Eli (33 page)

v

“We are merely proposing that he join forces with us, that’s all.” Dr. Kerston’s assistant, a young man of nearly thirty in a neatly tailored Armani, grew more impassioned. “I mean, everyone in this room has seen the way he can work up and inspire a crowd.”

“Both positively and negatively,” Dr. Kerston added with a polite chuckle.

The others around the long table smiled knowingly. The conference room was large, mostly glass, and cheery with thick, intricately carved molding running along the ceiling.

To the west, the sun hung low in the sky, and as it shown through the tinted windows it gave everyone in the room an odd, golden-gray glow.

Kerston’s assistant continued. “And with that type of gift-edness, plus his miracles . . . well, he would prove incredibly valuable.”

“For whom?” Conrad asked.

“For the country, of course.”

“Not to mention you,” Keith said as he leveled his gaze at Dr. Kerston with the self-assuredness that can only come from hththt 5/14/01 11:35 AM Page 256

256 the terribly young . . . or naive. For a moment Conrad wondered if he’d made a mistake bringing the kid along. Then again, such cockiness might be useful in stripping away the

“civilities” of this group and getting to the real issues.

The assistant bristled at Keith’s statement, but before he could respond, Dr. Kerston gave another chuckle, making it clear he was taking over. “No, son.” He smiled at Keith.

“What happens to me is of little consequence. To be frank, what happens to this complex of mine isn’t all that important, either. And I think it would be fair to assume”—he leaned over the table to look down at his arch-rival from Aurora—“that Reverend Snyder here would say the same about himself and his organization. Am I right, Reverend?”

Snyder cleared his throat and nodded. “Yes, you are, Doctor.”

Kerston continued, “And the same would go for any of these other esteemed clergy with us this afternoon.”

The dozen or so distinguished gentlemen sitting around the table nodded in agreement.

“No,” Dr. Kerston said, “we are talking about something far more important than one man or one particular ministry.

What we’re talking about is a movement, son, the turning of an entire country back to God, back to the very principles upon which we were founded.”

More nods of agreement.

“That’s what the City of God represents. That’s what Reverend Snyder’s Cathedral Hour represents. That’s what we all represent. Wresting this country out of the hands of the hea-then and putting it back into the hands of God.”

“And we are coming very close to making that dream come true,” Reverend Snyder interjected. “So close that it would be a shame to have division now. Especially when Eli’s goals and ours are identical.”

“Identical?” Conrad asked.

Dr. Kerston nodded. “Eli wants God to rule our nation; we want God to rule our nation. ”

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“Exactly,” Snyder agreed, making it clear he wasn’t finished. “And with this charisma of his, as well as these . . . miracles, his partnership with us could become the very cornerstone on which to build our movement, on which to rebuild this nation.”

“The cornerstone . . .” Conrad mused as he recalled Eli’s parable back at the congregation in Texas.

“Pardon me?” Reverend Synder asked.

Conrad shook his head. “And Eli, what would he get out of this . . . partnership?”

Kerston’s assistant answered. “Credibility. Power. With Dr. Kerston’s sizable political clout—” Then, catching himself, he nodded to Snyder. “And with the good Reverend’s reputation, as well as these other fine gentlemen, all Eli need do is say the word and he would instantly be endorsed by the entire religious community, both liberal and conservative.”

“And,” Kerston added, “if things were to work out and the timing was correct, your man could very well find himself holding some very high political office.”

Conrad did his best not to show any expression. He hoped Keith was able to do the same.

“He could become our spokesperson,” Snyder explained,

“the galvanizing point for our entire movement. In many ways he could act as—”

“The Messiah?” Keith interrupted.

The group exchanged silent glances.

“That’s . . . certainly a possibility,” Dr. Kerston’s assistant hedged. “But to be frank, he doesn’t qualify, at least not yet.”

“Qualify?” Keith asked incredulously. “He moves crowds, he changes lives, he raises people from the dead—and he doesn’t qualify?”

Reverend Snyder answered. “The Scriptures clearly state that the Messiah will be a world leader, that the governments will rest upon his shoulder.”

“And?” Keith asked.

“Well, no offense, my friend,” Dr. Kerston smiled, “but as he is now, this behind-the-scenes teacher and healer of yours hththt 5/14/01 11:35 AM Page 258

258 knows nothing about the ways of the world. Every time an opportunity arises to increase his support base, it almost appears as if he’s set upon sabotaging it.”

Conrad winced. That’s exactly what they’d been fighting with Eli for so many weeks. At least until this new and improved Eli had emerged.

“And that’s all right,” Dr. Kerston continued. “He just needs a little . . . seasoning, some guidance along the way.”

“Guidance from you guys?” Keith almost laughed. “The man raises people from the dead and you’re going to give him guidance?”

Conrad appreciated Keith’s candidness, but he also appreciated something else he saw. These men had an obvious desire, almost an urgency, to work with Eli. Could this have been Eli’s plan all along? To wait, to hold back, and then to come in blazing with such overwhelming strength and power that they had to play ball with him? That certainly appeared to be the case now. Granted, they viewed him as a threat.

Granted, they didn’t see eye to eye on several issues, but wasn’t their overarching goal the same? Didn’t they both want to bring people to God? And if their goals were the same, shouldn’t these men at least be listened to? Everyone knew Eli was not fond of the religious system, but if he were to align himself with them, even partially, wouldn’t that give him enough clout to make them pay attention to his concerns, to allow him to begin changing the system from the inside out?

It was Reverend Snyder’s turn to answer Keith. “I am afraid raising people from the dead is a far different skill than learning to survive in a political world.”

“And often far more easy,” Dr. Kerston chuckled.

The table responded in kind.

“Seriously though.” Dr. Kerston leaned forward. “Eli Shepherd has tremendous gifts and power. We’ve all seen that. He’s simply not yet learned to harness those strengths, that’s all. The man is like a nuclear reaction. If channeled and properly directed, he will do great good. But if left unchanneled, he becomes a bomb, senselessly destroying himself and all those around him.”

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“And you think you can channel him?” Conrad asked skeptically.

“I think together we can counsel him,” Reverend Snyder replied. “Assist him when he wants assistance. Be available to remind him of the big picture.”

“Much as the two of you have tried,” Dr. Kerston added.

Conrad tensed slightly at the camaraderie. “How do you know what we’ve tried?”

Dr. Kerston smiled. “Let’s just say that the resources of those around this table can be quite extensive.”

“And,” Reverend Snyder added, “those resources, combined with the sizable influence wielded by the two of you should certainly be enough to make him see reason.”

Keith muttered, “If only it were that easy.”

Conrad shot him a look, but it was too late. Whatever suspicions these men had about his and Keith’s frustrations with Eli were suddenly confirmed.

“Keith, it can be that easy.” Dr. Kerston’s smile broadened as he turned to Conrad. “With your influence and ours, I’m certain we can help Eli see reason. And once he does, I believe absolutely nothing can stop him.”

Conrad was finding it harder to maintain his skepticism.

“If our goals are identical, why fight?” Dr. Kerston shrugged. “Why be enemies when we can become allies?”

“It might be a little easier to convince him of that if you hadn’t thrown him in jail,” Keith replied.

Kerston glanced at his assistant, who took the cue and cleared his throat. “In exactly ten minutes, Dr. Kerston will be holding a press conference,” the young man said. “Since it’s opening week for us and since the good Doctor agrees with much of what Eli has said, he is dropping all charges against Eli Shepherd.”

When Conrad finally found his voice, it came out more ironic than he’d intended. “As a gesture of your good will and magnanimity.”

“Call it what you like,” Dr. Kerston answered as he started gathering his papers. “I’d prefer it to be a gesture of friendship, hththt 5/14/01 11:35 AM Page 260

260 an opportunity for your man to reach his fullest potential.

What you and Eli decide to do with that gesture is up to you.

If you cooperate, everyone will win. Eli, the men around this table, you two, and, most important, the people of our beloved nation. And if you don’t . . .” He let the phrase hang, then shrugged. “Well, as I said, it will be your decision.”

Having gathered his papers, he rose. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I have a press conference to attend.”

Those around the table rose and Conrad followed suit.

Hands were shaken and nods exchanged. The meeting had come to an end. In a matter of seconds Keith was on the other side of the table engaging Dr. Kerston’s assistant in further dia-logue. Conrad, on the other hand, was left with his notes and his thoughts. What he had expected to become a war of words had turned into a remarkable opportunity. If he’d heard clearly, the top religious leaders of the country were offering Eli a partnership in which all could benefit. In exchange for his cooperation, they would provide counsel (which he could accept or refuse) as well as a legitimate platform from which to speak. A platform that, if things played out correctly, could very well allow Eli to be accepted as who he claimed to be: the much awaited Messiah. No wonder Eli was so intent upon coming to the City of God. No wonder he—

His thoughts were interrupted by one of the secretaries, a petite woman in her mid-twenties who had been taking notes.

She placed a brown leather briefcase on the table beside him.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“Dr. Kerston is aware of how costly it’s been for you and your group to travel all the way across the country to visit us.

As a token of his appreciation, he wanted to donate this to your ministry to help defray expenses.”

“Defray expenses?” Conrad asked. “You mean it’s money?”

“Yes.”

“How much?”

“Thirty.”

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“Thirty . . .” He searched her face for more information.

“Thirty thousand, Mr. Conrad.”

He practically choked. “Thirty thousand dollars?”

She smiled tightly before turning and walking away.

v

The meeting with Roseanne, her children, the lawyers, and the additional doctors that had been brought in was even more brutal than the first. Although everything was conducted in a “civil and compassionate manner,” the bottom line was always the same:

For all intents and purposes, Conrad Davis was dead.

The evaluation of the two new doctors was identical to that of yesterday’s physician. There was little of Julia’s father’s brain that had not been damaged, and there was no chance of ever recovering its use. In fact, if it weren’t for the machines forcing his other organs to remain functioning—“against their will,” one of the doctors had pointed out—then Julia’s father would have already experienced a more natural and certainly more humane “passing on.”

Then, of course, there were the lawyers’ arguments. Again and again, they pointed out that her father’s wishes were for life support systems to be discontinued. And if, due to her emotional involvement, she could not execute his wishes, then she needed to relinquish her responsibility to someone who could.

But, as much as Julia wanted to give in, she knew that she had to carry out her duties. She could not give up her responsibility.

“It’s not fair! All the other kids—”

“We’re not talking about all the other kids.”

“But—”

“If you refuse to take responsibility, you will stay in your
room.”

“Dad!”

“When you’re ready to be responsible, we can talk.”

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The group meeting had ended over an hour ago, and Julia still felt like she’d been hit by a truck. Now, alone with her mother in the ICU lobby, she stared down at the paper. It was a single-page document, giving the hospital permission to remove her father from life supports.

“Daddy, will we always be best friends?”

“Yes, Jules.”

“And you’ll never let anything bad happen to me?”

“I’ll never ever let anything bad happen to you.”

“Good. And I’ll never let anything bad happen to you.”

She glanced at the pen she was holding. It was a Monte Blanc—a gift from her boss, Atlanta’s District Attorney for—

what had he said?—“unwavering devotion to justice.” At the moment, she noticed that the pen was trembling violently.

“I do not want life-sustaining treatment to be provided or
continued if I am in an irreversible coma or persistent vegetative—”

“In many ways, your father is already dead.”

“You’re only as good as your word.”

“Julia . . .” Her mother spoke from the chair beside her, but Julia barely heard. Instead, she stared down at the document—at the single line across the bottom of the page that required her signature and the date.

“Your father’s coma is irreversible.”

“I gave your Grandpa my word a long, long time ago.”

“Jules . . .”

“I do not want life-sustaining—”