Gemma was right to dread the post-Draven speech media blitz. Her phone had not stopped ringing since the moment Draven concluded his remarks. She was surprised, though, that the first leader seeking an audience with Draven was the president of the United States. Draven expected the U.S. president to be a significant obstacle to his political goals, but after hearing the VIP treatment President Rodgers had in store for him, Gemma remembered Draven saying, “I guess the world is mine.” The first stop on the “coronation tour,” as Gemma called Draven’s series of meetings and engagements with world leaders and influencers after his speech, was the United Nations.
Draven was pleased to see a media frenzy as he disembarked through the international terminal of JFK International Airport in New York, ahead of his U.N. speech. A mere twenty-four hours before, he had been preparing to give what he saw as the speech of his life. Now he was poised to take the world as his own.
“Gemma, you have done unexpectedly well. I can feel the world’s anticipation of my next move,” Cross said, the compliment a rarity.
“Thank you, sir.”
Stopping suddenly, the EU president demanded, “Where is my security detail?”
“Sir, we have our usual four men from the EU tonight, but President Rodgers has offered up an elite U.S. military unit to augment our security personnel during your visit to America. He is also sending Air Force One to pick you up after your speech at the U.N. in the morning.”
“I am almost impressed by the hospitality, but Rodgers is no fool,” Draven responded cynically. “He is likely hedging his bets—trying to use my political stardom to ensure himself a second term. No matter. I will accept his flattery, nonetheless.” The disappearances forced Draven’s NYPD escorts to negotiate a path to his Upper Eastside luxury hotel through abandoned and wrecked cars as well as looted, fire-ravaged buildings in the borough of Queens. Draven felt a tug in his mind, oblivious to the suffering around him. The shifting of his typically razor-sharp mental focus to thoughts beyond himself usually meant his spirit guide was close. Draven had learned over the years that a sudden loss of concentration often indicated the Prince of This World would soon speak into his mind regarding some pressing matter.
“Remember, the promise of peace is the key to the hearts of humanity. Tomorrow I will give you the world,” the Prince promised.
“Finally, my talents and genius are rewarded,” Draven said aloud, obviously excited.
“I am sorry, sir, what do you mean?” Gemma asked, confused.
“Nothing you would understand. Just ensure you’ve prepared a time for me to address the press after my speech. The world will want to hear from its leader,” Draven ordered with satisfaction.
Gemma trembled at the thought of Draven ruling the world. Not for the first time, she thought perhaps her family had been right about Draven, that he represented something wicked.
Christopher and Jackson enjoyed the walk to the Crystal City Metro Station the next morning in the bracing fall air, chatting as if nothing in the world had really changed. However, Christopher’s well-honed attention to detail did notice the absence of traffic and fewer people than usual moving about for a Monday morning in Crystal City. The harsh reality of the new world in which the two men found themselves living stared Christopher and Jackson in the face as they waited for the blue line metro train to arrive.
The metro department had installed a portable ten-foot wall down the entire length of the train platform. The wall had integrated sensor doors at intervals that aligned with the train doors, but those doors remained closed until the train arrived in order to prevent suicides. Signage every five feet or so urged, wait! don’t jump. call for help.
“What a depressing world we now live in, my friend,” Jackson remarked sadly.
“Yeah, I am afraid of what’s to come,” Christopher replied.
“I try not to think about what’s next, what we’re facing.” Jackson pointed to the wall. “That’s like something out of a nightmare.”
The two men boarded through the automatic platform doors a few moments later and arrived at their next stop, the Pentagon City Mall, a little less chipper than when they had left the apartment that morning.
“I thought you said you were taking me to a tailor or something. This is a mall,” Jackson accused.
“Patience, grasshopper. There is a method to my madness,” Christopher responded, trying to inject a little humor after the depressing metro ride.
Jackson followed Christopher into the men’s section of a larger department store, questioning the plan he was following all the way.
“Here, go try this on. What size shoes do you wear?”
“Size ten in sneakers, and where do you want me to change clothes, right here?”
“Sir, may I help you?” queried a female sales associate as she approached the two men.
“Sure, where can I change into this suit without being charged with a misdemeanor for public indecency?” Jackson asked sardonically.
“Follow me, sir,” the young woman responded.
Christopher watched as Jackson followed the woman like a sulking boy following his mom on a school shopping trip.
A few moments later, an obviously uncomfortable Jackson emerged to stand in front of Christopher.“Would you like me to do a turn, so you get the whole picture?” Jackson quipped.
“Nope, I can already see from just this point of view that we have a long way to go,” Christopher responded in kind.
“Oh, now you’re a funny man. Can we go? These clothes make me feel funny,” Jackson whined.
“Yep. Our next stop is Mr. Lee. He is the method behind my madness.”
As the sales associate placed Jackson’s new suit in a garment bag, Jackson began to laugh and said, “I’ve got new church clothes, but no church to attend. That’s ironic, don’t you think, Christopher?”
“Well, a suit can be multipurpose, but I see the irony. Let’s go so we’re not late meeting Gabriella.” Christopher led Jackson out of the mall and into a luxury hotel not far away. As the two men made their way across the marble-floored, crystal-chandeliered lobby, Christopher was heading toward a small tailor shop with a simple sign above the entrance that read, lee’s suits.
“Hello, Mr. Lee, are you here?” Christopher called as he entered the tailor shop with Jackson.
“Yes, yes, I am here. Oh, Major Barrett, it’s you. I am so glad to see you. Wait one second.”
Christopher and Jackson watched as the older man turned the sign on his door from open to closed.
“Special customer deserve all my time. Please sit, sit…” Mr. Lee directed Jackson and Christopher to two small chairs in front of rows of varying patterns of cloth. “So how can I help you today, Major?” Mr. Lee asked.
“Mr. Lee, I brought a good friend to see you. He has an off-the-rack suit that needs your magic touch. Do you think you can help him out?”
“You military?” Mr. Lee asked, pointing to Jackson.
“Yes, sir, I am,” Jackson replied.
“Come, follow me,” Mr. Lee said, grabbing Jackson’s arm and leading him to a grainy old photo on the wall behind the register. “You see? Min-jun Lee was a warrior like you. I fought against the communist in Korea.” The old man beamed with pride.
“It’s an honor to meet you, sir,” Jackson responded warmly.
“You know a custom suit is better than buying one in the mall.” Mr. Lee made this statement as though anyone should certainly know it to be true.
“Well, you see…” Jackson flushed, embarrassed by his apparent fashion faux pas.
“It’s okay, Mr. Lee. He’s a hardworking man. He usually doesn’t need a high-quality suit,” Christopher explained, winking at Jackson.
As Mr. Lee grabbed the suit from Jackson and pointed him toward the changing room, Christopher noticed that the man was not his typical jovial self. Hoping to bring a smile to his face, he inquired, “Mr. Lee, where’s Mrs. Lee and her famous tea cookies?”
“She gone. Disappear with the others,” Mr. Lee replied somberly as Jackson emerged and stepped up on the tailoring block.
“I’m so very sorry, Mr. Lee. You doing all right? You need anything?” Christopher asked.
“I’m fine. Do you know why Mrs. Lee leave me here? I went to church, too, you know. Why am I here?” the man asked Christopher, his genuine confusion evident on his face and in his voice.
“I don’t know, sir. I wish I could explain why you were left,” Christopher told the puzzled man. He sat in silence as Mr. Lee applied his expertise to Jackson’s run-of-the-mill suit and made it look like the man had been born in it.
“I am done. What do you think?” Mr. Lee asked Jackson.
“I think I look sharper than my mother-in-law’s tongue,” Jackson replied, laughing.
“Major, what does this mean?” Mr. Lee questioned a bit suspiciously.
“Sir, it just means that Jackson likes your handiwork. We have to go, but how much do I owe you today?”
“No charge, my friend, no charge. I am just glad to see you’re still here…” The man paused, obviously not finished speaking. “Major…I lie. I know why I was left. I didn’t really love Jesus, never knew Him. I just like to socialize at church. It looked good, you know,” Mr. Lee confessed as the tears ran down his wrinkled cheeks.
“I am sorry, Mr. Lee, but I do believe what many people say. God is a God of second chances. Just pray for help. I know God will not let you down if you’re really trying to find Him.”
“Thank you, Major, and take care, Mr. Jackson. When you want a real warrior’s suit, you come see me, okay?” Mr. Lee encouraged.
“Yes, sir, I will, and thank you again for your help,” Jackson replied.
As the two men left the shop, Christopher looked back, wishing he could have said or done something for Min-jun Lee. He was a good man who was searching, like a lot of people, for answers as to what had just happened.
“Hey, let’s just walk over to the Pentagon. I don’t want to see that wall down in the metro ever again,” Jackson asserted firmly.
“Sure. Let’s get moving. We don’t want to keep the boss waiting.”
Christopher and Jackson entered Gabriella’s office and stood in front of her desk like two schoolboys called to the principal’s office while she finished typing on her computer.
“What took you guys so long? You just live in Crystal City,” Gabriella questioned.
“Christopher was getting me fixed up with some new clothes for this next thing you’ve signed our names to,” Jackson answered.
“Ahh, that’s sweet of Chris to help you expand your wardrobe beyond the outdoor recreation look,” Gabriella said teasingly.
Laughing, Jackson responded, “Yeah, I guess flannel and tactical pants don’t fit in with every crowd.”
Gabriella chuckled as she threw a set of bath towels at Christopher and Jackson. “Here you go, guys. I didn’t know what else to get you for a housewarming gift.”
“Oh, you’re a funny little thing there, Gabby,” Jackson responded.
“Little thing and Gabby? You’d better watch yourself, Jackson. I am not afraid to smack you even in your fragile condition,” Gabriella warned as she rose behind her desk.
Jackson howled with laughter. “I bet you could take a gator’s dinner.”
“Wow, are you two through acting like a dysfunctional set of siblings?” Christopher asked.
“Excuse me, Major Barrett. I am sorry to take some of your precious time with humor. What’s got you in such a bad mood today?” Gabriella asked.
“Nothing. Could you just tell me about my assignment babysitting the savior of the world?” Christopher questioned, his disdain for the task evident in his tone.
“I told you—” Jackson began.
“Savior of the world… I am guessing you mean Draven Cross. So you’re not a fan of his explanation for the disappearances, I take it, Chris?” Gabriella questioned, interrupting Jackson.
“I am still evaluating all possibilities, unlike Jackson or you. This guy is not even a head of state yet, and he’s commanding this type of attention. My gut says that cannot be good considering the rapture just occurred,” Christopher explained.
“The rapture! You must be joking, Chris. Mr. Cross presented scientific evidence that we are not alone in the universe, that an alien force took religious fanatics out of our world. I have some reservations about that part of his analysis, but his argument makes sense to me,” Gabriella defended, moving in front of her desk to face Christopher.
“What I have is a growing belief, my friend. Keep in mind that my refusal to believe in the rapture before this event has cost me much.”
“Hey, um, I can leave you two alone, if you want?” Jackson offered. “Seems you’ve got some stuff to work out.”
“Real funny, Jackson,” replied Christopher. “I just have one more thing to say. Just a few days ago, we saw millions of people disappear simultaneously. And now I am just supposed to believe the word of some rich guy that aliens popped up from nowhere because religion has been stopping humanity from achieving universal peace? I am more inclined each day to admit the truth of the Bible, as hard as that is for me. The Bible speaks of a man who would appear during a time like this promising peace, but who would actually be far from peaceful. I am not saying Draven Cross is the Antichrist, but I am not buying into him yet, either.” He then slammed himself back into his chair.
Gabriella leaned forward to look Christopher right in the eyes. “Fair enough. I’ve also heard all the Sunday school stories regarding the end of the world. I believe in science, and the solutions science produces. I will evaluate Mr. Cross and come to my own conclusions. Now that we are all fired up, your mission is a simple one. You will fly out of Andrews Air Base tonight on Air Force One and integrate within Mr. Cross’s security detail. Your point of contact is Gemma Sutherland, Mr. Cross’s executive assistant. Any questions?”
“Yeah, one. Why Air Force One?” Jackson queried.
“President Rodgers is extending America’s hospitality to the man that has captivated the world,” Gabriella answered.
“Well, that’s kind of like a man allowing another man to take his wife on a date, just because the other fella’s wife is less attractive,” Jackson retorted.
Christopher rolled his eyes, saying, “I’ll take the Southern Aristotle here and get the team ready.”
“What? Does that not make sense to y’all?” Jackson asked, clearly dumbfounded.
“No!” Christopher and Gabriella shouted in unison.
Gabriella added, “In any case, I will follow up with you two after, Mr. Cross’ White House visit tomorrow afternoon. Just make sure you keep him safe.” She addressed her final remark to Christopher. “And don’t let Jackson talk to him.”
“Heeeeey,” Jackson protested.
“No promises,” Christopher said over his shoulder as he exited the room with Jackson.
As the major and the sergeant major stood in the vast, bustling U.N. building lobby, Jackson was pensive as they waited to link up with Gemma Sutherland.
“You feeling okay, man?” Christopher asked.
“I’ll make it, thanks to the wrap around my ribs and some strong painkillers in my system. By the way, how do I look?” Jackson asked.
“Out of place and uncomfortable,” Christopher responded dryly.
“Awesome, I am nailing the look I was going for today. Just so you know, I have Barnes and the rest of the guys waiting in the SUVs, just in case. Heads up, I think Ms. Sutherland is coming our way.”
Christopher was taken aback by the Junoesque figure of the woman walking toward them, from her perfectly coiffed blonde hair and piercing blue eyes to her expensive shoes. It was easy to see why Draven Cross had made her his assistant, but he wondered if there was more to the relationship. Her striking looks caused eyes all across the expansive lobby to track her every step.
“Good morning, gentlemen. I am sure today will be quiet and without incident. Let me introduce you to Agent Mitch McDougal, the head of security for the EU president,” Gemma Sutherland offered calmly.
Agent McDougal looked like the poster child for guys who did nothing but work in the gym on making their arms bigger, and nothing else. The suit he was wearing looked like it was about to bust at the seams around his biceps while dangling loosely around his seemingly nonexistent legs. A large earpiece topped off the look. “So, Barrett, you’re in charge of the military team,” the agent stated more than asked.
“Yes, I am,” Christopher agreed.
“Look, you gents just stay in the shadows, and this will be an easy assignment for you,” Agent McDougal instructed.
“Not a problem, Mr. McDougal,” Christopher responded.
Gemma stepped between the two men, offering her hand to Christopher. “Thank you, Major Barrett. Mr. Cross and I will see you later today for our departure.”
“The pleasure is all ours, ma’am,” Jackson said, bowing deeply at the waist.
As Christopher watched Gemma Sutherland and Agent McDougal leave for the U.N. General Assembly hall, Jackson and he headed backstage, where they would be positioned while Cross spoke. For the first time since the disappearances, Christopher noticed a buzz of excitement as people moved into the large hall for Draven’s speech.
Laughing, Christopher said, “You’re always putting on a show, Jackson, the funny guy, Williams. I am guessing that was an English accent you were shooting for back there with Ms. Sutherland.”
“It would be boring without me around. And I think Agent McDougal doesn’t like Americans. Just sayin’,” Jackson stated with feigned nonchalance.
“It would seem that way, but we have more important things to worry about today. Just keep your eyes open. I didn’t realize Cross was speaking to the entire U.N. General Assembly. Anything can happen,” Christopher stated, looking concerned.
Draven felt exhilaration coursing through his body. He was lost in his thoughts as the outgoing U.N. secretary-general Maximilian Aguilar of Uruguay read through his biographical information. In a matter of moments, Draven felt that he would steal the hearts and minds of the world. Everything was happening just as the Prince of This World had predicted; humanity as a whole was enthralled by him. Though he expected the outcome promised by his spirit guide, it was still hard to fathom that the U.N. secretary-general had so easily pledged his support for Draven to become the head of the U.N. Of course, in exchange, Aguilar wanted assurances that he would become the next president of Uruguay as well as a hefty “campaign donation,” but Draven saw these things as leverage to use against Aguilar in the future. Draven felt intoxicated by the power in the room and the realization that, by this time tomorrow, he would have achieved his lifelong goal of ruling the world.
Draven entered the stage to a thunderous ovation from the nations of the world. He received the applause for minutes, basking in the glow before repeating his previous speech regarding the disappearances. He ended the address as guided by the Prince of This World when he exhorted Draven to “bring them to you.”
“In conclusion, I challenge this great institution to live up to its preamble. For too long, this organization has not unified the world, but rather allowed the strong to dictate conditions for living to the weak. It is time for all of us to unify under the banner of peace and one humanity.”
Draven finished by saying, “It’s in this spirit of peace that this body and all it represents has inspired me to action. I have personally donated sufficient resources to Israel so that rebuilding their sacred temple can begin immediately as a symbol of my commitment to peace. Additionally, on behalf of the EU, I am proud to announce today that a formal peace process with Israel and its neighbors will begin shortly at the Hague. I hope that the rest of the countries of the world will follow the EU’s lead and let the age of peace on Earth begin in the Middle East today. Thank you for your time and may peace reign on Earth.”
Christopher watched as the General Assembly of nations stood to their feet and all but formally crowned Draven Cross the ruler of the world.
“Well, that seals it for me,” Jackson asserted, tongue in cheek. “That guy is the Antichrist. I should just shoot him here and now.”
“I’m not sure that would be wise. I can say this, though. I have little faith in what I think anymore. Let’s head out to the vehicles. That speech sent chills down my spine,” Christopher said.
“Yeah, I feel dirty after hearing him speak in person—or maybe it’s just this suit.”
“More likely the suit. Let’s go.”
As Christopher watched Draven Cross exit the U.N. building, he felt intimidated by the man and fearful for what he perceived Draven might represent. The Holy Spirit, as Christopher now conceded to call the still, small voice, said, “But the Lord is faithful, and he will strengthen you and protect you from the evil one.” Christopher locked eyes with Draven for only a moment just before the man climbed into his waiting SUV. The look reminded him of a lion stalking its prey on the nature channels.
“I will ride with you, Major Barrett, if you don’t mind,” Gemma said.
Still feeling strangely uncomfortable about being so close to Draven, Christopher was startled by what Gemma said. But he replied, “That will be fine. I see Agent McDougal is with Mr. Cross, so all seems well. Let’s go.”
“I’ll ride up front,” Jackson offered. “You can ride in the back with Ms. Sutherland.”
As the convoy of SUVs departed to JFK airport, Christopher felt an overwhelming sadness. A chilly late-fall rain only added weight to his mood after listening to Cross speak. The major watched throngs of people cheering and snapping pictures on smartphones in hopes of catching a glimpse of Draven Cross, a man the world knew only on the surface. Draven had promised the world peace after the greatest disaster in recorded history, and it seemed the world was willing to accept this man, no matter the cost.
“It’s astonishing, the reaction he generates, is it not?” Gemma asked.
“I would say more disconcerting than anything, ma’am,” Christopher responded flatly.
“Please, call me Gemma.”
“Okay, Gemma. What’s the story on Mr. Cross?”
“Hmm, you’re direct, aren’t you? I would rather not discuss my employer at the moment. I will only say that he is a man who always gets what he wants. Today, it was the world.”
“The other gentlemen that got into the SUV opposite Mr. Cross…who was that?”
“Is there not an American idiom that says curiosity killed the cat, Major Barrett?”
“Please, call me Christopher. And, yes, that expression might be fitting here. But indulge me if you would, Gemma. It’s the military training in me. I always like to understand my surrounding environment.”
“I heard you were sharp, potentially rash, but perceptive,” Gemma remarked thoughtfully.
“Who provided you with that assessment?” Christopher asked, curious.
“Christopher, I work for what is easily the most powerful man in the world. There is little to nothing I cannot find out, if necessary.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, but do you think you could answer my question, or will you continue to evade the topic of the mystery man?”
Gemma grew somber and stared out the window as they drove several blocks, leaving Christopher to sit silently, awaiting her reply. After a while, she said, “He is Evan Mallory, one of the most powerful political and religious influencers in the world.”
“Why does that name sound so familiar?”
“Evan is the patriarch and chief architect of the twenty-first-century church movement. He began with a small church and built an international brand, the Interfaith Religious Centers. The religious centers, based predominately in major metropolitan areas, drew praise from many due to their power in uniting various religious faiths in one worship complex,” Gemma explained.
“That makes sense now. I’ve seen that guy with all kinds of politicians the world over. You think he is looking for a job with Mr. Cross?” Christopher wondered aloud.
“I expect he will be a more frequent visitor, if that answers your question.”
“It does. But I have one more question, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t believe this will be the last question you will ask, but go ahead.”
“So what’s your angle with Mr. Cross?”
“There is a straightforward answer. I have always been nothing more than Mr. Cross’s executive assistant. I was an intern at his large biotech firm near London while I was a student at Oxford. The rest is history, as you Americans say.”
“I take it you’re not happy with your employment situation?” Christopher probed.
“I thought the previous question was your last,” Gemma remarked pointedly.
The convoy slowed, causing Christopher to look out the window and away from the elegant and astute Gemma Sutherland. The vehicles had passed through the security perimeter of JFK airport and were now on the tarmac heading toward Air Force One.
“Thank goodness, I am saved from further interrogation by our arrival,” Gemma murmured with a laugh.
Smiling, Christopher replied, “I was just making conversation.”
As Christopher and Gemma’s SUV pulled up to allow the occupants to disembark, Christopher watched Draven salute a young Air Force officer standing at the bottom of the staircase leading to Air Force One. He thought, What arrogance.
“A final word of wisdom, Christopher. Fire is useful until you get too close,” Gemma warned. “Meaning, know that Mr. Cross is useful, but there are limits to what you want to know about him. No one is ever who they seem to be, especially Mr. Cross and Evan Mallory.”
With those words, Gemma quickly went up the staircase, leaving Christopher and Jackson at the bottom on the rain-soaked pavement.
“How did things go?” Jackson asked. “I am guessing she spilled the beans on old Saint Cross.”
Chuckling, Christopher answered, “No, she played her cards close regarding our two new acquaintances, Draven Cross and Evan Mallory.”
“I think I can guess who they are based on Rev’s journal notes. It’s hard to imagine being so close to such evil,” Jackson proclaimed.
“I hope you’re wrong,” Christopher muttered grimly.
Evan Mallory, at fifty-five years of age, knew star power when he saw it, and Draven Cross reeked of it. He was grateful the man had finally accepted his request to meet with him, but he never would have guessed the meeting would have occurred on Air Force One, en route to meet the president of the United States. Evan knew his only goal today would be departing this meeting as an advisor to Mr. Cross.
“Evan, it is a pleasure to finally meet you,” Draven greeted him.
“Sir, the pleasure is all mine,” Evan responded warmly.
“So tell me about yourself and how you used religion to amass such respectable wealth and fame. I know the story, but I am always intrigued to hear firsthand accounts.”
“Gentlemen, would you like anything to drink or eat?” a flight attendant asked before Evan could begin his story.
“A sparkling water for me,” Draven replied. “Evan, care for anything?”
“No, I’m just fine,” Evan answered.
“Hardly. He will have the same,” the EU president told the flight attendant. “I can see the nerves in you, Evan. Trust me, today is going to be a great day for both of us.”
The flight attendant left to prepare the drinks as Evan shuffled and adjusted his suit in a stately seat across from Draven.
“Now, please continue,” Draven requested.
“Yes, sir. My story is a simple one, but I feel it extraordinary at the same time. My father was an English businessman that moved to the U.S. when I was a small boy. He built his small financial consulting firm into, as you likely know, one of the largest in the world. The big break for my father stemmed from religion. When I was around eight years old, we started attending this little community church that was really more of a networking club. My dad told me often, ‘Religious wholesomeness sells in America, Evan.’”
“I’m sure it helped that your mother comes from a wealthy banking family, but please continue,” Draven said, enjoying the look of surprise cross Evan’s face at his comment.
“I see you’ve done your homework,” Evan remarked, eyebrows raised.
“That is why I am the most powerful man in the world. Just continue your story.”
Draven’s words were definitely more of a command than a request, and Evan was momentarily thrown by the sudden flatness of his tone. “Yes, so, where was I? Oh, yes. I didn’t understand at the time, but my father attended a church full of business and financial leaders with religious beliefs that were surface deep at best. Once I left for college, which was only a formality in my father’s eyes to provide the credibility I’d need to run his business, I had a desire to merge business and religion. I decided if I could sell people on the idea that all one needs from religion is to be charitable and generally decent while tying a business model into that concept, well, I just knew I would have something.
“Telling people each week and in conferences and books that they were already good, but they just needed to believe, no matter what faith they chose—well, I became a wealthy man,” Evan finished, sitting back in his seat satisfied that he had “sold” his worth to Draven. Stymied by Draven’s silence, he added, “I’m sorry if I was a bit longwinded.”
Draven finally spoke. “No apologies needed. I think you found the intersectionality of the business world and spirituality a potent combination in this world.”
“I’m glad my spirit guide told me to reach out to you months ago, but I thought the Prince of This World was wrong when you never responded,” said Evan a bit timidly.
“How delightful! So you’re familiar with the Prince of This World?”
“Oh, yes! He is the one that told me to focus on teaching only prosperity and to diminish the difference in various religions and focus on them all pointing to the same God.”
“Well, to be frank with you, Evan, I had no intention of ever reaching out to you. However, our mutual spiritual advisor told me that it would be profitable for me to extend an invitation to meet. I mean, really…all that drivel about prosperity starting with seeing yourself as prosperous and that goodness comes from providing charity for your fellow man is a balm for the masses, but it’s utter nonsense,” Draven said scornfully, seemingly now disinterested in his guest.
Evan, embarrassed by Draven’s blunt remarks about his work, was at a loss for words.
“Come now, Evan. I know you don’t actually believe your own dogma, especially considering you’ve witnessed the scope of the power that the Prince of This World commands,” Draven added, his face mirroring his disbelief. When Evan still failed to speak, Draven emitted a burst of mocking laughter as he realized that Evan did indeed believe in his self-made religious tenets. “This is too great, Evan. I think you have been pushing your silliness around the world for so long that you believe it. Today, however, that stops. You are just fortunate that a real higher power sees value in you that I cannot, and he has assured me that your false religion will be the perfect compliment to my government. Otherwise I would never have given you a second glance,” he stated disdainfully, staring into Evan’s eyes intently.
Evan was shocked to realize that he felt almost helpless as he sat listening to Draven state unequivocally that he would now serve Draven. Internally, Evan fought against what Draven was expressing; his pride in his own work and fame rose up within him at Draven’s arrogant tone. He struggled, asking himself whether this was indeed the job he wanted, serving the leader of the world? But all the questions in his mind survived only briefly, and he came back to himself just as Draven was summing up his role in the soon-coming government of the world.
“So it’s settled. You will serve as my image bearer, using your false religion to spread my ideas and concepts on what peace will mean in this new era. I cannot bring peace to the world without people seeing the commonality with their fellow man and living under my control unknowingly. And as much as I don’t believe religion is a real thing, I can see how it has the power to pull large groups of people into a single vision,” Draven commented pragmatically.
“Excellent, sir. I am grateful and honored to be in your service,” Evan replied, surprised by the subservient tone of his own voice.
“Now to sharpen my government’s teeth, starting with the largest military prize of them all—the United States military.”
Something about Draven’s calculating words lit a quiver of unease in Evan’s chest.
As his chief of staff entered his office, President Rodgers was just finishing a conference call with trusted allies in the Pentagon regarding a plan he was about to pitch to Gabriella—a project he’d been working on ever since listening to Draven Cross’s speech a few days ago.
“Sir, Air Force One has just landed at Andrews, and Mr. Cross is en route via Marine One. Dr. Costa is also waiting outside,” the man informed him.
“Thanks, please send in Gabriella.”
Moments later, the president heard his door open and then Gabriella’s greeting. “Good afternoon, sir.”
“Hello, Gabriella. I see that our boys took care of Mr. Cross.”
“Yes, sir, it went as expected. I guess that’s why I am surprised you wanted me to attend your meeting with Mr. Cross.”
“Honestly, Gabriella, my motives are self-serving—or perhaps more for our country—for having you here today,” President Rodgers replied. “Please take a seat. I want to urge you to take a job, but hear me out first.”
When she heard “take a job,” Gabriella’s stomach rolled nervously as she seated herself on the large couch next to the president. She was experiencing the same feeling she used to get when talking with her now-deceased dad as a child. “Sir, have you lost confidence in my ability to lead Omega Group?” Her dismay was evident.
“No, quite the contrary, Gabriella. Your success and my knowledge of your upbringing make you the ideal candidate for this assignment.”
“Please explain, sir.”
Laughing as he slapped his knee, President Rodgers continued. “You’re all business and very analytical, just like your father. Okay, I want to ‘offer’ your talents as an intelligence officer and security expert to Draven Cross for what I expect to be his new role at the U.N. I have reservations about what Mr. Cross plans, and I want to be able to make informed decisions for our national security.”
“When you say ‘new role at the U.N.,’ I am guessing you have some insight that leads you to that conclusion? Do I understand you correctly, Mr. President—you want me to be a spy?”
“Yes, I do have some insight you’re not privy to regarding Mr. Cross. And, yes, Gabriella, spying is precisely what I want you to do for your country,” President Rodgers stated firmly, standing to pace back and forth in front of his desk.
“First, what about Omega Group? But even more to the point, sir, what makes you believe Mr. Cross is a threat to the United States? He seems in all of his actions so far to be a champion of peace.”
“That’s what worries me, Gabriella. I have already expressed my wife’s views—no, now my views—on what we just experienced, the rapture. If I am willing to accept that much of what the Bible has to say, I must be willing to believe the rest.”
“Sir, are you telling me that you seriously think that Draven Cross is the Antichrist?”
“No, I am not willing to place such a horrible label on this man yet. However, as a recent convert to Christianity, I am on watch for the man who will fit that bill. Draven Cross may be indeed a man of peace, but he could also turn out to be just the devil in disguise, no pun intended. This makes placing you on the inside of his organization vital. You will have access to his plans and intentions. You will see through his public persona and help discover anything that might be detrimental to this country, ahead of time,” President Rodgers concluded as he sat down behind his massive desk.
“What makes you think he would even accept me on his staff in the role you’re offering?” Gabriella asked skeptically.
“He is a man who always wants to be surrounded by the best, and I can think of no one better in the field of intelligence tradecraft.”
“Well, can I think it over? I mean, who will take the leadership role of Omega Group?”
The office door opened, and the president’s chief of staff announced, “Sir, Mr. Cross just landed on the South Lawn. I will announce him in ten minutes.”
“Thanks,” the president acknowledged. “Gabriella, don’t worry about Omega. This is your next job. Major Barrett will lead Omega and report directly to me. You need to figure out this guy as much as I do. My self-serving interest in your taking this assignment is, first, that I need someone I trust, someone who will earn his trust on the inside. You’re that person. But secondly, it is my earnest hope that being in this precarious position will in some way lead to your receiving Jesus Christ as your personal savior,” he confessed, his honest affection for her very evident on his face.
“Against my better judgment, I accept your proposition. But I have doubts about this, sir. We could lose credibility in the international community if my cover is blown. I have even more significant misgivings that working for Draven Cross will change my thoughts regarding God,” Gabriella replied firmly.
“For our country’s sake, I appreciate your willingness to go along with my plan, despite your misgivings. For your sake, all I ask is that you keep an open mind to the things of God, Gabriella. It is an arduous challenge for those of us that trust above all things the physical and explanatory world to consider the things of God as being real. But if the last few weeks have not even opened your mind to the possibility that God could be real, then I wouldn’t consider you a critical thinker.”
“Thanks for the guilt trip on God via reasoning, sir,” Gabriella returned dryly.
“You and I go back a long way. I just want the best for you, Gabriella,” President Rodgers said, assuring the woman he had known all her life.