Day 34
THEY WERE TWO WEEKS AWAY FROM THE ELECTION and all of the national polls had them twenty points up in the race. It was an unstoppable tide, and Crandal was swimming in it.
The modified DC-9 was over St. Louis on its way to Washington when Roberts answered the phone call that changed the mood of the morning.
It was Banks. Did they know that the kid had another meeting last night? Roberts jerked in his seat and politely excused himself from the entourage who were chatting amiably with Crandal. He slid into the last row.
“What do you mean? What meeting? He was practically dead!”
“Not unless you call practically dead attending a private party with a bunch of rich snots and dazzling them with healing tricks,” Banks said. “From what I hear he made a bundle too.”
“Caleb did this? Last night? She said he was practically dead. Why didn’t she call?”
“Because she’s an amateur, Roberts. For an extra fifty I’ll do her too.” Banks chuckled. “Actually she said that a doctor took the kid off her hands. She said she thinks the kid healed himself. Can you get a load of that?”
This was impossible! Roberts glanced up the aisle where Crandal’s booming voice laughed loudly.
“He said some things,” Banks said.
Roberts spun to the window. “What?!”
“Don’t worry. It was only a handful of people without media. But she said that he talked about a bird eating a woman, and he thought it might have something to do with Crandal. The people there weren’t laughing.”
“Okay, listen, I want you to go to the orphanage and end him. This is crazy. Just go in there and kill him!”
“No,” Banks shot back. “It’s too risky. I’ve got my cover set at the Old Theater. It’s big, it’s public, and I’ve got the bases covered. Don’t overreact here.”
“Overreact? You’ve been telling me you’ve got things covered for two weeks now! Now he’s talking and you’re telling me not to overreact? My head’s on the line here.”
“And mine’s not? I told you, there were no cameras.”
“Where’s the kid now?”
“He’s back in her care.”
“And she’s back on the poison.”
“I told her to double it again. He’s getting enough to turn him purple by tomorrow night.”
“The next meeting?”
“Yup. And his last. No calls this time, Roberts. I’m not going through this again. If he walks onstage, I take him.”
“And there’s no way to take him before?”
“There’s reasons why I’ve made it this far, and I’m not messing with those reasons. The Old Theater’s all set.”
Roberts took a deep breath and thought about not telling Crandal.
“Don’t worry, Roberts. I’ve seen my share, and I don’t see how this turns bad. By eight o’clock tomorrow this deal’s done. Get some rest.”
“I hope you’re right, Banks.”
His phone went dead.
Jason sat with Leiah in the coffee shop at four on Friday afternoon, only half interested in Donna’s latest interview with Nikolous on national television. The Greek was saying nothing new, and Donna was asking the same old questions. They only skirted the real facts, and the real facts were these.
An estimated twenty-three million people watched Caleb’s failed attempt at healing the small child in leg braces on Tuesday night. It was by all accounts a pathetic scene. Caleb’s collapse had the spinsters talking late into the night. The religious folk took it the hardest. Understanding why a person with psychic power might fail was easy enough. A whole range of factors could be accounted for. Fatigue, stress, even something as simple as a bad hair day. But trying to explain why God could falter so dramatically had more than a few pundits stuttering.
The event was the boy’s sixth nationally televised appearance, not a career by any stretch. But the previous five consecutive events brimmed with stunning power had already made believers out of half the world. They could not agree on exactly what they believed—every religion had their own take on the boy, and within each religion there were a half-dozen major positions on the phenomenon. But for the most part, everybody agreed that Caleb’s power was undeniable. He had become an instant icon for their particular belief system.
During the five events, the boy had not spoken very much, except through Leiah on one occasion, and she refused to comment on camera. It was clear by what he did say that Caleb was a devout follower of Christ, but this didn’t deter the Hindus or the New Agers or even the Muslims. He was a ten-year-old child who had been raised Christian; of course he would sound Christian. That did not mean Jesus Christ was God alone, as most Christians claimed. It only meant that Caleb was exceptionally gifted by God, whoever God was.
In a strange way the boy had brought unity rather than division among the people of faith. Unity and hope. God, whoever he was, did care and was reaching out to humanity.
Of course, you always had your kooks, in this case those who simply didn’t believe—the I’m-an-atheist-despite-the-facts crowd. They still hung on to the absurd notion that it was all somehow a conspiracy to reinvent God, the sham of all shams. And if you looked real close, you would find wires and rubber legs and all sorts of devices that made what they all saw on television possible.
In any event, Caleb’s failure during that sixth meeting on Tuesday night sent ripples throughout the world. It was either See, I told you so, or somber stares of disbelief.
Which was why when Mary Sue Elsworth stood before the cameras on Friday morning and told the world that she’d been healed by young Caleb at a private dinner Thursday night, the media went into a feeding frenzy. Mary Sue was a well-known Hollywood actress who’d broken her leg in a Sunday skiing accident, and she stood free as a bird. She even did a little jig for the cameras. And she wasn’t the only one; there were about a hundred people there, and as far as she knew, they all got healed.
It wasn’t surprising that when three thousand tickets for a Saturday-night event went on sale for a thousand dollars each that afternoon, they were sold out within the hour.
Caleb was back.
But none of them knew what Jason and Leiah both knew as they silently watched the madness on television: Caleb’s gut-ache was back as well.
Leiah turned to Jason, shaking her head. “They don’t know how to lighten up, do they?”
“If he fails again, they’ll lighten up. Although I’m not sure that would do us any good.”
“Well, it can’t go on forever.”
“You’re right, but I’m having trouble seeing how it ends. It looks more and more like a no-win scenario.”
“What do you mean? Eventually we need to get Caleb out of this mess. That’s a win scenario.”
Jason glanced back at the television, where Donna had just concluded an exclusive, and then turned back to Leiah. “Maybe. But not if someone really is still trying to harm him. Especially if it’s NSA related. Let’s say all this goes away and Caleb becomes just another ordinary child. Chances are they’ll still ship him back to Ethiopia, and as far as we know his life is endangered there.”
“No, we fight to keep him here,” Leiah said.
“And even here he may be in danger.”
“From the NSA? Based on what?”
“Crandal,” Jason said. “He’s talked about Crandal in association with his vision three times now. And people are starting to listen. You could hear a pin drop in that room last night when he talked about the vision. I guarantee you Crandal’s wetting his pants about now. Caleb could throw his whole campaign a curve.”
“He wouldn’t hurt Caleb over an election.”
“Probably not. But this has to go beyond the election. This goes back to Ethiopia and the EPLF’s attack on the monastery.”
“You think Crandal’s behind that?” she asked with a raised brow. “Seems like a stretch to me.”
“Maybe. But we can’t just ignore Caleb’s vision. He doesn’t like Crandal, and if it were anybody else, I would shrug it off. But Caleb’s not anybody.”
She didn’t respond.
“Even if Crandal isn’t a threat, Caleb’s got this gut-ache . . .”
He stopped midsentence with his mouth still open. It was the first time he had even thought to connect the two—Crandal and Caleb’s gut-ache. Not that they were actually connected, but . . .
“What is it?” Leiah demanded.
“I don’t know. I just thought . . .”
“Thought what?”
He glanced around the coffee shop. “It’s probably crazy, but what if Crandal’s somehow responsible for this illness of Caleb’s?”
“He’s got the flu—the doctor said so himself.”
Suddenly the pieces fell in his mind like dominoes. He sat up, intent. “That would explain his recovery!”
“From the flu?”
“No. Okay, listen. Caleb can heal anybody, right? Jesus said that with the faith of a mustard seed you can move mountains, and Caleb really believes it. He’s never been exposed to anything contrary. In that sense Dr. Caldwell at UCLA is right. He’s a sort of spiritual noble savage. But then he’s isolated in a room with a television. I know this might sound strange, but follow me.” He lifted his hand.
“Suppose his delicate mind-set is assaulted with these crazy images day and night. He’s filling his mind with cops and robbers and who knows what else.”
“What does that have to do with his illness?”
“Nothing at first. But then say he begins to lose his . . . I don’t know, his faith or something. He starts to lose his healing power. Remember he came out on the fourth meeting, and he lay on the floor like he was repenting before anything happened. Then again in the church, only even more so. Finally he comes out onstage and just collapses.”
“Maybe. But I still don’t see how his illness . . .”
“What if it wasn’t an illness? What if it’s something that’s building up in his system? As long as his faith is strong it doesn’t affect him. He’s healing himself, so to speak. But as his faith fails, the effect grows.”
“Something like what?”
“Something like poison.”
“Come on! You can’t be serious!”
“I’m not saying it is, but think about it. It would be the perfect way to eliminate him. And who else has the flu? No one.”
Leiah wasn’t buying the explanation entirely, but her face was wrinkled with concern nonetheless. “That’s hard to believe.”
“Maybe. Depends on what Crandal’s hiding.”
She grabbed her purse and began to stand. “Then we have to do something! We have to get him out of there!”
Jason reached for her arm. “Hold on. We have to think this through. We don’t even know if I’m right.”
“No, but if you are, we don’t have time to think this through. We have to tell Nikolous.”
“And Nikolous will laugh us down if we don’t have more evidence. He was forced to refund a bundle on Tuesday. I don’t think he’s in any mood to do anything until after tomorrow’s meeting anyway. His whole reputation’s at stake.”
She eased back.
“It’s only two hours until we pick him up anyway. If he fails tonight, we take him to the hospital.”
“Based on your theory, it won’t matter,” she said.
“The hospital should be able to tell if he’s been poisoned.”
“But if he’s full of poison and he loses his power for lack of faith, what can save him?”
“What saved him last time?”
“Renewed faith?”
“And then he lost it again after they moved him back to his room.”
Jason shrugged. It was all quite confusing, this meddling in faith. Jason wasn’t even sure where his own faith rested. In Christ as God, yes. But this matter of the powerless church would not let him free.
He took a gulp of cold coffee.
“We should be prepared to do whatever we need to tomorrow night. He looked pretty gray this afternoon. If need be we take him to the hospital without Nikolous’s permission.”
“He’ll fry you,” Leiah said.
“So be it. And I know Donna’s already talked to Crandal about this latest accusation of Caleb’s, but I think she might be up to pushing it. His answers were too pat and I could be misjudging her, but I don’t think she was entirely satisfied. Maybe she can put some pressure on him.”
He threw back the last from his cup.
Leiah slid her hand across the table, palm up. He put his hand in it, and she closed her fingers around his. Her sleeve rode up her arm enough to show the scars. He still wasn’t sure how to deal with her skin. He only knew that he loved her. She calmly reached forward and pulled the sleeve back down.
“I love you, Jason.”
He looked up into her blue eyes. “And I love you, Leiah.”
“You won’t let anything happen to Caleb, will you?”
She was asking him to be strong for her. For Caleb. To be her man.
“No, I won’t. I promise.”
“No way.” Stewart Long turned away from Barbara, grinding his teeth. “You’re crazy. I can’t believe you’d want that after what we put him through.”
“Put him through? What did we put him through, Stew? It happened, sure. He was mortified, we were all mortified, but how can one night of mortification compare to ten years of muscular dystrophy? How many diapers does it take to balance out one night of embarrassment?”
Stewart swung around. “Look, I’m the one who bought the tickets, remember? I paid six grand for that shot—six grand we don’t have, incidentally. I’m the one who got us front-row seats by securing a place in line ten hours before the event started. I’m the one who wheeled Peter up there and put him on the stage in front of the whole world. Don’t patronize me!” He breathed deep through his nostrils. “This has nothing to do with my embarrassment. We’re talking about Peter’s dignity here. Let’s not strip away what little he has.”
“I agree, Stew.” She spoke softly but firmly. “But we’re also talking about his life. He has to live with the diapers and the wheelchair. And so do we. If there is a possibility of changing his life forever, isn’t it worth the loss of a little dignity?”
“If. And what if there isn’t a possibility?”
“They say Caleb has his power back. He healed a hundred people in a private meeting.”
“Good for him.”
“There’s a meeting tomorrow.”
“And we’re not going,” he said. And then added, “Even if we could find tickets, I wouldn’t want to go.”
“I want you to think about it, Stew. Maybe not for tomorrow but for the next time. I want you to put yourself in Peter’s shoes and pretend you wear braces on your legs and think about going to see Caleb no matter what the ‘if ’s’ are.” She walked into the kitchen, then turned on the checkered linoleum. “He wants to go. Did you know that? Now you do.”