stratton held a glass of bourbon in one hand and the television remote in the other. Glancing at the clock, he was hoping he hadn't missed Ableman's editorial. He mused to himself, "This here Liberal New Ager practically writes my sermons for me. Too bad he's goin' wind up in the pit with his false prophet."

The sportscaster was just winding down. "And that, all you Hornets fans is the wrap up on tonight's game and our full report on your favorite teams around the country. Tune in tomorrow for a special report by News 18's sports staff on the outlook for Super Bowl XXXIX."

"Now, here is News 18's managing editor, Karl Ableman, with some closing thoughts in his editorial message."

Ableman was smart and quick. He was a Jew but he damned sure wasn't one of the chosen of Israel. Long ago Buck Stratton had learned not to take the newsman on in public exchange. "The son of a bitch knows a lot about the Christian religion for a Jew." he thought to himself. "He's also damned dangerous."

"Good evening. This is Karl Abelman with some editorial thoughts on today's news. In the midst of the growing civil unrest in our country, the giant Buck Stratton Ministry has now started a cheap fad making scars on the foreheads of the faithful and calling it the MARK OF GOD after some out of the way part of Revelations. The process is both painful and dangerous for adults, but it has also been encouraged for children -- including very small children and in some cases even newborns."

"Of the more than a million Americans who have so far had this process -- after paying a 'love offering' of $129.95 each --a precedent case has emerged in Philadelphia. The Philadelphia Child Protective Services has filed child endangerment charges against a young Christian couple after they had their two week old daughter burned by the 'salvation technicians' at a Buck Stratton service center. Judge Patricia Kline ruled for the Child Protective Services today, starting yet another of the inevitable riots outside the court house. Her comment was 'We are not going to purposefully burn scars into little children's faces in my district. This is midieval!' So there we have one view."

"Meanwhile, in Tallahassee, a similar case was filed immediately to test the legality of the procedure in Florida. Unlike Philadelphia, the Child Protective Services attorneys were castigated by Judge Frank Little as being 'agents of the anti-Christ'. Judge Little continued in his ruling, saying that Child Protective Service laws should be written to reflect Biblical teachings concerning child-rearing. Judge Little, of course, got his own riot outside the court house."

"So is burning the MARK of GOD into the forehead of your child an act of abuse? Not if you have the good sense to get a judge with the Mark of God in his own forehead."

"Meanwhile, we are all waiting with baited breath for the outcome of a Sacramento, California, case where eight year old Lindsey Blodgett, with the aid of the ACLU, is suing her parents because they won't let her get the MARK OF GOD. Her reason for wanting it? She doesn't want to go in the pit with the bugs."

"Thank you Pastor Stratton. You are clearly making the world a better place."

"This is Karl Ableman wishing you a safe night. Thank you all for watching News 18."

Buck Stratton settled a little further into his Lazy Boy. "No, Mr. Ableman, thank you. Thank you very much."

Chapter 66

66
MIGUEL'S GRILL, SAN DIEGO

Miguel's was one of those ever so tasteful semi-gay/straight restaurants which dot the landscape in Southern California. It was a high end road house forty-five minutes up the coast from San Diego and the Headquarters of Buck Stratton Ministries. Andy Rosenthal and Ted Harper met here to enjoy the privacy of the place and the very high probability that neither Stratton nor his weasel-like security chief, Claude Swackheimer. would ever darken the door.

Stratton would stay away because the place had a little class. That would frighten the insecure little maniac more than a thousand sinners with pitch forks and torches. Swackheimer on the other hand had already demonstrated that he had no compunctions about bugging the homes of employees or even parking his "surveillance van" across the street from their houses for days on end. The security Chief had paranoid visions of starting his own version of the Nazi SS. Swackheimer was one of those men who would joyfully do his job without even getting a salary. It had become his life. He had no other personality or character beyond Chief of Security. Stratton was stupid and consequently distrusted everyone, most all the very people he had to rely on the most. Swackheimer's paranoia was a lens through which the vast monetary resources of the Ministry could pass, creating out of nothing a world of imagined threats which merited excessive measures.

The two had perfected a scheme to move files out of the headquarters. It was common knowledge that Swackheimer was watching Rosenthal. Stratton's general lack of faith in every one of his employees was increased in the case of Rosenthal because he was a Jew. The spy cameras which were hidden all through the place monitored every move of the accountant with the utmost attention. Harper on the other hand was viewed as suspicious but not particularly dangerous. The security provision within the Ministry had the same Mad Hatter approach as everything else about it.

It was exactly through this loophole in the scheme of investing the rather large capital base of the operation that Harper and Rosenthal had managed to drag several millions to their own good. Buck Stratton was a megalomaniac who didn't realize that people who lived most of their lives in broken down house trailers should take the advice of financial experts for investments. The Ministry had already lost a fortune with investment ideas Buck had found in magazines and matchbooks.

Andy had already drunk too much by the time Ted Harper arrived. He was sitting in the last booth of the bar absently watching the characters of the place act out the night's scene. "S'bout time you got here. Did you have to stay late to get a chance to carry that stuff out?"

"Yeah, but I've got it all right here. You can do whatever the hell you want with it while I catch up." Harper turned to catch the attention of the bartender. He held up two fingers to start the process.

"Two double vodka martinis on the way, Mr. Harper." The bartender answered without dropping stride.

"These are the asset distribution releases to his six phony companies that he signed this afternoon. What good are they going to do us? I still don't see how this is working. I mean, I know it is working, I just don't see how." The martini began to sweep away the events of day a bit.

"Well, Ted my boy," Rosenthal slurred in parody of Stratton, "most folks screw up embezzlement 'cuz they try to convert somebody else's dough to something liquid enough to steal. We don't have to do it that way. We're bypassing the middleman and passing the stealings on to ourselves!"

"I don't even know for sure what we've got, Andy." Ted Harper had concern in his voice.

"Well, this afternoon that little weasel was signing assets over to holding companies. We were actin' like it was purchase orders, but actually he was transferring stock ownership from the Ministry to his off-shore accounts. He told me to always make it look like he was signing something else. Those damned cameras can't read the print when papers are sitting on the table in that main conference room -- too much glare." Andy Rosenthal was taking a distinct delight in explaining these details to his partner.

"Stratton can't read. He can make it through a financial statement 'cause he can understand numbers. But when it comes to understanding transfer and ownership documents he's lost." Rosenthal continued. "Sure he's stealing the money from the Ministry and putting it in his little secret corporations, but two or three months ago, while he was signing everything I put in front of him, he transferred the stock of one of his little corporations to one of our little corporations. We own it. It's just sitting there in the Bank of the Bahamas crankin' interest to the tune of twenty thousand a week. Plus, he's still making deposits!"

"How illegal is that, Andy? I mean we're talking some big bucks here." Ted Harper said as he finished his first martini. "I don't exactly look forward to a prison marriage in my future."

"Harper, just cool it. The money is ours, at least it belongs to a couple of corporations that are ours. The little weasel just gave it to us. There's no way he can take it back. In fact, if we don't bag our cut now he could lose the whole shootin' match before we have a chance to steal our share. The guy is falling apart." Rosenthal

"I couldn't agree more, Andy. The sermon today wasn't that bad, but yesterday it was awful, totally disconnected. If his audience were anyone but a bunch of half-witted lunatics, they would switch back to Oprah. It's worse when he quotes scriptures. Where does he get that stuff?" Ted Harper, unlike Andy, as Stratton's aide, was more or less forced to sit through the broadcast sermons everyday.

"I've been thinking, Ted. This old golden goose isn't gonna' go on forever. The radio ministry may not last as long as the anti-Christ. The whole thing is a money-mill. As long as the wheels keep turnin' we prosper. When all those folks' finally get tired of listening to this worn out drunken preacher and go on to the next idiotic bauble that catches their fancy, we're going to be able to step out of this mess and retire. And I mean retire well." Andy Rosenthal held Buck Stratton in loathsome disgust.

Harper finished another drink, leaning over the table toward his friend as if to tell him a secret. "I say we do everything we can to keep Buck going as long as possible. The problem he has with sermons is that he can't read. Once he gets started he just sort of rambles on and on. When he quotes scripture, he quotes a scripture he knows whether it goes with the sermon or not."

"I've been thinking about getting him a ghost writer, you know, a speech writer, but what's the guy gonna' do with a written speech? He's too stupid to learn it ahead of time and parrot it back in his broadcast. And he damned sure isn't going to be able to read it from a teleprompter 'cause he can't read a word." Ted Harper had been afraid to suggest this to Stratton. The preacher thought his lack of literacy was a well kept secret, making him especially sensitive on the issue.

"Do you think he would go for something like a scriptural consultant? You know, you could act concerned about the little twit, about how tired he is and that maybe he could use some help. Then we can corral some carpet baggin' Baptist lookin' to make a name for himself in the great state of California, hire him on and make him Stratton's little helper in the sermon factory." Andy Rosenthal could always conjure up a fertile scheme of business savvy coupled with a startling side of self-serving. "I could hire a man to fill that position faster than I could fall down. That type is like a crowd of zombies outside the gates everyday. They worship Buck Stratton and his radio ministry. It's everything they ever wanted to be."

"I can talk to him, but I don't think he'll go for any of it. Even less if it means having Lolly around yet another man. He totally jealous of her, and he still thinks the little tart lays around in the mansion alone all day. Her latest bed warmer is Swackheimer. I heard she likes it when he keeps his jack boots on. Buck's terrified of her finding a real man and dumpin' him." Ted Harper was impressed with how pitiful and frightened the illiterate little man was in his private life. In his public life he was a true spiritual monster. "I'll bring up the consultant idea when the time is right."

Chapter 67

67
GLOBAL IUP WIRE SERVICE

DETROIT, MI The North Central National Rally of Christians for Christ overflowed Tiger Stadium where organizers had planned to hold it. Tuesday morning an estimated 281,000 supporters and followers of the man Jesus moved peacefully to a site north of the city Despite almost continuous protests by militant members of Buck Stratton Ministries, police reported very little violence. Two Christians for Christ members were wounded in a incident of gunfire Monday night, but Detroit Police Chief Lawrence Viceroy has so far refused to attribute the violence to the protesters. According to Chief Viceroy's official statement concerning the incident, "They're riff raff. Anytime you get people of that quality in these numbers, you gotta' expect trouble." The new location is on a large open field of rolling hills. Rally organizers are concerned about weather forecasts of colder temperatures and rain through the week.

DETROIT, MI Debbie Polaski, Coordinator for the Christians for Christ rally here said today, "I am just overwhelmed by the numbers of people who attended. We had a beautiful day of prayer and fellowship yesterday, a great chance to get to know each other and discover ourselves in the new spiritual light of Jesus Christ. Each day He is in our world, He leads our way for a brighter tomorrow."

"We want to proclaim our belief in Jesus Christ Our Lord Reincarnate who has come once again to bring light into the world. We know He hasn't delivered a sermon yet, but the things He will say will start us in a new direction. I think I can speak for the two hundred thousand of us here when I say we feel more deeply religious than ever before in our lives. Just knowing He is with us is a new beginning. We are truly reborn in His light."

DETROIT, MI Interviewed in a Detroit hospital one of two Christians for Christ injured by gunfire Monday night during the move from the Tiger Stadium laid the blame squarely at the feet of the protesters. Larry Eckles, from his hospital bed, said "Damned right it was them. Buck Stratton's got'em so screwed tight on hatred and fear they'll do anything he tells 'em -- absolutely anything. The guy who shot me was at least seventy years old. He could hardly hold the gun up. They're terrified of us. Who wouldn't be? We've got Christ on our side!"

DETROIT, MI A man wounded while attending the Christians for Christ rally near here attributed the shooting to the Stratton Ministries protesters. Treated and released for injuries to his hand, he told this reporter, "Yeah, it didn't really even hit my hand, powder burns and stuff. Two stitches. I tried to grab the pistol from her, so she just pulled the trigger. All this time she was spouting off scriptures about something or other, I couldn't really understand what she was saying. The Fundies have been pickin' fleas out of the Bible for twenty centuries and driving everyone -- including themselves -- nuts with it. Buck Stratton has made two hundred and fifty million dollars since The World Blessing started six months ago. How can anyone wonder about his motives?"

WASHINGTON, DC Responding to questions about whether Jesus Robeles was subsidizing the massive Christians for Christ rally in Michigan, a State Department spokesman responded, "Certainly not. Given the trouble recently, Mr. Robeles questions why they wish to be in such a large group. I'm confident that Jesus Robeles feels that the real work which will be required must be done as individuals, that such a large group will be a distraction to the effort needed for individual progress." The Spokesman added that Robeles had suggested that perhaps he should pay them all to go home and think about their lives.

Chapter 68

68
PURDY PLACES MOBILE HOME ESTATES, SAN DIEGO

Martha Stratton sat quiet and alone in the little trailer. The dishes from her lonely dinner of tomato soup still sat in the sink in the tiny kitchen. She didn't know exactly how long she had been sitting, only that it wasn't time for bed yet.

A sharp knock at the door caught her by surprise. Who could be calling at this hour?

Not a woman to particularly worry about her safety, she called, "Come on in!" without leaving her chair at the dinette table.

Betty and Marge burst into the room. As Martha stood up to greet them, Betty gave her a nice hug.

"Oh, Martha, why are you sittin' here in the gloom all by yourself? Marge and me were going to get together to watch television tonight, but when we thought of you we figured we'd come over and visit." Betty explained. Marge nodded blankly in agreement.

Martha offered the two women chairs. There were only three chairs in the place. Buck had never encouraged company, which was fine since no one ever called anyway. "I am so glad to see you! Marge it's been a month of Sundays since I had your beautiful face starin' at me. I've been awful lonely around here since Buck started stayin' at the new ministry building. He's got a nice apartment down there, and its close to the action so he's right on the spot to manage everything. You know, the ministry has really grown in the past month or so. Praise the Lord! It's been a miracle!"

Betty got right to the point. "Martha, I been readin' in the paper about Buck's ministry. That man is getting a whoppin' lot of money from the folks that are stupid enough to listen to that radio show. Why in hell isn't he takin' care of you? You got rights, you know!"

"What she said goes for me, too!" Marge piped in.

"Well now, Betty, Buck has been takin' care of me. Some man named Rosenthal has been payin' all the bills and the rent. I have been eatin' just fine on the little dab of money I saved up. Especially since I'm on a diet anyway." Martha answered.

Betty caught herself up, "Land o' the livin', Martha!. I was so busy worrying about you over here alone that I plum forgot that diet of yours. Stand up! Let us see what's goin' on with you!"

Martha, a little embarrassed, pushed her chair away from the table and stood up. She pulled her apron off and laid it on the counter. "I'm down almost forty pounds, well, thirty eight to be completely honest."

"My lord! What a beautiful woman you are! Ain't that right, Marge?" Betty looked at her friend who was, as usual, nodding in agreement.

"You know, every time I started to feel like givin' up on this diet, and there have been some hard times, I just read that book you gave me over again. That gets me all fired up to keep goin'! I am so grateful for that, Betty. It's been a Godsend!" Martha reached for the paperback, now well worn, resting on the window sill.

"What book is it, Martha?" asked Marge sheepishly.

"Why, it's called Dominate Your Body: Lose Weight, Gain Power by Xanatu Pushbellows. She wrote another one called The Age of the Roaring Woman: From Sexual Liberation to Female Power in Politics. I've just got a mean hankerin' to read it, too, but I haven't ever seen it in the grocery. I don't really have much of a chance to get much further than that. But it says that it's in paperback, so I can probably afford it if I can find it." Martha continued, "I never read anything like that before, Betty. I think it's changin' my life. It sure is changin' the way I see things!"

"Well, honey, it sure did help you change the way you look! If I didn't know about the diet, I'd a' figured you had a tape worm or some damn thing! You're beautiful! You are just beautiful! A sexy, voluptuous mature woman! Land o' the livin! Martha, you're a thing to behold from your toes to your head!" Betty exclaimed.

"Martha, I have that other book at home! The one about Female Power in Politics and the Roaring Woman. I'll bring it over tomorrow if I can find it. I'd be glad to do it!" Marge offered.

"Well, girls, I thought I'd better do something with this old body if I plan to get Buck back home where he belongs. That man was just losing interest in me. You know, him movin' down to that apartment in the ministry headquarters, I brought that on myself. I deserved it for not taking better care of myself." Martha's eyes were not crying, but they were wet.

"Martha, you get them ideas out of your pretty little head! Sounds like you ought'a read that book again. Buck Stratton is a pig and a loser! You deserve so much more out of life than that fat little Bible bigot! Can't you see he's down to the ministry livin' in the lap of luxury, being the Big Cheese, bossin' everybody around while you got left in this damned trailer?" Betty was on a roll. "You need some fresh air. Why not walk over to Marge's and get that other book right now. You're startin' out on the right foot here, honey, but when I hear you say stuff like that, it just tells me you gotta keep movin'!"



They parted company, Betty off to her Andy and Martha home to a cold, lonely trailer. Martha Stratton finished Xanatu Pushbellow's exposition of the Age of the Roaring Woman as the first light of dawn lit the tiny windows of Buck Stratton's trailer. The top of the dinette table was covered with tears, but the heart and soul of Martha Stratton were filled with fire.

Chapter 69

69 
BELETZKE'S PET STORE, WASHINGTON, D.C.

Mr. Benjamin Beletzke nervously adjusted his tie. Running a pet shop in the midst of the power and importance of Washington's diplomatic district required one to be dressed appropriately for any class of customer.

The bird the general had selected was in a transport cage nervously rocking back and forth. His customer had requested a mature parrot with clipped wings and extraordinary color. The general had made the common request that the parrot should not know any speech. What is a cute phrase to one can be an abomination to another.

His instruction had been explicit. He was simply to prepare the bird and himself such that he could deliver it promptly at ten AM. The identity of the client and the address of the delivery were still a mystery to him. The general had told him only that he would call just before the delivery to give him the details. He had inflated the price of the animal several hundred dollars, but the general had declined to negotiate, simply telling him that his client would pay the price upon delivery.

The sale of a three thousand dollar parrot for forty five hundred promised to be a bright spot in his day of commerce. But price be what it may, the bird was one of the finest he had ever had in his shop.

"This is General Tower, Mr. Beletzke. I'm calling with the details of the delivery you promised to make for me this morning." the voice on the phone seemed to be preoccupied.

"Yes. Good morning, General. I'm already to go. Where is the bird to be taken?" Beletzke asked.

"Very good. Take the bird to the service entrance on the west side of the Watergate. You'll be met there. You are expected. Thank you very much. It's been a pleasure doing business with you." The line went to a dial tone.

Mr. Beletzke loaded the bird into his little delivery truck and started the short trip to the Watergate. Several times he began to imagine Who his client might be, but each time he shook his head saying to himself that such a thing wasn't possible. By the time he saw the hotel ahead, he had convinced himself that the bird was a gift from the general to his girlfriend.

Beletzke's Pet Store was very intentionally located in the part of Washington where foreign dignitaries frequented high end shops for gifts while they were in town. The conditions of this sale would have seemed overly dramatic to a pet store owner in the suburbs, but Beletzke had established a lucrative business by accommodating just such requests without question or hesitation.

General Tower had given orders to both the Secret Service and the Marines, advising them to assist with the transaction. Because Beletzke had known nothing about his customer, and that he had been called only minutes before the bird was to be delivered, there was little opportunity for such a man to become much of a security risk. Tower had selected a Jewish man on purpose. Unlike the Christians, the Jewish community had taken a 'wait-and-see' attitude in lieu of riotously strong opinion.

General Tower had also made it a point not to be present while Jesus Robeles dealt with this shopkeeper. He needed more information about how well these boys could deal with the everyday world. Besides, how much trouble could they get into sitting in the Watergate with security forces all around them?

"Juan! The parrot is here! We have to meet a man in the conference room. Agent Barnes is going to take us down." Jesus said excitedly.

"Why don't we meet him up here so the parrot can see its new home?" Juan asked innocently.

"That's a good idea! I'll tell Agent Barnes." answered Jesus. He walked to the front door and knocked. Security protocol required that One knock before opening the door, even when One was already inside.

"Yes. Sir?" Agent Barnes spoke in his normally nervous manner. "Are You ready for the trip downstairs?"

"Agent Barnes, we would like to meet the parrot and the shopkeeper in Our quarters." Jesus informed the man. Every time Barnes heard the Portuguese and understood the English it seemed to have an unsettling effect on him. The Agent was instructed to attempt to develop a rapport with the guests in the penthouse, but he only seemed to become more nervous day by day.

"Sir, I don't think we can do that. Security protocol requires two armed Marines with You at all times when You are with people who are not part of our security team or previously approved visitors. At the same time, Marines are not allowed in the penthouse unless there is a full security alert. This provision is a part of Your Visiting Dignitary Status." Agent Barnes had an answer for everything.

"Agent Barnes, I realize that you are charged with being very cautious, but I think we will be quite safe with a Jewish parrot salesman in the company of two Marines in the safety of our own home. Please make the arrangements at your convenience. We will be here all morning today as is the case with every morning of every day." Jesus spoke softly so as not to agitate the man further. Then He closed the door. He and Juan had already learned that the Secret Service could make objections to any plan ad nauseum if the conversation continued. The drama accomplished, the young men looked at each other in silence forced against giggling.



The first to arrive were two Marines, each carrying the ever-present automatic rifle. The younger of the two was a private, and his companion was a Gunnery Sergeant. They snapped to attention at either side of the doorway and stood in motionless silence awaiting the arrival of the bird. This would have been a reasonable development, except the bird and the shopkeeper failed to appear.

Juan asked, via Jesus' translation, "Wouldn't you like to relax just a little until the bird comes? We certainly won't tell anyone."

The Sergeant answered explosively, "No Sir. We are on duty!"

At that moment the younger man's stomach gave a hungry growl. The Sergeant glanced over with quick disapproval.

Jesus asked the younger man, "Are you hungry?"

This question placed the Private in the hands of his own paradox. He looked at this Sergeant for some sign of what he should do.

The Sergeant finally responded. "Answer Him, Private."

"I am a little hungry. I live off base." he said sheepishly.

"What does 'living off base' have to do with getting enough to eat?" Jesus asked.

"Well, Sir. There wasn't very much left for breakfast by this time of the month. I have a wife and a baby girl." the Private hesitated, looking again at his Sergeant for guidance.

Jesus eyes fired. "You risk your life to guard Me, and I ask you to do that on an empty stomach? Your pay isn't enough?" He said with a degree of consolation not seen on the earth before.

The Sergeant was beginning to wish that he was somewhere else, but the Private attempted to sooth the situation with more explanation. "We qualify for food stamps. It's really not so bad."

"So you've already eaten all your food stamps? You didn't have enough to eat for the whole month?" Jesus asked pointedly. "Does your baby have what she needs? Does she have food stamps to eat?"

"No, Sir. Food stamps are for buying food. I see to it that our baby always has enough." the Private replied. "Food stamps are a kind of welfare. We use them to buy more food than we could on my military pay."

Now Jesus had a visible fire in His face. "Sergeant. Private. I want to thank you both very much for telling Me these things. I want to assure you both that no soldier watching over Me with his life and no baby waiting for him to come home will be hungry while I'm in town! Here I am trying to buy a parrot while this goes on!" Jesus turned to Juan who had already disappeared into his bedroom. "Juan!"

"I already have it. I think we should save some to pay for the bird, but I think there's plenty here." Juan said as he carried his dresser drawer into the living room. It was half filled with bundles of hundred dollar bills. Santos had been sending ten thousand in cash each week.

The Sergeant spoke quickly now. "Sir, we are absolutely forbidden from taking money from You. I'm sure the Private appreciates the offer, but he would get into terrible trouble if he took any money. Besides, most of the Marines on duty here have the same situation. We always make it. We're Marines."

"You can't accept a gift to help out?" Jesus asked incredulously.

"No Sir. We are paid to perform our military duties. Securing this Hotel is a military duty. Besides, there are four hundred and twenty eight enlisted men in this command. You can understand the morale problems which would ensue."

A knock at the door interrupted the conversation. The Marines were once again at attention, rifle ready. The door opened to admit Agent Barnes, who, from long habit, looked around the room for any threat before he caught himself. Following him was a disheveled Benjamin Beletzke, now in only a pair of trousers and a shirt with an open neck. He carried a large cage with a canvas cover over it. The bird had arrived.

The tableau in the penthouse once again resumed its script. Mr. Beletzke sat the cage down heavily on the coffee table in the living room. Agent Barnes stood dumbly holding the packages he carried for the pet store owner. The Marines were once again silent and motionless on either side of the door.

Mr. Beletzke came to the point. "Do You want the bird out of the cage?"

"Of course! Let her out!" Jesus and Juan answered in unison. The parrot emerged from the cage and walked curiously around the table top.

"She's wonderful!" said Jesus as He reached for her.

Beletzke was puzzled, "How did You know the bird was a female? That is something difficult to determine -- even by experts."

"I haven't had very much experience with females, but I have known a lot of parrots on Paraneho where We grew up. She's very beautifully colored for a female!" Jesus spoke while concentrating on the the bird. The parrot seemed to grow brighter as He spoke. Enough so that both Beletzke and Barnes noticed. "Well, just look at her!"

Juan held the bird in his hands, as with a messenger pigeon. Suddenly distressed, he spoke to Jesus in Portuguese. "Someone has clipped her wings!"

Jesus took the bird and gently lifted her wings. His eyes showed a momentary anger as He looked questioningly at Mr. Beletzke.

"That's so she won't fly away, Sir. I don't recommend hold the bird in Your hands. They can bite." the shopkeeper answered.

The parrot, of course, was not only quite calm while she was being held, but seemed to exude a very satisfied feeling.

"Who would harm such an animal for mere convenience? Did you do this Mr. Beletzke?" Jesus asked.

"No they are already clipped when I receive them. The general ordered a bird that could not fly." Beletzke answered a little defensively.

After Jesus translated this last conversation, Juan speaking in a neutral tone, said "Isn't that just like General Tower." Always in the moment, he continued to say, "I think we should name her after Beatrice, our first friend!"

"That's a wonderful name! Beatrice was brave, loving and loyal to Us. Who better than her?" Jesus smiled, placing the bird down on the table. "That's better. Beatrice would want her to fly and be free."

The giant bird fluffed her wings once or twice, testing her weight. Then she flew out the open balcony door and disappeared down into the city below.

"I don't understand how that bird can fly, but I made my delivery as ordered. I think I deserve to be paid even if Your parrot is gone for good." Beletzke protested instantly.

"Oh, she'll be back after she has some time to look around. Juan, We need to pay the man." Jesus smiled. "By the way, Mr. Beletzke, how much is it?"

While Juan was once again carrying the drawer full of bundled hundreds from the kitchen, Mr. Beletzke's price went up again. The shopkeeper felt the strip search he had endured on his way in was worth at least a thousand dollars. He nervously mumbled something about six thousand. Juan handed him one five thousand dollar bundle, then quickly counted out the remainder.

Beletzke turned to Agent Barnes to ask, "Is this real money?"

Agent Barnes finally laughed, a little, in the company of his charges, "Yes, I promise that it is. I work for the Treasury Department." His good humor was short lived as Beatrice suddenly flew into the room and landed on his partially balding head. The agent froze in fear.

Juan tapped his shoulder with a finger. The bird immediately flew across the room and perched there. He turned his head to speak a few words in Portuguese to the parrot. Beatrice would have been smiling if she had been equipped for it, but in perfect English, she replied "I'M BEATRICE! I LIVE HERE! I LIKE TO FLY!"

Beletzke was collecting himself to leave, Yet the sudden utterance of the parrot caught him quite by surprise. "That's a trick isn't it? Ventriloquism?" Then he turned toward the parrot and in a practiced tone, asked "Beatrice? Beatrice?" all the while watching Jesus and Juan. The bird said nothing. "Why won't she answer?"

Jesus answered nonchalantly, "She only understands Portuguese."

That night Beatrice asked for a litter box and a perch. Of course room service was able to provide both. She was a very happy, cheerful bird. She made the penthouse very much more homey.

Chapter 70

70
THE WHITE HOUSE

President Haskill had been to four meetings prior to his scheduled ten o'clock with General Tower. His thoughts were racing. All morning he had been smiling, shaking hands and posing for photographs while the most important business of the Presidency had been delayed until mid morning. The most important business of the presidency was getting Robert Haskill reelected to the presidency. Millions of nut cases rioting in the streets across the country, unwilling to stop for anything apparently, and some strange man from the jungles of Brazil were not going to make the Haskill Administration a One-Term Susie. His approval rating was in the crapper. Congress was walking all over every bill he had sent up during the last six months. The constituency was so crazy with this religious thing that they couldn't even remember any of the things he had done for the country.

General Tower was waiting for him in the back office, the one without a tape system. The soldier snapped to his feet when the President entered. "Good morning, Sir."

"Good morning, General Tower. We've got about fifteen minutes. I want to know about progress toward getting Jesus Robeles on the air with some soothing message for the masses. Did you know the media is saying that the rioting is getting worse?" The President spoke as he slid into one of the overstuffed chairs in the small room. "Sit, please sit down, General."

General Tower uncomfortably sank into one of the other two chairs. Unlike the President, he could not get comfortable slouching down in the thing. "I have met with Jesus Robeles daily, except for yesterday, and I believe that we are approaching a state of being at ease with each other. I believe that I am going to start spacing the meetings at least a day apart from now on."

"You know that we want to make all possible progress on this as quickly as possible. What's your thinking on fewer meetings?" the President asked pointedly.

"Our guests are beginning to understand how difficult it will be for them to get out of that penthouse. They are getting bored and lonely. I am the only visitor they usually have in a day's time, aside from housekeeping and hotel staff." the General went on.

"Housekeeping and staff would be completely Secret Service with a few CIA boys in there spying on the spies, right?" President Haskill was becoming thoughtful. "You probably even have a couple of CIA faces in your Marines by this time. Can't keep 'em out. They're like flies on a sunny day!"

"My thought is that Jesus Robeles will begin to want to make a press appearance, if for no other reason, just to get Himself out of the Watergate. We're going to make a trial videotape this week. We can use the studio right in the complex. I'm hoping that once He gets the feel of that, He will be ready to start talking." General Tower tried again to get comfortable in the chair.

"Has He said that He doesn't want to talk? Is He holding out to get something from me before He stops the riots?" the President looked at his watch.

"No, Mr. President. He's not holding out for anything. I'm fairly certain that He doesn't know what He's supposed to do. In fact, He told me as much in our last conversation. It's because of that confusion on His part that I have decided to go a little slower." General Tower had the distinct feeling that he didn't have enough stars to talk to this man. "I would also caution you that He doesn't see stopping the riots as His job, or even as something He particularly knows how to do. I think we have to play this thing by ear. Let it unfold a little more, at least long enough to hear what He has to say. When we have that in hand, we'll be ready to move ahead against the rioting."

The President rose from his chair, "Damn it, General! We've had this Guy in the country for going on two weeks, and every day that goes by that lunatic Stratton is taking pot shots at me and keeping the whole country fired up. The other side isn't helping any either with all their dreamy new age crap, who are they?"

"The CFC Mr. President. The Christians for Christ." Tower offered.

"That's right the CFC! They're just as crazy as Stratton! I can't believe this whole damned thing is just rolling on. I was hoping we would be seeing the light of day by now. And now you're telling me that you want to slow down! You are a Republican aren't you, General? I mean, you're giving this your best effort aren't you?" President Haskill was presuming a lot.

"I am a Major General in the United States Marine Corps, Mr. President. That means I always give my best effort." Tower answered testily.

"I mean how do you vote? You're not trying to wreck this administration are you?" the President glared into the General's eyes.

Tower stood to attention to answer. "When I have this uniform on I dedicate everything, including my life to the service of the country and to the Commander in Chief. When I vote, I take this uniform off and vote for whoever the hell I want to." he replied with icy formality. General Tower had seen what cowardice could do, and he didn't like it.

"Well, keep me informed, General." the President responded too quickly as he left the room. Too quickly.

Chapter 71

71
CHRISTIANS FOR CHRIST HEADQUARTERS, TAMPA

Ruth Yemmer was the type of older woman was could be counted upon to rise to just about any occasion. She had been selected unanimously to lead the newly formed United Christians for Christ, the giant Neo-Apostolic denomination which had resulted from the unification of several smaller groups. Whatever she may have lacked in strong leadership was made up for by the loyalty and respect of its hundred and twenty plus million members.

She walked down the hall of the newly re-modeled complex of offices which housed the church's business and spiritual headquarters in Tampa. Today for the first time, she would address the combined leadership of the groups which had joined with each other to form her flock.

More than four hundred delegates from Neo-Apostolic groups across the nation were waiting for her when she entered the auditorium. As she walked to the podium the audience stood to applaud. The ovation continued for several minutes as she fought back embarrassment. Finally, she lifted her hands to call for silence.

"Brethren in Christ, don't give me the applause that is rightfully meant for Our Lord. I am but a servant to this great cause. He is the object of our affection. He is the Divine Messenger! We have only the loving task of preparing His Way so He can perform His work on the earth."

"To begin our meeting, let us pray. Pastor Heathgate, will you lead us in prayer?"

Pastor Heathgate had served in the Methodist Church long enough to have developed a permanent smile. The expression seemed at once innocent and insipid, just the thing to further calm almost sleeping congregations as they passed out the door. Now, however the CFC had inspired a righteous fire in his personal ministry sufficient to add an ulterior glint to the straight white teeth revealed in his perpetual simper. He began.

"Heavenly Jesus Who has come to be the doorway through which the Divine Light of God can reach the darkness of our world, we pray that You will use us in Your Sacred Commission. We pray that the Rays of Goodness will come from You to guide our efforts in Your behalf. We pray that You will make us feel at home on our earth, in harmony with the animals and plants. We pray that You will make us happy and joyous, that You will lift up our hearts, filling them with laughter and contentment."

"We pray that You will use our arms in Your Mighty Army to destroy the enemies of our true faith. We offer ourselves as soldiers to march behind You into the great battle that rages now with the forces of evil who are trying to cast the world back. We ask especially that You will confound our enemies and their leaders, that You will curse those who come up against us! Help us serve You, Oh Lord! We proclaim that we are Your people! Bless this strategy meeting here today where we will seek Your Divine Guidance to show us the way to victory in Your Name! Amen."

A great "Amen" rose up from the audience, followed by still another round of standing applause.

A smiling Ruth Yemmer hugged the Minister as she returned to the podium.

"I am very pleased to be speaking to an audience where everyone of our beloved brothers and sisters represents a congregation which has joined in our Glorious Unity. In these tragic times when we are being attacked and killed by the forces of the old world order, history will tell that it was this great army of new believers who led mankind away from the darkness of the past into the bright and beautiful light of a New Day! We are the new believers, for now we have what we have always needed in Our Lord and Savior, Reincarnate! We are the new believers! We are the Neo-Apostolics!"

The audience once again went wild with applause.

"I want to share with you a special moment I had just this morning. I was making my sunrise meditation in the small fern garden outside my apartment. Quite frankly, it was pretty chilly. I had my old lap robe wrapped around me. Suddenly the first light of this beautiful day broke over the side of my apartment building. I was lost in my thoughts, deep in meditation, and I missed it!"

"Even though the patio was still quite dark, a single sunbeam struck the meditation crystal which I had hung up by a thread. So just while I was sitting in the dark and the cold, wrapped in that old robe, a beautiful rainbow came through the prism of the crystal and washed my face with fabulous colors! The rainbow fell on the smoke of the incense I was burning, illuminating it in the same beautiful colors."

"I suddenly stood up, no longer cold at all. A moment later the sunshine reached my little place. The green fronds of my ferns seemed to sing in delight at the prospect of a new day. They called to me with the loving message of all the plants in the world. They sang the song of sunlight. I threw off that old robe and trusted the sunshine to keep me warm, and it did."



Just as I trusted that tiny glimmer, it was followed by the warmth and caring touch of the sun. Likewise, once we see the glimmer of hope which comes from the Divine Ray of Our Savior, if we trust it, we too shall be cast into the warmth and light of God's Love."

"And finally, when I threw off that old robe to allow the sunlight to reach me, I was warm! Once we throw off the old rags of Fundamentalism, the Pure Divine Ray will reach us, too. Our enemies are trying to keep those old rags wrapped around our eyes, wrapped around our souls! They try to keep the whole world in the endless darkness of their own lives, their own lack of faith."

"They will force the world to continue to allow their control over the lives and souls of humanity if we don't stop them. They have already been at it for thousands of years of turmoil, suffering, sadness and death! They don't want to ever quit! They don't want to ever change their ways! That's where we come in!"

"I want to encourage everyone here to make the maximum contribution of ideas to this conference. We're not losing, but we don't seem to be winning, either. That's not going to be good enough! We pledge ourselves! We pledge our lives and fortunes! We pledge ourselves to the Perfect Savior Reincarnate Who has been delivered unto us as a Gift of God Almighty!"

"Victory for Jesus! Victory for the CFC! Victory for Jesus!"

The hall thundered with applause as Ruth left the room.

Chapter 72

72
WATERGATE HOTEL, WASHINGTON, D.C.

The General marched into the pleasant conference room at the head of an entourage of lesser officers carrying rolls of what seemed to be maps along with thick notebooks bulging with pages and pages of military something or other. Whatever was in the notebooks had been cataloged, referenced and cross tabbed in the military way. Jesus and Juan sprawled back in the plush chairs with their bare feet resting in the center of the table. The two were examining the latest issue of Hustler Magazine.

With the arrival of the General the two scrambled into their seats and began to feign attention to the proceedings in the room. The General's eye had clearly been caught by the magazine. Jesus glanced over the men accompanying him. "At least he is finally getting over the translator." He mumbled to Juan in Portuguese.

"Good morning, gentlemen." The General hung his hat, suggesting that this was going to be a long meeting. "I have taken to liberty of doing some research which may interest You. I have brought along information concerning the state of religion in the world, who has what and how many, that sort of thing, in the hope that it might allow You to do some strategic planning. The facts here are the best the Pentagon has to offer with respect to the current situation between the competing religious orders." The General motioned to his first aide. The officer unrolled at map of the world which had been color coded in different patterns to reflect the dominant religions. "Notebook Number One contains the best analysis of current religious strife, challenged territories and strategic opportunities in general."

Jesus and Juan stared blankly at each other. Jesus quietly murmured a few words in Portuguese. Both young men stepped up the the map. Juan spoke to Jesus briefly. "General, Juan and I would like to see the island where we grew up. Is it on this map?"

General Tower adjusted his glasses as he bent his head low over the Amapa Region of Brazil. "No, sir. I'm sorry. Your island is too small for this scale. It just doesn't show up on this map."

Juan asked over Jesus shoulder. "You should ask him what he wants us to do."

Jesus turned to face the General. The staff officers were arrayed behind him as if they were line backers for a football team. Most of the junior officers were in a state of awe at being present for a meeting with Jesus. Several among them were going to great lengths to express their sarcasm. In fair credit to General Tower, all were comporting themselves as professional military men. The old general cast a very long shadow back through his troops. Jesus could appreciate that the man carried significantly more rank than what was pinned on his shoulder. "Should I learn something that is on these maps and in these books?" He asked uncertainly.

Tower approached Him with a lowered voice which indicated that the mood of the room was changing -- by his unspoken command. "Perhaps You would want to familiarize Yourself with the present state of religion in the world. These maps have all the information necessary for that understanding."

Jesus' face had the glint of understanding, at last. He spoke softly to the General, "Perhaps such a strategy might best be discussed in a smaller group."

With a wave of the Marine general's hand, the staff officers began to quickly file toward the door. Most wore an expression of relief. All were showing signs that suggested a complete lack of understanding at the events in the room.

Now Jesus faced General Tower squarely across the great walnut table. Juan's interest had returned to the issue of Hustler which he had retrieved from the floor beneath the table. "I want to thank you, General Tower, for anticipating my 'campaign' to overwhelm the organized religions of the world. I am familiar with the exclusive concept of the religion bearing my name in these developed countries, that is, the idea that no one will escape Hell save that he will accept every doctrine of whatever Christian faith has brought the most guns and money into his homeland for his salvation."

"Well, that idea is in error. It is in very grave error. In fact, that idea is probably the only part of anyone's present religious understanding that I would change. Every effort on the part of any person who strives to reach closer to the face of God in an effort to perfect himself as a human, in other words to act to the best understanding he may have to please his God, then that is a godly man. There could be no possible greater joy than helping to make a world filled with godly men."

"All these maps, not withstanding your undoubtedly good intentions in preparing them, have no value at all to My, uh, campaign. I believe every religion has in its time stood in arms either to defend itself or to impose itself on others. I have no intention of flexing any muscle whatever. If anyone will benefit from My message it will be due to his willingness to do so, not from the force of arms or the threat of other things."

"I'm sorry that this misunderstanding has caused you to spend so much trouble preparing all of this. Perhaps you will be able to use it in one of your military adventures."

"When the time comes I will speak to the hearts of every person in the world. I already have My commission. It is the same one which I had before, two thousand years ago, and I will be able to fulfill this responsibility without the benefit of an army or a gun. It will be just like last time."

"Last time You were executed after only a few years of preaching." The General hesitated. "Should I call You, well, You, as if You were the same as the Jesus in the Bible?"

"General, the Jesus in the Bible is essentially a stranger to me. No expression of this interchangeable idea will offend Me, however." Jesus slid into one of the overstuffed chairs around the table, motioning the Marine to do the same. "You know, General, sometimes you make Me nervous. All of the officers who accompany you always stand when you stand. That makes Me think that I also should stand in respect to your age and your accomplishments. Then, when I stand, you stand, perhaps in some sense out of respect for Me. What happens is that everyone stands. This ends up with everyone standing all the time. That creates a sense that we are not and cannot be friends with each other. I can see your thoughts in your face. I can see your deep commitment to My safety and your concern over it. I appreciate this in a very personal sense. Both Juan and I do, and We have grown to have a great affection for you. I know that you must always act as a soldier, but I wanted very much to make this clear to you. Whether or not you believe I am Who I say I am, you have always treated me and Juan with great courtesy and respect, and we both appreciate it very, very much."

"Because it is time that we have a better understanding of each other, I'll tell you a very ancient story which I hope will not create any troubling paradox in your religious beliefs. If it does, please accept my apologies in advance for it is the simple truth, told with no intention to disturb affairs between you and your Creator or the practice of your religion." Jesus began.

"When I lived before, I followed what could be called a normal life for the times. Oh, yes, the Romans were there and fighting sometimes would break out, but these things had almost no effect on my life. I was born in the year of Rome 749, grew to manhood near my family, took a wife and had two sons. I worked as a carpenter, sometimes with my father. Everything about my life was quite normal for the times. When I was about 30 or 31 years old, a remarkable thing happened to me. One night I was standing, actually sitting on the roof of the house, praying. I was a law abiding Jew -- what you would call an Observing Jew these days -- and by this I mean that I was no rebel or heretic. A strange cool breeze blew up that hot night. When the breath of this breeze touched me, I knew that the Father was talking to Me somehow. Great streams of knowledge -- amounts beyond anything you could understand -- seemed to flow into Me along with a new special comprehension of absolutely everything. I rose from that experience filled with great joy and with a new, complete understanding of every part of the world."

"Because there was no means to spread the incredible knowledge I had been given, I was frustrated. I was driven to share what I had learned, but seemed to be unable to carry out any plan to spread this wonderful gift. Later, I was baptized by John, and somehow that experience inspired Me to begin preaching." Jesus looked into the General's eyes. The shade of disinterest and disbelief which had always colored the old soldier's face faded for a moment. "I will give you the proof you need when the time has come for such a thing. I cannot demand your faith in Me after all that has gone on here. I seem to be able to create what you call 'miracles' but only when the time for them has come. We will see the miracle which will bring you ease together, and we will each know of it for the first time just then."

"As for all these maps and things, I won't need them this time. When I leave the world all these people who seek the Creator in their own ways -- each of them will continue to do as he always has. I am completely competent to give the world my message at this moment. I only hesitate because of the unpleasant possibility of such a shock as this would represent." The General was somehow shocked to see this Young Man appear to be so vulnerable. Jesus continued almost sadly. "The Man you see before you today was not in the tomb when Tillotson unearthed it. The forces which led to that discovery and the subsequent process in Robele's laboratory originated very far from the everyday life of the world. At the end of these events, say upon my birth from my mother, Maria, I was not at all who I am now. I was a very normal little baby. The only quality about Me which was special or unique at that time was the potential to finally receive the breeze I told you about."

"That is the extent of my special genetics, and I am further convinced of two more things. First, this 'breeze' can come to whomever is selected by The Father. It almost certainly came to some or all of the men in the Jewish Bible who are called 'prophets'. So much time and so many events have passed since those men spoke their inspired truths that not even I can determine whether they had received the same startling blessing I have. The second thing is that, although I am not certain, I think it is now and always has been -- since men could first stand and think -- the idea of the Creator that every human person should receive this same thing."

"Sometimes I wonder if the 'breeze' is not every where present among us, attempting to create the same change in them as it has in Me. General Tower, I have a terrible suspicion that either people are so busy that they miss it or that they have such scales of cynicism and fear over their eyes that it cannot reach them. It is to meet this challenge that I am here again. On the positive side, General, I am pleased to say that I am a new and improved model. There is every reason to assume that I shall be able to start this sacred process all across the world." Jesus had continued to the conclusion of what He had intended to say. General Tower was dumbstruck. Never before had he related so personally with his charge! Never had he dreamed of how comfortable and honestly reassuring it could be, strange sensations for a Marine General!

But the unexpected conversation had left an opening for the military man, a precious opportunity to approach the young Man, to conveniently explore what had been to this point the total mystery of His plans.

General Tower paused for a moment. Pressured conversation right now could easily move relations with Jesus back to the chilly state of the first days after His arrival. "Not that its Your doing, but people in this country have been in an uproar since the Tomb was discovered. They don't know what to think. Now that You're here, well, You must know how desperate the situation has become in the cities."

"I know more about what is happening in the cities than I care to. But you, General, perhaps more than anyone else, must realize that the unrest is not about Me. It is about what all those people are trying to believe. Its about what they were trying to believe before I was even known to them. None of them has any idea what I will say to them. They are all arguing about what I might say to them. And by that I mean something I Myself might say, not something from a State Department ghost writer. They are each filled with the unexamined ideas of centuries of mindless obedience. I represent a new idea, and I don't think people ever like to be placed in a position where they must actually think, then, even worse for them, be responsible for the conclusions they draw." Jesus had once again become a twenty three year old Brazilian native boy. His frustration with the whole condition of the country was obvious.

General Tower countered. "The interest of the United States government is to somehow quiet the streets. The rioting has been going on for almost three months now. People are getting hurt and even killed every night."

"Perhaps if You were to speak on television, give people a chance to know You a little better. It would be an opportunity for You to present Your message to very large numbers of viewers at once. After reaching the people in Your own words, perhaps You could persuade them to calm down a little. At the very least everyone would have a better idea of what to expect from You."

Sensing Jesus' uneasiness at the prospects of joining the television shows He and Juan had been watching, Tower proceeded cautiously. "We could videotape something right here in the Watergate. Afterwards, You can take a look at it to see if it suits Your needs. If You don't like it, we stop right there and figure out Plan B."

"Perhaps just a short trial video, one without makeup or music would be okay, General." Jesus was clearly already in full production mode. Juan whispered something to Him. "Since this is just a sample, would it be alright for Juan to be in it with Me?"

Tower laughed. "Of course, of course, any arrangement You prefer is fine. I'll get us set up." The General flipped open his telephone. "Colonel Nicholson, we're going to go ahead with the trial videotape. Get the equipment ready in the third floor studio off operations. We'll film a little after lunch."

Chapter 73

73
SOMEWHERE IN WASHINGTON, D.C.

Agent Bill Holly was enjoying a cheeseburger when the call came. With its usual appetite for drama, the Civilian Intelligence Agency was ringing him up on a twenty-five pound eavesdrop-proof telephone. He kept it in his trunk. It was nothing more than a huge grey briefcase that had no other features. It was not James Bond.

Still chewing his meal while stuffing a few last fries into his mouth, he opened the trunk, opened the telephone case and keyed in his clearance number. Holding the bulky receiver between his shoulder and chin, he pressed the "clear line" key and the corresponding number of the person calling him appeared on the machine. It was his section chief's supervisor's boss. This could get interesting.

These numbers were the only representation in his life of the people at Langley who might call him. He had never met them. He didn't know their names.

"Holly here. Go ahead." he mumbled into the receiver.

"Agent Holly, meet Holt and Hoeffler at rendezvous station Zebra. Go to the Watergate with full gear to run a demo video on Jesus Robeles at one o'clock. Use the GTC camera. Get aura readings, body signs -- anything that will help identify this Guy. Check for radiation and electromagnetic anomalies. Section wants DNA and fingerprints. We gotta' find out Who this bird is. Everything clear?" the voice asked.

"What if the Marines won't let us in?" Bill Holly asked.

"The Director got to Veemer this morning. Everything is clear. Everything is clandestine. Be polite but firm. Your target has an unbelievable amount of clout." the voice commanded. "The operation code name is PARAKEET."

"I'm on it, Sir." Holly acknowledged.

"One more thing, Agent. Be careful. This Kid is dangerous. He, ah, does things to people." the voice on the phone advised.

"What kind of things? I mean, what should I expect?" Holly asked.

"You wouldn't even want to see the list of things He does, Agent. Just be careful. In fact, it wouldn't hurt to be a little afraid. Langley clear."

Chapter 74

74
WATERGATE HOTEL, WASHINGTON, D.C.

There was an air of excitement in the penthouse. Room service had brought lunch of blackened bass, papaya and corn muffins, a menu selection Jesus and Juan had been carefully grooming in an effort to eat what was, to them, normal food. In fact, meetings with the hotel's best Secret Service chef had gradually resulted in a menu which was not dissimilar to what they had eaten all their lives on Paraneho. They had reached a point where any more Waldorf salad or "something" pate' was in danger of sending them back to Brazil.

Beatrice ate well, too. The Watergate served up fresh vegetables and fruit along with other nutritious parrot dishes. Her pallet had actually presented the chef, coached by a veterinary consultant specializing in such menus, with a challenge of the type which breathes new life into the tedium of such a job.

Both Jesus and Juan were excited at the prospects of being filmed. Either by design or coincidence no photo had been taken of Jesus since the one of the two of them walking down the gang plank of the Brazilian destroyer in Rio. Jesus could remember the strange feeling He had when he saw that picture in the newspaper at Government House.

General Tower called promptly at one o'clock. "Are You ready to come down to the studio? My people are all set up down on the third floor."

Jesus answered excitedly, asking only for five minutes to get ready. He and Juan began to straighten their hair and look to their general appearance, as if it made a difference. The pair were still clad in Brazilian Navy fatigues and barefoot. General Tower had quit his attempts to dress the young men in more suitable clothing. Tower appeared at the door with his normal punctuality.

He flipped open his cell phone. "Make everything ready. We're coming down as soon as you are prepared to begin."

A few minutes later the General's phone rang. "Yes, that's good. We're not using our film crew? Who's going to do it? The Company? What do they have to do with this?....How did they know when to show up? That's just what we need, the damned CIA!" The General turned toward the pair. "There's going to be a short delay, probably only a few minutes."

Speaking into the phone again, he continued his conversation with his aide, Colonel Nicholson downstairs. "No one but the film crew comes up, and they get strip searched and x-rayed. Replace the tape in their video cameras after they are in the elevator. Colonel, I'm talking about a thorough strip search. I don't want a flea walking through the door. Put a three man sweeper squad on them while they are putting their clothes on. They'll be dropping bugs every time they turn around. Don't let 'em near the penthouse, whatever you do. Also, put two Marines in the studio and give orders for personal physical body protection on the Brazilians, shoot to kill." The General closed up the phone and slipped it into his pocket.

"Personal physical body protection, General?" queried Jesus.

"No one is ever sure what the CIA will do. Personal physical body protection means that if any of them try to harm You in any way, they will be dead before they get close to doing it. It's a drastic position, but I am responsible for Your safety and You will to the limits of my ability be safe, by God! And that by God, means by God. It's not swearing. I'll call you when we're ready." General Tower left to check on preparations. He was obviously upset at the introduction of forces beyond his control. But who can argue with the CIA? They wouldn't have shown up if they didn't have the juice. General Tower pledged to himself that he would not leave Jesus' side while the spooks were in the room.

General Tower, Jesus and Juan breezed into the cramped studio to find three men making the last preparations for the video taping session. The studio itself was small but well equipped with permanent lights and sound baffled walls. The Watergate had a history of guests who might need to make a press conference without the commotion of traveling with security arrangements.

The film crew seemed pleasant enough, but they had a definite false quality about them. They had shown up in suits, but the body search and x-ray team downstairs had confiscated everything except shoes, trousers and the inevitable white shirts. Everything about them from the expressions on their faces to the wrinkles in their clothes attested to the fact that Tower's orders for an energetic security scan had been carried out with enthusiasm. The little band of spies was pissed. They were not accustomed to being looked over quite so thoroughly. Nor were they accustomed to doing their work with two Marines with automatic pistols watching their every move. The Marines didn't really take up much space in the little room, but their presence made it seem remarkably more crowded.

The enthusiastic Brazilians remained as excited as ever.

"Good morning, Sir. I'm Bill Holly, this is Rich Hoeffler and Neal Holt. We would like to run some video of You so we can work out the final details of Your media campaign. If you would just have a seat there by the credenza, we'll start making some light checks." Agent Holly made it clear that he was in charge of the little group. In fact his attitude made it clear that he considered himself to be in charge of everything and everybody in the room. He had a remarkable quality about him. His face, hair, even his clothes seemed to be cast of highly realistic plastic.

"Juan will be appearing with Me in the video. Do you think we could get another chair for him to sit in?" Jesus spoke with His practiced innocence.

"Actually, one chair will be enough. We're only filming, ah, Mr. Robeles." Holly said to Neal Holt as he moved toward the door. "We have instructions that are very specific, just Jesus Robeles. Let's get busy and frame the shot for this interview."

At this point Jesus stepped over to the tripod. "Bill, Juan really wants to be in the video. Isn't that okay, since its only a trial anyway?"

Holly stepped back. "No, actually, we really need to film just You, Sir. You must understand that we have orders..."

Jesus looked back to General Tower, but the soldier was obviously prepared to defer to the authority of the agent. The gaze he returned to Jesus betrayed his frustration at not really being able to steer events in a better direction. The General was clearly concerned about the intentions of the CIA men. The first mystery was why they appeared suddenly on his front door at the merest mention of a trial videotaping. How did they know?

The second mystery was their objective. They seemed incredibly interested in creating a video of Jesus. Tower was fairly certain that there was another small camera in the base of the video camera that they brought. He had ordered his security screen to replace all video cassettes after "accidentally" x-raying the ones they carried in with them.

He was sure they had already tried to bug every room they had been in, even with his anti-bug team accompanying them every step. Restrooms included. His worse fear was that this was an assassination squad. He tried to stay as physically close to Jesus as possible.

Jesus smiled broadly, reaching out very directly to put His hand on Holly's shoulder. The operative jumped then gave a visible shudder. He looked at Jesus with a expression one might reserve for a rude passenger on a subway -- a stranger who brushed against you but then lingered too long. He clearly intended to say something to the smiling V.I.P. still standing next to him, but then he hesitated. Agent Holly slowly transformed his face into one of confusion. He was still trying to say something about being touched so directly, but he seemed to be at a loss for words. He began once, but was not able to form even the first word of what he intended to say. Only a few seconds had elapsed, but the man had passed through several distinct expressions. Finally he took a look of quiet resignation, then he smiled. Suddenly, he looked relaxed and his movements became unhurried. "You know, its not a problem at all. Perhaps General Tower would like to be in the shot, too."

Rich Hoeffler and Neal Holt looked at each other blankly. The puzzled look of agitation on their faces was in sharp contrast to serene gaze of their supervisor.

None of this scene was wasted on General Tower. He now had his arm to his side, his hand poised at the snap of the holster which held his forty-five automatic. His stare had wordlessly alerted the two Marine guards at either corner of the room. Their new state of heightened readiness was not missed by the CIA boys. It was essentially a 'nervousness party,' a contest to see who could be less comfortable. The exceptions were Jesus and Juan and, of course, the nearly delirious Bill Holly who had not yet realized that he was giggling constantly after Jesus touched his shoulder. To be honest, the man was not only giggling and trying not to giggle, but even in the struggle he was profoundly happy.

Jesus looked around the room slowly, pausing as He gazed into the eyes of everyone there. It was unfortunate, but the first to succumb was General Tower who started with the second case of the infectious chuckle. Within minutes all present were laughing at themselves, as if at an incredibly funny joke. There was a quality in the atmosphere of the room such that all the erstwhile serious men completely forgot what they were to be doing, what had been their plans a moment before, and most important, they had all forgotten their secrets and their fears.

Jesus smiled at Juan whose demeanor was completely causal. Juan was basically very happy all the time anyway, but he was quite familiar with this phenomenon. Then He winked at General Tower, leaning over to whisper in his ear. "My secret weapon. You don't think I've over done, do you?"

"Secret weapon! Secret Weapon?" The General began to laugh all over again. "What do You want to do? Put this old General out of business?"

Juan heard the comment and smiled. After Jesus translated it for him, he started to laugh again himself.

Agent Bill Holly was probably the first to recover his composure. The episode was perhaps most cruel of all to the two armed Marines standing at the corners of the tiny studio. They faced the task of remaining a threatening presence while at the same time laughing uncontrollably.

Bill Holly raised his voice above the laughter. "As if it matters we should still make this videotape. Everybody get set. Let's run the damned thing." What had been an intensely testy command a few minutes earlier was now little more than a good natured suggestion. The "crew" quickly prepared for the session.

"Let's frame Jesus. Hell, frame all three of them." chuckled Holly.

General Tower winced as the agent referred to Jesus by name rather than "Sir." Protocol was protocol, no matter what was happening. Nonetheless, he slid in close to Jesus and Juan as the man with the camera made the last adjustments. Slowly his suspicion about the CIA's entrance began to return. These three would not be here without a good reason. Unfortunately, inside the CIA every good reason to do anything had with it a good reason to be secret.

Suddenly, Neal Holt, who was running the camera, called agent Holly. "Bill, take a look at this." Futilely, he tapped the side of the machine nervously.

Bill Holt crossed the room to look at the framing screen of the elaborate camera. He swung the camera from side to side, still watching, then looked up, puzzled. "We're not getting any image of Jesus at all. We've got Juan and the General clear as a bell." Thumbing the rewind, he played the conversation in the room as it had been recorded for the last few minutes. As with the image, the audio record held not one word spoken by Jesus. "You're not very photogenic, Sir. This camera is recording everything in the room, video and audio, except You."

"I run into things like this every so often. Perhaps you will remember that all the world for Me is conformed by My Father's wishes. I think that the CIA should probably just accept that this idea of recorded messages from Me is not exactly what the, shall we say, Boss has in mind right now. It's not too bad. My experience is that these things usually turn out to be all for the better in the long run, even though just how that will happen may be a mystery right at the moment." Cheerful, Jesus was actually consoling the team.

"Ask them if we can have the tape they made anyway. I want to watch it in the penthouse." Juan said, speaking directly to Jesus in Portuguese.

"Juan would like to have the tape of himself and General Tower as a souvenir. In fact, I'll tell you what. I'll trade the tape for what you all actually came here to get. You've all been very good natured about all of this and I wouldn't want us to part less than friends." Jesus turned to Bill Holly. "Why don't you just give Me the bag you have in your pocket?"

Holly was surprised, but he withdrew a plastic bag from his trousers pocket, handing it to Jesus. "How did You know...?"

Jesus smiled as He licked His fingers. "It seems that I always know just what I need to know. I wasn't exactly sent here as a lamb to the slaughter." Laughing, He picked up a clean glass which had been by the always present water pitcher and carefully smudged his saliva and fingerprints across the side. Slipping the glass into the plastic bag, He turned again to Holly, "That should be enough for prints and DNA, yes?"

"Well, ah, thank You. I don't know quite what to say, but thanks a lot." agent Holly was actually stumbling for words.

Rich Hoeffler spoke up from where he stood helping Neal Holt bundle up the equipment. "May I ask You something, Sir?" Agent Holly glared at him, but the man clearly intended to complete his question.

"Of course. But if you don't mind, I'll just answer without your asking." Jesus was watching Holly trying to still the subordinate agent with a cold stare. "Yes, I would be pleased to bless you, although I don't usually do that. It wouldn't mean anything if I did. The whole point here is to encourage people to roll up their sleeves and bless themselves by trying a little harder. It's not rocket science. I'm sure you can figure it out. But thanks for asking, Rich."

"We're out of here. Jesus, Juan this way please." General Tower had risen and was on the way to the door of the studio.

Juan tugged at Jesus' arm. "What about the video tape?"

"General, wait just one minute, please. We want to get Juan's video tape." Jesus said looking back.

"Tell him not to touch it. Tell him not to touch anything they are going to take away with them." the General boomed. "I'll get it."

Tower examined the tape cassette, then tossed it to his aide, Colonel Nicholson. "Check it for bugs. Check it for everything. When you know its clean, deliver it to the penthouse. Deliver it ASAP. Got it?"

Nicholson disappeared down the hallway as the three entered the elevator.

Juan spoke quietly to Jesus on the ride up. "I hope it doesn't come out like the pizza."

General Tower ignored the comment, turning to Jesus, "We're going to have to figure out where to go from here, Sir. Television appearances would have made things much easier, but it looks like we are just going to have to do something else."

"Perhaps Plan B?" asked Jesus blankly. "I'm almost relieved that the television idea didn't work. I frankly am completely uncertain what I would say if I knew that I was speaking to hundreds of people at once -- people I don't even know."

"Well, this probably means press conferences. Those would be meetings where reporters ask You questions, but I have to warn You that some of the questions could get pretty difficult. I'm certain that I could arrange it so we began with easier ones first, though." the General explained.

"What will happen if I can't answer their questions, General Tower?" Jesus asked.

"That's what makes it exciting, Sir. We need to get You in front of the public soon. Do You think You could get ready by tomorrow or the next day?" General Tower asked hopefully.

"It seems as if I am always ready. It also seems that this is what I am to do next. Tomorrow will be fine. Can Juan come? In fact I think I would like for Beatrice to come, too." Jesus said thoughtfully.

General Tower was unwilling to jeopardize this development with even the suggestion of being unreasonable. A press conference with a lanky Brazilian and a parrot sitting on the sidelines, although perhaps not optimal, would be fine considering that the alternative would be no press conference at all. "I think we can arrange all of that, Sir. Thank You."

The word went out from the Watergate like wildfire.

Chapter 75

75
GLOBAL IUP WIRE SERVICE

WASHINGTON, D.C.

A large bomb partially detonated at the service entrance of the Watergate Hotel early this morning. The blast caused extensive damage to a warehouse area where the truck had been left by the perpetrators of the incident. ATF investigators, speaking on condition of anonymity, told reporters "The explosion would have been huge, reminiscent of the Oklahoma City Bombing of three decades ago. Unlike Oklahoma City, this explosion apparently stopped in mid-detonation leaving investigators with a great deal of material to be studied for evidence."

A forensic investigation of the wreckage failed to reveal any reason for the bomb to have been defective. FBI sources say the truck contained over a ton of kerosene soaked fertilizer along with a triggering system of electric caps and dynamite.

Investigators on the scene said "It's a mystery why the whole thing didn't go. It's a mystery, but it's also a miracle."

No one was injured in the blast. The FBI has indicated that there are no suspects at present. The investigation is continuing.

SAN DIEGO, CA  Buck Stratton Radio Ministry Headquarters.

Pastor Buck Stratton, commenting today from his radio ministry headquarters in San Diego gave the following comment on the attempted bombing at the Watergate. "We didn't do it! It's the same as the massacre at the tomb twenty-five years ago. We're the first ones they blame, as if we'd do somethin' like that. Fortunately, they can't prove nothin', as usual."

TAMPA, FL United CFC Headquarters

A official spokesman gave only the following short statement when asked about the bombing at the Watergate yesterday. "We are very certainly not trying to kill the Divine Savior Reincarnate. I don't think we are on any suspect list. So, gosh. Who does that leave?"

Chapter 76

76
WATERGATE HOTEL, WASHINGTON, D.C.

General Tower was always nervous about what were called 'permanent assignments', and this one seemed to be close enough to qualify. His boss, General Vilnius Veemer, Commandant of the Marine Corps, had told him precious little about just what was expected of him, but he, was after all a Marine General. They didn't give him those two stars on his shoulder with a promise that he would never draw any hard duty.

Walking the few blocks from his boss's office gave him a chance to think tactics. Veemer had already told him all or part of what had happened in the meeting with President Haskill. He had told him that everyone was now convinced that the message of Jesus Robeles was the key to gaining control of the situation in the streets. He knew that at first not all of the Joint Chiefs and the Security Council had been convinced, but now there were new faces. Now everyone was convinced.

With active unrest in forty to fifty percent of the towns and cities in the country, there could be no more pressing mission that to restore order. Tower's first inclination when confronted with the problem was to call out the Marines. Veemer had conceded that this had been his own suggestion to the President and the National Security Council. But force or arms was seldom effective against the force of ideas. Tower had witnessed that kind of losing battle in every corner of the world from Vietnam to Bosnia and now Algeria and Libya.

President Haskill and the NSC wanted to handle this thing on what was basically a public relations basis. That seemed risky. The condition of the country warranted stronger action. As far as General Tower was concerned, if a few of these rioters got shot while they were out raising hell, then maybe some of the others would calm down a little.

Now, scarcely two and half hours before the first of these press conferences, the biggest question was simply what He would say. At least, it had finally become time to take action. Jesus Robele's uncertain agreement to appear in a press conference at all might mark the beginning of the end of all this trouble. Yesterday General Tower had finally been given a full information packet from the State Department which included two or three pounds of newspaper clippings. The newspaper clippings had shed far more light on what was happening than the State Department profile. Jesus Robeles didn't have a State Department profile for Christ's sake! State's little spooks may as well have been reporting on a squirrel.

He had seen those profiles before. Take the case of some little rabble rouser from the jungles of Africa. This guy gets an army together and a sponsor to buy him rifles and bullets. He takes over the government of some little country no one has ever heard of and makes overtures for diplomatic recognition. His State Department profile tells everything. Where he was born. Who his friends are. Where he's traveled. It talks about his politics and his philosophy. It even takes a guess at his ambitions.

The information packet on Jesus Robeles contained essentially no data on the Man. It contained one blurry photograph of Him getting off a ship in Rio. The rest was full of scientific explanations about human cloning, all the facts that supported the claim that He was, in fact, a clone of Jesus Christ. If the cloning part wasn't rough enough, it also verified that the Man apparently had supernatural powers, just like His DNA donor, the body found in the Tomb. The profile said that He considered Himself to be Jesus Reincarnate, all of which would have been hard to believe if not for the credentials of the scientists who agreed with Him. The stuff was worse than useless. It was mostly volatile misinformation waiting to cause trouble. As far as State was concerned, Jesus Robeles had indeed restored life to a dead helicopter pilot, an unquestionably dead helicopter pilot, and He had done in clear view of almost fifty people.

One thing was clear enough. That was the willingness of both sides of the Divinity argument to enter into a seemingly spontaneous state of war with each other. If the bone of contention had been some sort of political or economic issue, this damned thing would have been a civil war. Especially if it involved the government.

But Robert Haskill was going to extraordinary lengths to keep his administration clear of the fracas. That was part of the problem. The people in the streets might have possibly made sense out of themselves if he had come out on one side or the other. Haskill's ambition, coupled with his cowardice, was spilling blood across the country he was sworn to protect.

The Watergate lay directly ahead. As usual the place was surrounded by people with signs. His Marines would not allow any violence around the hotel, and as evidence of their resolve six paddy wagons were parallel parked by the service entrance. They filled each one before taking the next load of nut cases to Andrews.

The Secret Service agent opened the door for him. Tower hoped this meeting might be less perplexing than his previous ones. Jesus Robeles could very comfortably -- and innocently -- switch His line of reasoning from a curious and excited country Boy in the big city for the first time to that of perhaps the most powerful Person in the world. He had seen this during the brief times he had been with Him, but he had never gotten accustomed to it. In the instances of the latter case he had felt the extremely disquieting sensation that he was, in fact, sitting in church, only during these times, sitting in church seemed very real. While he was in the presence of Jesus Robeles, there was a gnawing chorus of voices that said nothing was real save this moment.

"Good morning, Sir. Are You ready to meet the press?" General Tower greeted Him with an upbeat tone.

"Good morning, General Tower. You're a little early, I think. But that is very good! Perhaps you would like to join us for breakfast. At least have a cup of coffee." Jesus was in high spirits Himself. Even Juan seemed to be excited.

"GOOD MORNING! GOOD MORNING, GENERAL TOWER!" came a raucous voice from across the room, catching the soldier completely by surprise. "I'M BEATRICE! I LIVE HERE!" the bird continued.

"You taught the parrot to speak over night?" Tower asked incredulously.

"Oh, yes. Beatrice was just full of things she wanted to say. She's a very happy parrot now that We've got her wings fixed!" Jesus nonchalantly mentioned as he looked for the telephone. The apartment was getting pretty cluttered. The bird flew across the room to land on a side table where she proceeded to dislodge several newspapers revealing the portable phone.

"Oh good. Thank you, Beatrice!" Jesus spoke as if to a person. He took the phone and ordered breakfast from room service. The Secret Service waiter appeared within a minute with a pot of coffee, bowls, milk and silver. In the center of the tray was an unopened box of 'Sugar Charged Holy O's'. Tower accepted a cup of coffee, but declined to comment on the irony of the dry cereal.

"I thought I might speak with You about the press conference, Sir. That's why I wanted to show up a little early." General Tower apologized. "I'm sorry to have caught You before You had time to dress." Jesus and Juan had gotten only as far as their inevitable fatigue pants. Their shirts were still wrapped in plastic. Since they wouldn't wear anything else, the Secret Service had taken to laundering their meagre wardrobe each night.

"Oh that's quite alright, General. I assume that you have often been around men dressed as We are in your job as a General." Jesus reassured Tower. "You must have had something on your mind to have come so early."

"Yes, I wanted to go over a few things You can expect in the press conference -- just so You will be prepared." The General began, "First of all, the most important idea of a press conference is to show that You are hiding nothing, that You are willing to answer any question the reporters might ask. There aren't any particular rules. You can answer or not, but if You decline too many questions the people will start thinking You are hiding something again."

"An exception to this is that You usually don't answer questions that are too private. These are seasoned reporters, though. They will probably not ask anything like that."

"What if I don't know the answer?" Jesus asked.

"My advice is to simply say so. The whole nation is waiting to hear what You have to say. They are going to pay close attention to You. Don't say anything that can come back at You. 'No' is a lot better answer than saying something You don't mean." Tower replied.

"The press conference will last thirty-five minutes. You can assume that some of the reporters will be from either side of the fence. Reporters are usually polite. I think this bunch will be -- they are all afraid of You."

"That means that some will only hear the very worst in My answers. The others will expect more than I can give." Jesus commented thoughtfully.

"We are going to be alone in a small room in the State Department. I will be there with You, along with two Marines and twelve reporters, but the idea is that You will do the talking." Tower seemed to finish with this. "That about sums it up, Sir."

"Juan and Beatrice will be there?" Jesus asked.

"Of course. Of course. Just as we agreed." Tower reassured Him.

"You know that I can only answer with what I think is true, General." Jesus stated the obvious. "You realize that I also have My own Higher Authority."

"Of course, Sir. I understand that, at least, I think I understand that, We all work for a higher authority." The General wanted to build a little empathy with the strange, intense young Man before him, but after his last comment he felt, frankly, stupid. Recovering himself, the General proceeded on the track he had originally set for the meeting. "I have been given my task by people in the highest positions in the country, including my superior officer, the Commandant of the Marine Corps General Veemer and the Commander in Chief of all armed forces, President Haskill. Other powerful men in the United States military, the Joint Chiefs and the National Security Council have all agreed that this is the best alternative left after what we encountered in the video taping."

"That is a very impressive array of people to be involved with these details. Tell me, General, were you present when they discussed this plan?" Jesus' eyes were black, bottomless pits revealing nothing of His thoughts. They had a supernatural quality to them that seemed to drill through the General as if he were a puff of smoke.

"I was indeed, Sir, although I must tell You that in that crowd I was listening instead of talking. You may not have ever had the sensation that everyone around You was Your superior." The General forged on ahead. "I can say that every voice in the room spoke of concern for Your safety. The United States Government, no matter how inept it may seem, does have excellent sources of information from even the most unlikely quarters. You need a company of armed Marines around You, along with the Secret Service and God only knows who else among the folks standing around like they belonged here."

Taking note of Tower's expletive, Jesus answers in a level voice. "I, too, would assume that our Creator knows who is working for whom here in the hotel."

"Please excuse me for saying that, Sir. It is my habit. I didn't mean anything by it." General Tower was embarrassed by his slip. He had pledged himself never to swear while in the presence of his Guest.

"Don't worry about it, too much. Those two things of your shoulders are the stars of a general, not the wings of an angel. Perhaps progress on your personal path is best served as you consider the worst you've done against yourself or the world, not some petty slight of etiquette here with Me. In fact I don't even consider it a matter of etiquette, much less a slight. Please be at ease, General. I am happy to meet anyone, and that includes you. I know you have a good heart but a very difficult job. I anticipate that we will become quite comfortable with each other over time." Jesus spoke frankly, but guardedly. The old war horse would have to be approached gradually. Tower was suspicious and conservative. Jesus wondered if those qualities led him to be a general or if being a general had led him to have those qualities.

"To the matter of the press conference, my orders are to assist You in Your plans, whatever they may be. The same group of brass hats we were talking about a moment ago could only speculate about just what You would be doing for Your, ah, ministry here in the U.S. I am certainly not insisting that You tell me what Your program will be, but the more of it You feel comfortable sharing with me, the more effective I can be in expediting it."

The General paused, then continued. "It is important for You to understand the level of threat which presently exists. The reporters at Your conference may very well ask You about threats against Your person. You are not informed of each individual instance, but You have been receiving an average of two hundred death threats per day. Every one of them is referred to Your switchboard downstairs in the operations room. Every one of them is investigated."

"I have been aware that security was a problem, but two hundred a day? Do any of the callers say why they wish Me dead?" Jesus asked, curious at the onslaught of ill will.

"What we've been finding is a wide variety of things. The first group is certain that You are Who You say You are. Most of them believe that the Second Coming is a prelude to the end of world. They think that if You are gone, that final day of destruction will be postponed. Remember, according to the polls over seventy per cent of the population believes there is some connection between Your arrival and the imminent end of the world. The second group is certain that You are not Who You say You are. They are certain that You are one of many various forms of Biblical demons, sent by Satan himself to deceive the righteous and somehow cause them to make mistakes which will result in their eternal damnation. The polls show this frame of mind in about half of the population, most of whom would also be included in the percentage I mentioned before.

"The third group is a catch-all for every kind of weirdo. Some of them believe they are Satan or demons. Some of them believe they are angels, executing the wrath of God as it was communicated only to them. Some of them believe You are an alien from another planet, I don't know, some of them probably believe they are aliens from another planet." The General sighed. "I promise You that we'll handle them all."

"What do you mean 'handle them all'?" Jesus asked. This type of question made Tower nervous.

"I mean we get their phone numbers, then we get their addresses, then we talk to their neighbors, then we talk to them. If they're still nuts we watch 'em. Military intelligence can bother hell out of someone, believe me." The General continued his explanation. "If the threat cannot be contained by all that, then we do whatever is necessary to contain it. We are not violating any one's Constitutional rights in Your behalf. Sometimes we come close, but we know we have to face the judge just like everyone else."

"America is an amazing place. It seems like a garden filled with every kind of flower. General, I wish you could see the difference between this wonderful country and the place where I spent My first lifetime." Jesus commented with a distant tone to His voice. "All these groups weighing in with an opinion about Me, what do you think of Me, General? Space alien?"

"You may well know that local law enforcement and even the military in some cases has succumbed to partisanship when faced with the task of restoring order between Your supporters and detractors. This has been one of the most disturbing aspects of the civil unrest. Americans have never seen the National Guard, for instance, arrive on a scene to restore order only to divide among themselves and join the violence." Tower was trying to remember that he was speaking to a person Who was generally unaccustomed to life in the United States.

"You are referring to the Baltimore incident? Juan and I actually read about it in a paper from Rio." Jesus asked pointedly.

"Yes, Sir. Baltimore was a very low point for the reputation of the U.S. armed forces. The introduction of well armed soldiers into the ranks of the opposing sides of the conflict caused many deaths and injuries. This may come up in the press conference, too. Worst of all, it shook the confidence in which the people hold the military. After Baltimore the man in the street isn't certain that he can welcome law enforcement or military units as true impartial peace keepers." General Tower eased himself into one of the overstuffed chairs at the dining room table. "I am proud to say that Marine units, whenever they have been called so far, have performed their duties regardless of what sympathies individual men may have held."

"That, I suppose, is why I am guarded by a company of Marines and why I have a Marine General for an official liaison. I respect the devotion these men around Me, that is downstairs, hold to their duties. I understand why such young men would be a source of personal pride for you. In fact, General, I sense an almost fatherly attachment between you and your men, although I understand that such a relationship is strictly not military." Jesus mused. He hesitated, then continued. "Back to the question I put to you. What do you think I am?"

"So long as I wear this uniform, I am paid to have no opinion whatever. In fact, I was chosen from a good number of other possibilities for this job because everyone concerned had a strong confidence in my continued lack of opinion in the matter. As an individual, I am subject to the impressions I receive while I am around You, but as a military officer, I guarantee that I will not contaminate either my military bearing or my point of view in any way which could influence my actions. I am doing my job and will continue to do so." Tower pulled this off without becoming defensive. He had expected this question for some time. He was relieved that it was over and that he had been ready.

"I find that point of view and that dedication to duty to be very reassuring. Although I was not privy to the high level meetings where these decisions were made, I would like to voluntarily clarify something for you, General. Your own understanding of the events of that day in April, AD 30 should suggest to you that I can be hurt or killed. Nothing on that day should be considered symbolic or in some way optional. They killed me. Likewise, one of these mobs roaming around can also kill Me. I want you to know that your efforts to keep Me secure are appreciated and necessary. I am determined to accomplish what I came to do. It is too important to be precluded by a bomb or a lucky shot." Jesus spoke of all this in a very matter-of-fact manner.

The General was interested but uneasy. "Every kind of security measure has been put in place to protect You, nothing has been spared. And, we hope, nothing has been overlooked. The troops You see around the hotel can be multiplied ten times or more if need be in a matter of minutes. It has always been the policy of the U.S. military to provide protection in layers. The Secret Service is Your innermost layer. You can have confidence in them, too. They are tough and dedicated. They are here from the Treasury Department at the order of President Haskill, and they're quite independent of the Marines downstairs. If for some chance a Marine should try something, go to the Secret Service and vice versa. That is not likely, but if it should happen, I want You to know what to do."

"I accept your appraisal of the threat from the street, General. I only wish I had a better idea of what awaits Me in this press conference. I hope you realize that I have lived all My life in much simpler surroundings. The willingness of the administration to be so generous almost makes Me suspect that something is expected in return. What can President Haskill possibly want from Me? I hardly expect that the most powerful man in the world would want or need a miracle." Jesus rose stretching himself as any young man might do. Beatrice flew to His shoulder. "PAY BACK TIME! PAY BACK TIME!"

Both Jesus and General Tower chuckled. General Tower had an uneasy feeling listening to Jesus speak. The ever present Portuguese was still quite audible. It had the distinct sound of any one's voice when directed away from the listener. Yet the English version of Jesus' speech was in no way different than it would have been had they been seated facing each other a few feet distant. He wondered what effect this would have on the reporters. There would be no cameras or tape recorders in the session for security reasons. Both would be useless anyway.

"I want to be very certain that You realize the importance of this conference, Sir. In a certain sense it might be considered to be something that is, in Your Own words, expected of You. I absolutely refuse to present it as a demand or, in fact, even a request that is conditional on anything else whatsoever. Rather, I would prefer to express it as an explanation of the seriousness of President Haskill's concern about the civil unrest in the country." General Tower, in good military fashion, although hardly mincing words, came directly to the point.

"If President Haskill wants Me to stop that, we really are back to his needing a miracle. I have explained My mortality to you frankly. Now perhaps I should explain miracle making to you just as frankly." Jesus wanted to encourage the General toward frankness. It was hard enough to have much trust in all these soldiers and bureaucrats, He didn't want to set a precedent of a lack of openness. "You have you orders and I have Mine. My orders might be a little difficult to communicate to you, but let Me clarify this one part."

Jesus ambled back to the table with a giant doughnut which had been left over from breakfast. "I had My first doughnut about a month ago. I would say that they're heavenly, but I know I must watch My words. Back to this miracle business. If I were a general, such as you are, miracles would originate in the Pentagon, better say with the Commander in Chief. When I encounter, and especially when I cause a certain thing which I feel is wrong, a miracle can pass through Me as a conduit to make that thing right again. I am very determined to cause no harm. The 'wrongness' of a thing has to do with a reaction in My Conscience. When I experience remorse or other strong emotional feeling about such a development that I wish to make it right again, I gain the potential of being a pathway for a miracle originating elsewhere to reach that person or thing. The people in the streets began doing what they are doing long before I was here, long before I ever knew I would be here. Quite independently of what I may wish in the matter, I have no essential emotion about them. Hence, I have no particular miraculous ability to influence them. It is My hope that your idea is correct. Perhaps reading about My press Conference may serve to calm them a little."

"I have no wish to be ascendant with you, General, but the key issue here is actually My Conscience. It is different from yours only in the aspect of its development. It is more developed than yours. It was perhaps the most stunning thing that was changed in Me at the moment of My Awareness of Myself on the island. It came in the 'breeze of realization' that filled Me with the same kinds of thoughts and feelings as were in the ancient Jesus. It may interest you to know that the development of conscience is possible for a great many common people in this country or the world. That happy possibility is among the goals of My visit here." Jesus looked longingly at the empty doughnut platter, then back at the General.

"I don't think President Haskill is exactly expecting a miracle to stop this violence. I think he is much more just expecting Your help in a sort of secular, public relations sort of way." The General was beginning to feel alarmingly comfortable.

"You can understand that I have no particular sense of responsibility for these developments, hence I have no corresponding sensations from My Conscience. As I said a moment ago a miracle is not really possible. I hope you can understand this, and I really hope you understand that it is not necessarily because I refuse to do it or because I enjoy all the misery these people are making for each other." Jesus fell silent.

"If there's not to be a miracle, then that's that. The next best thing will be these press conferences where You can perhaps answer questions more than preach. The more that people are able to read what You say, the more comfortable they might become with Who You are. President Haskill thinks that once people are more used to You, everything will be easier for everyone. Even Your own people will be able to pay attention better after they calm down." The General relaxed a little as he leaned back in his chair. He had delivered the pitch.

"What do you mean by 'My people', General?" Jesus asked. "The last time that phrase was used successfully was by Moses in Egypt. He told the Pharaoh to 'Let my people go.' Everybody, including you, General, is included in 'My people.' I don't think even President Haskill has the power to grant them the freedom I plan to tell them about. When the time comes for Me to deliver my message from 'The Commander in Chief" I'll handle the details Myself, but thank you for the offer."

"I have direct orders not to pry into Your plans any further than You may wish to share them with me. It is my personal inclination to avoid this at any cost. There are enough folks trying to guess what You will do next. You don't need me meddling in what I feel is certainly a campaign with its details already well in hand." Tower retreated a little.

"I think you know that I have a very clear idea of My mission in the world, and that I have no particular authority to change my responsibilities." Jesus explained. "But I promise you that I will do My best with the reporters. I'll try to bear in mind all of what you've said."

"Well, the car will be ready in ten minutes. I'll ride over with You and Juan." the General rose to leave.

"It will be Juan and Beatrice and Me. Yes?" asked Jesus.

Tower turned around. "Yes, of course. Beatrice."

Standing before him was a shirtless, barefoot, muscular young man with hair to His waist and a parrot on his shoulder. Further back in the room was another more or less identical shirtless, barefoot, muscular young man shaking the last crumbs from a nearly empty box of Sugar Charged Holy O's into his mouth, also with hair to his waist. He shook his head. The Washington press corps were going to have a fast snack on the way to their word processors.

Jesus, as if reading his mind, said only, "Keep the faith, General. We'll meet you at the car."