Fallen Masters (58 page)

Mama G’s spirit reached out to cover those present with Marcus in the secure waiting room and the members of the Academy Awards audience who were in tune with Forces of Light. Everyone she touched felt her gentle breath and the scent of a breeze from the Caribbean.

CHAPTER

104

The Academy Awards broadcast was already under way. A few power issues and celestial displays would not be enough to stop this worldwide event, which was so important to so many powerful figures in media and entertainment. Already, it was estimated that more than three billion people would see the ceremony this night.

Bobby Anderson met up with a band of agents he personally knew were on the right side … He had called to make the First Lady aware directly, via a secure line, that Marcus Jackson, Jr. was alive, and she was in the air on a private jet on the way to collect her son. Probably she was 30,000 feet over Nevada right now.

The FBI agent arranged to get all his security people inside through the stage entrance of the theater. He had two guards posted outside the door and outside the utility trailer where he had deposited Marcus in the care of Tyler Michaels and Rae Loona, who were escorted backstage from the A-list cocktail party.

Much to her surprise, Charlene’s work had been nominated for Best Original Song for one of the most popular movies of the year,
Rainfall
, and tonight, with the whole world watching and listening, she would sing it live. Just as she was getting ready to leave her seat to perform, a seat stand-in was sent down the aisle to make sure that no seat was left empty in the shots of the show that are broadcast. Charlene asked Dawson if he would mind walking with her backstage. Barely able to keep his eyes open—the time change from Australia, the ordeal in rescuing Marcus, and the energy drain happening all around him—he accepted, even though he had always wanted a front row seat at a Charlene St. John McAvoy concert. Little did he know that this would turn into a “front row seat” for a life with this woman with whom he was rapidly falling in love.

As they made their way backstage amid heavy security, Dawson noticed Bobby and waved to him. The two friends came together and embraced. They had become even closer, forging a bond of a lifetime over the past few weeks—especially the past twenty-four hours.

“Bobby, this is—”

“Charlene St. John,” Bobby Anderson finished, taking the performer’s small hand in his. “You are my biggest fan,” he said with a grin, purposely mangling the line like many a starstruck fan. “Seriously, I love your music and wish you the best of luck with your nomination tonight.”

“Thank you, Agent Anderson. I have heard a lot about you in a very short time from Dawson.”

“Always the man of well-chosen words,” Anderson acknowledged. “Look, I have some serious work to do here, as you probably know. I hope we can meet again sometime soon.”

“Oh, we will meet again,” Charlene said, looking between Bobby and Dawson.

“We were able to bring the President’s son here, as we had hoped,” Bobby said to Dawson. Charlene could not help but overhear. The FBI man said to her. “Marcus Jr.’s backstage, you know.”

Charlene had a lightning-bolt moment of clear understanding and vision. She said, “During my song, while all the attention is supposed to be on me—I want you to bring Marcus out onto the stage. I will cut my song short, use the time I’ve been allotted to bring out a special guest. The whole world will be watching. Dawson?” She looked to the man that she had just met but somehow she knew in her heart that she was falling in love with, seeking his approval for her bold idea.

Dawson, in turn, looked at Bobby Anderson. “What do you think, partner?”

“I must be nuts, but I think it was meant to be,” Bobby replied.

*   *   *

And Dawson heard the sonorous Ian McKellen voice of his guide, C. S. Lewis, intone:
“It is exactly suited to the purpose of our being here.
Deus volte.
God wills it.”

“That’s pretty heavy,” Dawson blurted, forgetting that the others couldn’t hear the voice of his Fallen Master—yet.

Charlene thought he was responding to Anderson. She said, “Darn straight, it is.” Her smile dazzled the men around her, and each found himself more than a little in love with her.
She
saw her Fallen Master, the Lady, again in the two-piece white business suit, standing close by and nodding with approval.

Of course, the masters of the dark energies needed to stop this. They triggered a rolling blackout throughout L.A. The theater lost power for several seconds. No power, no show … Backup generators kicked in with somewhat weaker power, but it was power nonetheless. The show would go on.

*   *   *

Rae had been mothering Marcus in the trailer just off the employee entrance of the theater. “Don’t be nervous, boy,” she found herself saying to the son of the late President of the United States. Her smile was infectious, and her maternal concern had its intended effect.

Tyler and Rae were trying to help Marcus, who was still a bit shaky after his ordeal. He was saying that he needed to get inside. But they were uncertain what he was to do once there. They agreed it was just to show the world he was alive—a happy ending to a sad story.

Marcus assured her that he was not nervous. “I’m okay, ma’am,” he said simply. “I kind of know what I have to do—what I have to say. My father has given me the words.”

Tyler said, “I know what that’s like. I’ve had someone putting words in my mouth and thoughts in my head for some time now.”

Rae knew he was thinking of his Fallen Master, Emanuel Swedenborg, but she couldn’t resist: “Oh, Mikey,
I’ve
never put words in your mouth.”

“Nor have you ever let me get a word in edgewise,” he said, unable to resist.

Rae turned to Marcus and put a warm nurse’s hand on his shoulder.

He possessed a quiet cool about himself. He missed his dad more than anything. The only thing that kept him going was the promise that he would be able to see POTUS again. When he had learned that his dad had been killed and wouldn’t be there for him anymore, it almost destroyed his will to live. And when he had been kidnapped, he had to struggle to regain his survival instinct to fight the utter despair he felt.

When POTUS had come to meet him during his abduction, however, and he received the charge to take on his father’s destiny, a change came over him. This brought about a calmness within him and all around him. Then he had been rescued by the FBI … in his mind it all fitted into a pattern of events unfolding in the world. He was not aware of all the events—for good and ill—that had transpired over the past several days leading up to the Academy Awards evening, but he didn’t have to be tuned into the latest breaking news. He was “on schedule” for his part. He would do what he had been led to do and trust that the results would follow with the intended effect.

What could he do now but trust? After all, he had been brought to this place safe and sound—for a purpose.

*   *   *

Suddenly there was a knock on the door. Tyler opened it. Bobby Anderson stood there, one of the network producers behind him. “Time to move,” he said simply to his young charge and the nurse and doctor.

*   *   *

As Marcus Jackson was being escorted into the Hollywood Grand Theatre by a security detail supervised by Special Agent Bobby Anderson, IRA turned to POTUS with a look of contempt and utter betrayal. The boy had been abducted and held for future use by the Tribunal—but now he was free!

Then another figure appeared, and IRA recoiled. It was Caleb, who had finally replaced him as POTUS’s evanescent spirit guide and now was making himself visible. Caleb appeared as an aqua blue aura within whose enveloping presence IRA’s former target stood taller and loomed larger than he had previously. Caleb and POTUS together emanated hugely positive energy all around them.

POTUS said simply, “Your masters’ plan is about to fail, my friend. The world will
not
be bent to their dark purposes. This I can now see so very clearly, and this I promise you through no power of my own, but with the goodness in every man or woman to throw against you.”

The trickster guide loosed a scream from the core of his being: “HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO MEEEEEEE…?”

This visceral attack of energy that reverberated throughout Heaven was the precursor of the intentional attack IRA was directing at the being with whom he had been working and programming for destructive intent.

The time had come. POTUS had, from the first moment he had crossed over to the Other Side, been absorbing impressions and data like a computer hard drive, and processing everything that was thrown at him. It was not unlike when he was in school and college, or in the army when he had learned to observe and act with as much precision as humanly possible. Now he was in a realm that called upon all the resources his mind and soul could tap into. Now he would confront evil face-to-face.
Mano a mano.
Yet there was something unfathomably poignant about the figure before him. A trickster and false friend who had, the President presumed, once been good—or could have chosen the good over the darkness that consumed him. IRA’s skills were formidable, his message compelling, but POTUS did not fall victim to all his energies and wiles, instead becoming a worthy adversary. To no avail.

POTUS instinctively realized that, in himself, he was no match for the energies being unleashed upon him. He was not yet mature enough in his new state of being, nor did he know how to combat the force of the evil targeting him. So, he simply surrendered to it and allowed his soul to be offered up now for what he recognized was a second time to save his family back on the earthly plane.

But what happened next, nobody expected …

The loudest
crack!
and
crash!
imaginable were heard throughout the worlds of humans and spirits. On Earth, it was described as if two planes had collided, yet there was nothing visible in telescopes. The world took a deep breath and watched for something akin to a miracle—or the ultimate doom to occur. A heavenly telecast was about to be delivered.…

All communications ceased, as a huge solar flare erupted and reached the Earth, creating a layer of light around the planet, knocking out cell phones and electronic communications everywhere for a few seconds. The Earth, in effect, blinked as it recoiled from the intensity of the flare, behind which the dark matter that threatened all was stopped, at least temporarily, in its path.

Dr. Jason Chang felt the reverberation and immediately ordered a check of all instrumentation at NASA.

Pope Genaro I was on his knees in prayer in his Vatican chamber, and his entire body shook when the cosmic boom echoed across the heavens.

“O Creator,” he prayed, “open our eyes and ears to Your voice—before it is too late.”

*   *   *

Rae Loona was standing behind Marcus Jackson Jr. when she heard it: a familiar and comforting sound. Music to her soul. It was a voice,
the
voice she had longed to hear in person. As she turned in slow motion to look, the bluest eyes she ever saw were staring back at her: John Travolta.

Marcus felt a shift in Rae’s energy. He immediately turned to crane his neck to see who it was. At first, he didn’t recognize him; he was too young. He asked his friend in a stage whisper, “Who is that?”

Rae was speechless, unable to blink or breathe. John Travolta
smiled at her,
as if he knew what she was thinking.…

Rae began to babble like a crazy woman all about the events that led them to that very moment, randomly pulling out pieces of the storyline, hitting Travolta in the arm and telling him how shocked she was that he was standing next to her.

Tyler was standing in the wings, laughing his butt off. He regained his composure after a moment and said to Rae, “You’re going to give Mr. Travolta a black-and-blue, Nurse Loona.”

That’s when John Travolta kissed Rae on the cheek and thanked her for her heroism. “Rae Loona,” he said, “stands for
real nurse
.” He flashed his billion-dollar box office smile at her.

At that, Rae passed out. Travolta was there to catch her, and Tyler found a chair backstage on which to deposit her temporarily. But the star couldn’t linger to tend to his Number 1 fan. He walked out onstage to introduce the next act: Ms. Charlene St. John.

CHAPTER

105

Charlene walked partway onstage as the orchestra struck up the overture to her popular Oscar-nominated song. Then she waved at the conductor as she hesitated just beyond the curtain. The orchestra stopped, with the conductor somewhat confused about what was happening. This had not been rehearsed. The spotlight remained on Charlene. She was warmly lit and had never looked more lovely or winning, even at that historic Super Bowl not so many years before.… Tears filled her eyes as she announced to the world that President Jackson’s son, Marcus, had been rescued.

“He is alive and well,” she stated in her clear, sonorous voice. It almost sounded like a song. “And he is
here
.”

While the whole world watched and sat back, stunned, Marcus walked quietly and confidently onto the stage to a standing ovation. The Hollywood Grand Theatre went wild. Charlene opened her arms, and the young man hugged her as she greeted him.

The broadcast control room erupted into a panic. The director screamed, “Time! Time! We’re supposed to go to commercial in sixty seconds! Somebody help me here!” Ten cameras captured the President’s son as the director lost it. The executive producer looked at him as if he had gone crazy: After all, history was being made here, and they were producing it for the whole planet to see.

The television cameras panned the audience of A-list celebrities. Tears fell down everyone’s cheeks. These moguls and entertainers were no longer celebrities—just people having a very real moment. They were witnesses to a miracle and a true Hollywood happy ending. This night would be written about in the history of the awards as the most memorable in the first century of the Oscar ceremony.