Solomon's Porch (29 page)

He wondered, if left to his own devices, how long would it be before man fell victim to his arrogance? Before a disciple of hell installed by Satan as a dictator in some small third world nation decided it was time to trigger a nuclear or a biological war? Horrific weapons of all kinds were becoming available to more and more societies, control by America and its allies over Armageddon was now only an illusion.

When would the strain on the planet’s finite natural resources, sought after by millions more every year as their economic power increased, reach the breaking point? Would Europe and America eventually be forced to go to war to maintain their control over the world’s energy and food supplies?

Peter thought about the ecosystem, the treasure of the earth over which man was made steward. If present trends continued, how much longer would it be before the sons of Adam trashed their home?

Why should most North Americans and Europeans be able to live comfortably with plenty of food, housing and medical care while in Africa, Asia, and South America millions died each year for want of the basic necessities of life? Peter asked himself, would resentment by the less fortunate eventually lead to global economic collapse or large scale destruction?

Peter did not pretend to have an encyclopedic knowledge of these issues. He knew that he was not called to be a political leader, a captain of industry, or a scientist. He grasped the fundamentals of worldly matters as God gave him the power to do so, more was not required.

What Peter Carson was most certainly called to do was to try and change the very nature of how man viewed himself and his place in the universe. From this change would eventually flow the solutions to every specific problem faced by humanity.

“Christ give me strength,” Peter prayed. He’d been repeating this request, along with the Lord’s Prayer, for over an hour when Gail found him standing in the woods, eyes closed, head bowed, body still.

“Peter,” Gail whispered, as she slowly approached him. “Peter, it’s time. Alex asked me to come and get you.”

“Do you think anyone will listen, Gail?” Peter gently asked, his eyes still shut, head lowered.

Confused, Gail said, “Will who listen, Peter?”

“Our kind, the sea of souls breathing along with us right now. Will they listen? Will they open their hearts and minds to Him?”

“I don’t know, Peter, I truly don’t. People can be so stubborn and prideful. Getting them to show love to one another, to really do that, won’t be easy.”

“We have to make them see, Gail,” Peter said, as he took her hand in his, “that we’re running out of time. God is making Himself known now for a reason. He wants to save us, but we must come to Him.”

Gail realized that she’d interrupted Peter as he was deep in thought and prayer. She did not want to intrude, knowing how valuable such moments were to him.

“Peter, let me go and tell Alex you need a few more minutes. Honestly, that man is in such a snit today! Ordering me and everyone else around like his very own slaves. I mean … ”

“It’s okay, Gail,” Peter said, lovingly squeezing her hand. “Alex is only doing his job. For all of our sakes, pray I can do mine.”

Beginning at noon Eastern Time, on June nineteenth, the network ran a series of promotional ads for a program it was airing that evening called “Miracles at Parkersboro.” In the spots, Alex Anderson, proclaimed as “one of America’s most respected journalists” promised to “bring to the world irrefutable evidence of the existence and power of the Living God.” Doing a voice over on top of a tape of people receiving healing miracles at Parkersboro, Alex said, “Tonight the words of the prophet Isaiah will be fulfilled as the Lord will again do a marvelous work among the people, a marvelous work and a wonder: For the wisdom of their wise men shall perish, and the understanding of their prudent shall be hidden.” The promos were not hyped by slick production, special effects, or a thumping soundtrack. Their spectacular claims were made without any added theatrics.

The executives at the network did not carefully review the proposed program content or the promotional material for “Miracles at Parkersboro.” They were so accustomed to trusting both the instincts and the judgment of Alex Anderson, that they let the first few spots run without paying much attention.

It wasn’t very long before they regretted that decision.

E-mails and phone calls began pouring into the network. Many asked if the whole thing was a joke, most thought it had to be. Some said if the program was an attempt at humor, it was done in “damn poor taste.” An atheist group demanded equal time, even though the program had yet to air. An Episcopal bishop wanted an “accounting” for “this affront to our faith,” for this “bombasity.” Three quarters of the initial pre-show reactions received by the network in the afternoon were negative. A raw public nerve had been struck.

For another very special group of people, numbering in the millions and spread out across the globe, the announcement of the “Miracles at Parkersboro” program solved a mystery.

For months the Spirit had been planting seeds among the select, making them aware in various ways that God was about to speak and act in a very direct and dramatic fashion.

Some of the select were already Christians, although many were not. They were a cross section of the human race, diverse in every respect. A few held positions in a religious hierarchy, or were socially prominent in some way, but most were ordinary human beings living out their lives in seeming indistinction.

But the select were anything but typical, for without their tremendous faith and courage, the Lord’s works done through Peter and the disciples would be in vain. They were God’s army, His foot soldiers in the battle for the human soul. “Miracles” was their siren call.

Most of the select had the exact same dream as the disciples did. They clearly saw seven men standing in a circle and praying with “tongues” of fire emanating from their heads. Many could only remember parts of the dream. Others deciphered virtually all of the clues and were entirely convinced that what they were dreaming was a prophetic vision of what was certain to come.

Without exception, what all of the select did have in common was a knowledge, a complete and total surety, that they were chosen by God to undertake some as yet unknown mission. Each of them also knew that His purpose for their lives would be announced by the passage Alex quoted in the spots from the book of Isaiah, only they did not know this until they actually heard the verse being read. This was the trigger that set their new lives in motion.

Spread out across the earth in every country willing, but also anxious, souls who had been in a quandary for weeks or months, somehow positive that they were being sent a message from Above, but not at all sure what it meant and even less sure what to do about it, all of a sudden experienced clarity.

Within a few hours the word was being disseminated planet wide. Husbands told their wives, parents told their children, complete strangers recognized that “certain look” and stopped each other on the street and shared Isaiah’s words.

The selects’ reaction upon hearing the good news was always the same, “Thank you, God.” They were both relieved and energized.

Those in North America and Europe had access to the “Miracles” program through satellite or cable television. Quickly and quite illegally, thousands of computer savvy select made plans to pirate the network signal through a variety of means and feed the broadcast on to the web. By the early evening of June the nineteenth, an internet search using the keywords “Parkersboro” or “Isaiah” resulted in hundreds of hits on websites set up to carry “Miracles” as a live web cast.

Neither Alex nor Peter had planned any of this, but both knew that God intended His message to be heard by all. As word reached them that thousands, or perhaps hundreds of thousands, or even millions of souls were somehow already primed to receive His word, they were greatly encouraged, but not very surprised.

“What exactly did they say?” Gail asked, as she continued to pack up the personal belongings in her office.

“If I can remember, Miss McCorkle, it was, ‘What the hell is going on down there?’ or something close to that,” Larry answered.

“Did you tell them who you were?”

“Yes ma’am,” Larry said. “The lady from Washington wanted to know my name and employee I.D. number. She got real upset when I said I only had a BOP inmate number. I think they’re coming down here, Miss McCorkle, a whole bunch of them.”

“Let them, Larry. Peter says we don’t have to worry about the Feds or anyone else being able to stop the broadcast. Afterwards, well, it just doesn’t matter now, does it?”

“No ma’am, I don’t think it does.”

By the early evening of the nineteenth, preparations were nearly complete. For the first time in weeks, Parkersboro was actually secure, albeit not in a manner prescribed by the authorities.

Malik’s trusted group of young black Christian soldiers formed a human perimeter around the camp. Armed only with two way radios and cell phones, it was their job to turn away any uninvited guests using the power of persuasion only, not violence. Anyone approaching Parkersboro through the woods would be very intimidated when they reached this wall of large athletic men. Peter assured Malik that their presence alone would be enough to stave off any trouble or intruders, at least until it no longer mattered.

General Vargas and Agent Austin were in charge of gathering intelligence outside of Parkersboro and implementing any necessary delaying tactics. Inmates were posted in Georgetown at key intersections and around the public safety building. Local law enforcement channels were monitored. When the police came, as they surely would, this basic but effective system would give them at least some advance warning of their approach.

There is only one way in and out of Parkersboro: a five hundred yard long, two lane access road that branches off of South Carolina route sixteen and ends at the camp. On each side of this road are thick stands of trees that extend for a mile or more in each direction. General Vargas was quick to point out the potential effectiveness of a substantial barrier placed on the road fifty yards down from its intersection with the highway.

At eight p.m. sharp, this barrier went up, or rather went over. Three yellow school buses appropriated for the Lord’s use from the local district transportation yard were tipped on to their sides creating a serious roadblock. Strategically placed cans of gasoline among the toppled buses threatened to turn the steel obstruction into a flaming one on command. Once lit, it would take a large force of men and machines considerable time to remove the obstacle and penetrate the camp.

Nature was cooperating too, as the night was both temperate and dry. A hint of a new moon peeked above the horizon after sunset. The air was tranquil and kept fresh by a light breeze.

As the time for the broadcast neared, a harried Alex Anderson was put even more under the gun. His crew of twenty had to do the work of forty. Production was being done on-site, and largely on the fly. He had thirty minutes of tape to fold into his live narration and the final segment. He was revising his script continuously, deleting this, adding that. Through it all, the fact that his journalistic career, and perhaps even his freedom or his life, would soon be over weighed heavily upon his mind.

Unlike Gail McCorkle, Alex did not have the option of turning off his phone and ignoring the outside world. Executives at the network were livid, they felt Alex had blindsided and personally betrayed them. In the late afternoon, the decision was made to kill the show, but then the cooler head of the Vice President in Charge of Programming, Dave Martz, stepped in and pointed out that the huge number of comments and complaints received by the network in response to the promotional spots indicated an enormous potential audience. Despite the risks, quite considerable all the network execs agreed, of running a program so openly controversial, Martz overrode the decision to cancel and actually increased the promotion for the show.

Alex knew where he stood. Martz pulled no punches when they briefly spoke around five p.m. Alex had “deliberately deceived” the network by using his stature to slide in the promos, and therefore, by extension, the broadcast, because he “knew damned well” that the “inflammatory nature of the content” would create a firestorm of debate. Martz made it clear that he intended to impale Alex on this two-edged sword; the network would blame Alex if “Miracles” was a catastrophe, and would take all of the credit if it were a hit.

“Either way,” Martz told Alex, “you’ve ruined your reputation. I hope it was worth it.” After Martz said this he hung up, not waiting for a reply.

Of course, it was beyond “worth it.” Alex knew it was foolish to compare the loss of his career to the honor and privilege of delivering God’s message to the world. Still, it was torturous for Alex Anderson to turn his back on his former life so abruptly and completely. He had worked very hard to become a preeminent journalist. Discarding a lifetime’s worth of success in one night taught him the meaning of Christ’s admonition that, “If anyone desires to come after Me let him deny himself, and take up his cross and follow Me.”

As for Martz, he continued to feel the heat right up until airtime. Around eight forty-five p.m. an Assistant Attorney General from the Justice Department in Washington called him and threatened to prosecute the network if it aired the broadcast for “unauthorized use of a government facility,” and “conspiracy to aid and abet a prison escape,” and “anything else I can think of walking into the Grand Jury room.” Martz countered by saying the network was a buyer of the program only, not the producer or the owner.