Pulling The Dragon's Tail (28 page)

The crowd of people, in typical entertainment
park style, undulated slowly in a haphazard manner. People crossed
paths as they sought a variety of destinations inside the complex.
Nate looked over at his companions. Thatcher appeared to have that
detached, observant mode about him, what he would expect a reporter
to do.

Poor Campbell
, he thought as he glanced
at her. Although she handled herself marvelously well in the
worship service at the CHOFA retreat center, he already could tell
that Heaven on Earth would be even more trying for her. Noting her
look of bemusement, Nate thought she was like an Earthling among
Martians. Hopefully she was content, deep down, with his promise to
go back to the cabin after seeing Chad, if no other complications
arose.

The geodesic dome that housed Heaven on Earth
was far and away the largest covered structure on Earth. At three
kilometers across and nearly a kilometer high, it was built into
the side of a mountain and the lower sections were underground. The
road they were traveling, The King’s Highway, bisected Heaven on
Earth north to south. Their southward direction would soon take
them to the exact center of the dome.

Campbell had to admit that limiting the
transportation to walking and some human-powered transport was a
nice touch. Automated sidewalks hugged one side of the street.
After feeling cramped at the hotel, walking had invigorated her. A
variety of signs pointed to various destinations in Christendom,
including Rome, Jerusalem, Bethlehem, Nazareth, and Jericho.
Fast-paced music blared from speakers along the storefronts which
sold everything from religious items to clothing.

So far, it’s just a tourist trap
, she
thought.
Lots of buildings, schools, churches, apartments, and
condominiums
. Most people were casually dressed. Some however
were dressed up, carrying Bibles on their way to a church service.
They intermingled with others in bathing suits and towels, heading
for the Healing Waters seaside resort and playground, just down the
street on The King’s Highway. Still others were dressed as first
century folk, making their way to play roles in biblical dramas
scattered throughout the complex.

Fifteen minutes later, Nate and his colleagues
found themselves at the intersection of The King’s Highway and the
Via Dolorosa, which ran east and west. The westerly direction led
to the foot of a gigantic cross, emblazoned across a deep blue
skyscraper bejeweled with mirrored windows. It reached to the very
top of the dome.

“I’m looking for the headquarters for Chad
Delavan,” Nate said to a woman, who exhibited quizzical looks in
response. She then melted back into the crowd.

“She has been following us, Skip,” said
Dugan.

“Who?”

“The woman with whom you just spoke.”

Another man stepped forward, carrying a two-way
radio and an air of authority. “Mr. Delavan is a busy man and
cannot be disturbed. Generally speaking, visitors to Heaven on
Earth don’t inquire about him. What is the nature of your wish to
see him?”

“We have an appointment with him,” asserted
Nate.

“You do. Mhmmh. I see.”

Thatcher couldn’t believe it. Nate was taking a
page from his own chutzpah journal.

“It’s highly unusual that we’ve not been
informed of a visitor for Mr. Delavan. Name?”

“Skyler. Keith Skyler. I’m an old school
chum.”

The man spoke into the radio. “His secretary
says no appointment exists.”

“There must be some mistake. If I can contact
him, I can clear this up in no time.”

“That’s impossible, Mr. Skyler,” the man said,
eyeing him suspiciously.

A few people deep in the crowd yelled, “His
friend here says he’s an atheist.”

“That’s not what I said,” protested Thatcher.
“You people really need to take lessons on attributing accurate
quotes.”

Instead of anger, Thatcher got a cacophony of
people inviting him to their church.

Another said, “I’d like to tell you about the
four steps to salvation. Please take this tract and read it. It
will change your life.”

Campbell whispered, “Maybe you should accept one
and they’ll go away.”

“Sorry ma’am,” Thatcher said, sticking to his
guns. “Not interested.”

Nate, meanwhile, was still negotiating with the
security officer. “Look, I’m sure the secretary misplaced it. If I
could just speak with her, I can clear this up quickly.”

“Mr. Skyler, if that’s who you are—”

“Will you excuse us for a moment?” Campbell
escorted Nate and Thatcher by the elbows, shoving them into a
nearby store. “Remind me later to give you both lessons in crowd
control.”

“We’ll be trapped in here,” said Thatcher.

“Strategy time! I’m counting on you and Dugan.”
A surreptitious glance outside the store window showed a gathering
crowd, many of them speaking to the security officer. Soon a second
officer joined. Murmurs echoed through the crowd, “They must be
infiltrators! Heathen! He wouldn’t take my tract!”

“Dugan, download our coordinates,” ordered Nate.
“Is there a back exit out of this store?”

A few seconds passed as the CCR contacted the
schematics of Heaven on Earth’s computer system. “Yes, a back
entrance exists. You will soon see the map on each of your dataport
screens.”

Nate casually motioned the others to follow.
“Just past the restrooms is a service entry door. Now!”

No alarms sounded, which he had feared when he
pushed the door open. They were greeted by a high wooden fence on
both sides. It bracketed a cement pathway, which led straight back
behind the store. Ten meters later, a dilapidated wooden gate
confronted them.

No choice. Have to go through it,
thought
Nate.

“What the hell?” said Thatcher, opening the
gate. “Time warp! Where the hell are we?”

A dusty road unfolded before their feet. Donkeys
slowly ambled by and brayed. A goat butted into Dugan, who deftly
stepped out of the way.

“It is not Hell. It is Jerusalem, approximately
thirty AD,” announced the CCR.

Dozens of authentic looking residents of ancient
Palestine wore time-appropriate tunics and sandals. Women’s faces
were heavily covered in head scarves. Most of them seemed to be
heading for the downtown area of Jerusalem, about 200 meters
away.

“On the other hand, what’s the worst they could
have done to us? Kicked us out? Maybe we didn’t have to run,” mused
Campbell. She then stepped in a fresh, steaming pile of donkey
manure. “Shit!”

“My sentiments exactly,” said an amused
Thatcher. He assisted her in cleaning it off on a small piece of
grass, digging the rest of it out of the contours of her sole with
a small twig. “Ah, the benefits of getting in touch with the common
man.”

Suddenly a crowd of people came from their left,
carrying a woman on their shoulders, and headed for the center of
town. They shouted chants of “Sinner!” and “Adulteress!”

Nate and the others stepped back in to let them
pass. “Looks like they’re re-enacting a scene from Jesus’ life;
forgiving the woman caught in adultery.”

Just as the crowd was about to brush by them,
they set the woman gently down. Then they turned toward Nate,
Thatcher, and Campbell.

Nate quickly grasped Dugan. Strong sweaty hands
grabbed each of them and dumped them into a small wooden wagon
being pulled by a donkey. Menacing faces surrounded them on all
sides, blocking any hope for escape. Campbell clearly saw the data
ports on some members of this mob, realizing their role as part of
a re-enactment drama. But, she wondered, if this mass co-optation
was part of the normal staged drama. “Where are you taking us?”

A bright-faced, acne-attired young man
cheerfully said, no doubt out of character, “To be stoned at the
pit, of course!”

The mob’s vehemence increased. More joined in.
People in the dusty road parted as the mob moved forward.

“Murderers! Blasphemers! May God have mercy on
you!”

Thatcher said, “Gee, I haven’t been stoned for
years. Honest!”

“Not funny!” observed Nate. “It’s beginning to
look bad!”

The mob began to pick up stones lying next to
the roadway.

“Stones certainly look real enough,” observed
Campbell.

And then as if on a pre-arranged signal, they
were all deposited onto the ground. The crowd began backing away,
and formed a perimeter around them. The taunts grew louder.

Nate and the others huddled closer together.

“Is this your idea of Heaven?” asked
Campbell.

“Pretty damned real choreography,” rejoined
Thatcher. “Glad I’m not the adulteress.”

“Hey, that one’s got a CHOFA medallion!”

In the fracas, Nate’s medallion had slipped
outside his shirt.

Suddenly their anger no longer seemed
choreographed. “I can’t believe you came here with that on!” said
one woman, indignantly.

“Okay, I have had just about enough of this!
Where is Es’ choreographed grand entrance?” demanded Thatcher.

Then from behind the mob, a man’s voice boomed,
“LET HIM WHO HAS NO SIN CAST THE FIRST STONE!”

A well-tanned man with a brown beard,
shoulder-length hair, and long flowing robe, stepped forward. He
shielded the three, throwing his arms open wide, commanding the
crowd, “LET HIM WHO HAS NO SIN CAST THE FIRST STONE! YES, EVEN THIS
POOR MISGUIDED SOUL FROM THE CHURCH OF ABRAHAM IS WORTHY OF
FORGIVENESS!”

Instantly, people began weeping and pleading.
“Jesus, forgive us, for we too are sinners!” Others quietly dropped
their stones and, slowly muttering to their companions, backed away
and left.

Jesus turned around swiftly. He was a bit taller
than Thatcher. He smiled broadly, and said, “Skip! You haven’t aged
a bit! Welcome to Heaven on Earth!”

“Thanks for adding a twist to our ten a.m.
show!” Chad Delavan glanced at his long lost acquaintance’s
nametag, then said, “um, Nate.” Chad, the former Keith Skyler, was
all smiles as they began walking down the street. Nate, Dugan,
Campbell and Thatcher joined Chad in walking southward on The
King’s Highway. A few minutes later, pavement greeted their feet
once again, signaling they had left ancient Jerusalem behind.

“You know, if you would’ve waited just a bit
longer back there in the store,” remarked Chad, “my security
officer would have brought you over to me.”

“Sorry if we’re a bit jumpy, uh, Chad,” replied
Nate.

“Your little stunt back there didn’t help,
either,” noted Thatcher.

“Jesus, can you bless my teddy bear?” pleaded a
sweet voice from a little girl, tugging at Jesus’s/Chad’s arm.
“He’s sick.”

Chad Delavan bent down on one knee and cradled
the girl’s freckled face in his hand. He smiled broadly, and asked,
“Tell me. What’s your name, my dear girl?”

The girl beamed. “My name is Stephanie,
Jesus.”

He placed his hand over the small brown stuffed
animal. “Well, Stephanie, your Father in Heaven has a very special
blessing for your sick teddy bear.” Then he whispered a quick
prayer.

With a beaming smile, Stephanie leaped back to
be with her parents, who captured the moment on video.

Campbell stood nearby, amazed at the
authenticity of Chad’s portrayal of Christ, and very troubled by
how hordes of people were mesmerized by his Jesus character. They
didn’t see Chad; they saw their Savior. Reverential murmurs wafted
through the crowd. “There’s Jesus” and “Here He comes” could be
heard. Many reached out their hands to touch his clothing. Some
shook his hand. Frail and sickly approached him.

“My apologies to all of you,” said Chad, who had
finally put some distance between himself and his adoring fans.
“What you all need to do, including your CCR—what a great pooch,”
Chad said, giving Dugan a vigorous pat, “is to relax and enjoy the
benefits of this place. I want you all to stay with me for however
long you want. I’ll have Sasha escort you to my headquarters and
put you up in one of our guest suites. You must excuse me, but I
have another little gig. Gotta go.”

At the Via Dolorosa, Chad’s associate, Sasha,
met them and directed them to turn right. They then headed west,
and directly toward the giant cross and skyscraper. After a few
moments of talking with Sasha, Nate dropped back.

“There are some things about Chad I’m still not
sure about. So let’s be cool about how much you know about our
past, okay?”

“He gives me the creeps,” said Campbell.

“Yeah, did you see him eyeing your body,
Campbell?” observed Thatcher.

“All I mean,” clarified Nate, “is let’s play our
cards carefully— at least until I find out more. He’s invited us
all to eat with him tonight. It’ll give me more time for data
gathering.”

Sasha, an attractive petite blonde, showed them
around the thirty-story skyscraper that housed the corporate
offices of Heaven on Earth. The main entrance foyer was nearly
twenty meters in height with a large fountain in the middle. On the
rear wall was a huge reproduction of Da Vinci’s
The Last
Supper
. Campbell thought that the Christ figure looked
suspiciously like Mr. Delavan.

Glass elevators gave them a breath-taking vista
of the magnificent layout of Heaven on Earth. Two floors below
reaching the penthouse, which was Chad’s residence, Sasha escorted
them into their sumptuous guest quarters.

Chad Delavan, proved to be an extremely warm and
charming host. The evening meal was a delicious feast with
entertainment provided. After dessert was eaten and the last
musician left, Chad pushed back his chair. “Bring your drinks out
to the veranda to watch the sun set.”

“Sunshine in a dome?” asked Thatcher, sipping a
glass of wine.

They watched the sun’s reflection change from
bright yellow to pastel pinks and reds over the internal world of
Heaven on Earth.