The Last Judgment (6 page)

“The apostle Paul said that the time was short, didn't he? And the Lord Jesus said that He would be coming soon. That seems to say the same thing. That's all I was saying. If God tells me in His Word the time is short, then I believe it. That's all I was saying…”

“So you aren't implying that some kind of cataclysmic event—that something specific on the timeline was imminent?”

“Well, I do believe there are events that are impending. If I understand what you're talking about. The Christ is coming again. Before He does, certain world events are going to happen. They're happening right now.”

“And is that what compels you to speak out the way you did at the Islamic Center?”

“I spoke the way I did because the Holy Spirit of God inside me told me to do so. I try to do what God wants me to do.”

“I admire your zeal, Gilead,” Will replied. “But I think it's important to temper your zeal to preach the gospel with advice and counsel from those whom God places in your path. Like your parents, for instance. They're seasoned missionaries. I think they've got a lot to offer you in terms of wisdom. Counsel. Advice. Just because Jesus said that
His message
—the gospel—may be an offense to a nonbelieving world, I don't think that gives
us
an excuse to be offensive—”

“Do you believe I was being offensive, Mr. Chambers?” Gilead asked.

Will studied his face. The question was an honest one. Gilead had the look of earnestly wanting to get an answer to his question, rather than simply making a point.

“All I know is that, personally, I would have used a little different approach,” Will replied. “But to answer your question specifically—I'm not going to say that you blew it. And I'm certainly not going to say that you violated the law.”

Gilead chuckled a bit. “Mr. Chambers, I don't mean to be disrespectful. But do you lawyers always talk like that? Fail to say exactly what you mean?”

Will replied with a smile, “We avoid sweeping generalizations. We try to define our terms. And we try to talk cautiously because words have power.”

Will was preparing to conclude the interview. But one final thought had occurred to him.

“Something else,” he asked in conclusion. “About the detainer being placed on you by the federal authorities because of this terrorism thing—I heard that you traveled to the Middle East last year. What was that all about?”

“My father was from Egypt. He had relatives in Jordan. I visited them summer before last.”

“Where in the Middle East did you go?”

“Jerusalem for a while, mostly sightseeing. Then I crossed the border into Jordan. It was a very short trip—about a week or so.”

“Where'd you get the money for the trip?”

Gilead studied Will carefully before he answered.

“It was donated to me.”

When Will was finished, he shook hands with his client, assuring him he would do his very best to get him out of jail as soon as possible and would then start preparing for his trial in district court on the charge of disorderly conduct.

On the way back to his office, Will called the U.S. Attorney's Office in Washington, DC. He wanted to contact the assistant U.S. attorney assigned to the terrorism unit—the person responsible for placing the hold on Hassan Gilead Amahn.

After making a few phone calls, he left a message for a Susan Kastone. A few minutes later she called him back, while he was still en route.

After introducing himself as Gilead's attorney, Will quickly addressed the hold issue.

“When are you going to lift the federal detention order on my client? There's no question that he's not only not a terrorist, but has never had anything to do with any terrorist organizations,” Will said firmly.

But Assistant U.S. Attorney Kastone was unimpressed.

“I'm not sure when—or if—we're going to be lifting the hold,” she replied. “When it happens, we'll let you know.”

“Well, with all due respect, Ms. Kastone, that's not acceptable. My client has to prepare for his misdemeanor trial. He's entitled to bail. But for the federal interference by your office, he would have had his parents sign the recognizance bond and he'd be out already. You can't hold somebody indefinitely on vague, unfounded suspicions—”

“What makes you think they're unfounded?”

“All right—convince me,” Will replied. “What reasonable suspicion do you have that Hassan Gilead Amahn has any ties to any terrorist organization or activity? I'd like to hear the evidence.
Actually—I would like to hear one single scintilla of evidence. One scrap of information.”

“We're not required to tell you that,” Kastone said. “And as a result, it would be inappropriate for me to comment. An investigation is underway. As we get closer to a decision on whether or not we're going to file charges against Mr. Amahn, we will advise you accordingly. We have your contact numbers. We'll be in touch.”

After this conversation, Will could see only two alternatives as a possible explanation for the mysterious hold placed on Gilead.

First, Gilead's Middle Eastern background, coupled with his presence at the controversial lecture given by Sheikh Mudahmid at the Islamic Center and his recent travel to the Middle East, had caused the FBI and the U.S. Attorney's Office to be overcautious in making sure that he had no terrorist ties.

But the second alternative troubled Will even more. He knew there was a possibility that Gilead—as honest and unassuming as he appeared to be—had not told Will everything about his background, his travels to the Middle East, or his plans for the future.

After talking to Attorney Kastone, he had the lingering impression that in representing Gilead Amahn he might have stumbled over something much more malevolent than an isolated fracas at a Muslim center.

7

W
ILL AND
F
IONA WERE AT THE KITCHEN TABLE
finishing breakfast. Andrew, their eleven-year-old son, was thundering down the stairs of their large log house. He dashed into the kitchen lugging his backpack and sports bag.

“Got to go!” Andrew shouted to his parents.

Andrew was a good-looking boy of medium height, with a sinewy body and bright eyes.

“You haven't eaten breakfast—” Fiona said.

“Mom, I did.”

“Really?” she said probing.

“Yes.”

“And is Mrs. Jankowski okay with our switching the car-pool dates—her driving today and me taking you guys tomorrow?” Fiona asked.

“Yes. Now I've got to go—really, Mom. 'Bye…”

And with the last word Andrew was already dashing through the front door.

“Gee, it's just the two of us,” Fiona said with a smile. “Can you stick around for another cup of coffee?”

“I'd love to,” Will said reluctantly, “but I've got to get to the office. The district court trial of Gilead Amahn is coming up in just a matter of days. I've got to start putting stuff together.”

“How's he doing?”

“He's finally out of jail. The feds released him from that hold. Very strange. They never gave me any explanation. Say,” Will changed subjects, “you're here at the recording studio today, right?”

Fiona nodded as she stood up and began to clear the dishes off the kitchen table.

“Right,” she said, on her way to the sink. “We're going to do a little bit of work today to help finish at least one of the numbers for the next album. What a blessing it is to have a studio right here on our property! I remember the old days—having to go down to Nashville for days on end…or up to New York.”

“Well, you know I wanted to get your studio built as soon as we could manage it—for selfish reasons, of course. I love having you around and not having to travel as much.”

Fiona smiled and turned from the sink, wiping her hands on a dishtowel.

“Now, if I could just get you to stay put and stop traveling around the world on those high-stress international cases…”

“Well, to be accurate, it's been a while since I've done any globe-trotting,” Will pointed out. “Maybe I'm just getting old. But I'm enjoying settling down…doing that part-time teaching at the seminary. And my work at the Institute for Freedom has been very important to me. You know, for the first time in a long time I'm enjoying the feeling of some stability in our lives. Predictability.”

“I think that's a good thing,” Fiona said. “You know, maybe it's starting to dawn on you, my dear, that you don't personally have to take on all the David-and-Goliath legal battles on the planet.”

“Oh, I never thought that,” Will said, his voice trailing off.

“Oh?” Fiona said with a chuckle. “Let's see—there's the Sudan case. Then there was the case before the International Criminal Court in The Hague. With side trips to investigate that one…let's see…you were—oh, that's right—spending time in the jungles of the Yucatán getting shot at. Gee, I almost forgot.”

Will got up from the kitchen table with his plate and coffee cup in his hand. He put them on the counter next to the sink and wrapped his arms around his wife.

“I think those days are over,” Will said. “I'm very content with the quiet life of a country lawyer in Monroeville, Virginia…here
in the scenic shadows of the Blue Ridge Mountains…with my lovely gospel-singing wife at my side…”

Will had a bit of a smirk on his face as he started sounding like a cheesy TV ad.

“I can always tell when you're being sarcastic,” Fiona said. “You get that nasty little twinkle in your eye. You get the same look that Andrew does when he's trying to weasel out of some of his chores on the weekend.”

“Oh—I meant to ask you, when are you going to talk to Angus next?” Will asked.

“Actually, I was going to stop about five today and head over to the care center to see Da, which means that I won't be around for dinner. Want me to pick something up?”

“No, don't worry about it. I'll get something on the way home tonight.”

Mentioning Fiona's dad brought something to Will's mind.

“You know, with the news about this Deuteronomy Fragment and all the discussion in the media about whether it's authentic—what it means for the geopolitics of the Middle East, all the interviews with the archaeologists on TV—I just wish your dad could be more aware of what's going on. If things were different, I would love to see him take this one on.”

“You know, before his stroke and heart attack, Da chased the rumors about the Deuteronomy Fragment for years. In Israel. Into Jordan and Egypt. He was looking at the possibility of traveling up into Syria. He really wanted to be the person to expose it…because he had this feeling it was going to be another example of fraudulent archaeology. I appreciate your not talking to Da about it, though. I really don't want to get him overexcited.”

“Yeah—and he'd sure get excited about what Len said at the Institute for Freedom banquet the other night. One of his cryptic remarks from the podium.”

“Which one? There were several.”

“The one about the Temple. The business about the ‘son of perdition.' You remember it?”

“Yes. How could I forget? Dear Len, bless his heart…have you talked with him since then?”

“I did try to call him the next day. I feel a little guilty that we haven't had much contact lately. I wanted to take him out to lunch. Catch up on things. But he's not answering his voice mail. You know he's up there in the mountains, in that cabin—alone. I'm hearing all kinds of things about him. He's pretty much abandoned any work in the legal field. He's not writing any more law-review articles. Not publishing any legal treatises. Not teaching at the law school anymore.”

“What about the Temple?” Fiona prompted.

“It took me a while, but I found the reference. Len was talking about the ‘son of perdition'—that he would be ‘sitting in the temple of God'—that's what I wanted to check on. I had read it before. I knew it was somewhere in the New Testament. I thought to myself,
Book of Revelation?
No. Then I remembered that it was in the epistles of Paul.”

“So, what was the verse?”

“Let me read it to you,” Will said. He walked over to a Bible that was on an end table next to the couch in the great room. “Here it is. Second Thessalonians, chapter two, verses three through five. Paul is talking about the second coming of Jesus Christ…and the signs of the times—

Let no one deceive you by any means; for that Day will not come until the falling away comes first, and the man of sin is revealed, the son of perdition, who opposes and exalts himself above all that is called God or that is worshiped, so that he sits as God in the temple of God, showing himself that he is God.

For a moment, there was awkward silence between Will and Fiona.

Will's eyes were looking out the window, to the misty blue ribbon of mountains in the distance. But Fiona's eyes were on her husband.