Edge of Apocalypse Page 19

  In an instant, the golf ball rolled off the green, dropping off the little lip of the sand trap where it met the green and rolled down several feet almost to the beginning of the steep sand hazard on the other side.

  Joshua kept his cool, as he always did. But he was already adding it up in his head. If Campbell did well in his final stroke or two and Joshua didn't, things could get very interesting.

  Campbell took out his nine-iron. He looked relaxed in front of the ball. He swung.

  His ball went up into the air and then landed down on the green with a vicious spin, slowing down, but still heading right toward the cup, and then picked up the slight down-slope and kept rolling. Joshua was watching, and now he was concerned.

  The ball was rolling up to the cup. But just before it got there it angled off and caught the edge of the round hole.

  The ball rimmed the cup and rolled around the circumference once and then dropped into the cup with a clunk.

  Joshua was astonished. Oh man, that was too much...

  "Great shot!" Joshua called out. "Now how do we account for that? Divine miracle or minister's luck?"

  Campbell was surprised himself at the shot and was laughing. "Don't ask me. I couldn't begin to tell you how I just did that..."

  Joshua had just lost his three-stroke lead. With his next stroke it would be down to just two. And he might be lucky to win by just two. The sand trap was a bear of a hazard. There was ten feet of sand to cross. Uphill. Then to a green that seemed to be fast. And he still had to conquer the moderate up-slope to the pin.

  Joshua took out his sand wedge and sauntered down into the sand.

  From the top, looking down at him, Campbell was smiling, watching a super competitor in the clutches of a pressure play.

  But inside Joshua's head, he had closed out the emotions that tell you how much winning is important--winning at everything--and he was now running on automatic.

  It was his own mental formula developed in those situations where he had been up in the thin air, going several hundred miles per hour in a military jet when things suddenly went bad, and he had to make them good--or perish.

  Direction, altitude, power, precision, control.

  Now...

  With the swing, the full plate of the wedge scooped the golf ball up and sent it arching over the wicked sands, upward, toward the green.

  There was enough power behind it to take it completely out of the sand hazard and over the green where it dropped and started traveling fast toward the pin.

  Joshua couldn't see the hole from down where he was, so he was "flying by instruments," as he called it, just using the flag on the pin that Pastor Campbell was holding up there on the green as his guide.

  Then Pastor Campbell gave a little jump and he swung his fist in the air and laughed.

  "Unbelievable!" he cried out. "Great shot!"

  Joshua made his way out of the sand, strode up to the green and over to the cup.

  There was a quiet feeling of satisfaction as he reached down and felt the ball at the bottom of the cup and then plucked it up.

  Bob and Carl, who were playing back, had arrived just in time to see Joshua's magnificent shot.

  When the four of them were back at the clubhouse there was a general celebration over Joshua's mastery of the course. At the same time, Pastor Campbell said that it had been the best eighteen holes that he had ever played at Hanover.

  The two other men had to run off to meetings, so Paul Campbell and Joshua sat down in the club for a quick sandwich.

  "You really forced me to up my game," the pastor said. "But at the same time, hey, I've got to admit...some of my shots were flukes. I don't think I earned my score today, shooting just two strokes behind you. You, on the other hand, really earned your score. You play the game with a tremendous amount of skill. And discipline."

  Joshua smiled as he chewed on his BLT on whole wheat.

  Then something occurred to him. He had to say it out loud. "That's it."

  "What?" Campbell replied.

  "The answer to your little riddle. You said that life was dissimilar to the game of golf."

  "Right. So, what's your answer?"

  "I think your point was that it may take discipline and skill to achieve things in life. Obviously. But that somehow those things aren't enough."

  Paul Campbell stopped eating. He wiped his mouth with his napkin and leaned back.

  "I think you're right."

  But now Joshua wanted the pastor to close the loop. He asked, "So, skill and discipline are not enough...but not enough for what?"

  "For God."

  There was silence between the two men. Joshua expected the man sitting across the cafe table to keep talking. But he didn't. Finally Joshua had to plow ahead.

  "Okay. What about God?"

  "As skilled and disciplined and accomplished as you--or anyone, for that matter--might be...regardless of that, it's not enough to please God."

  "Sounds like He's hard to please," Joshua shot back with a chuckle.

  The pastor replied simply, "Exactly. God is hard to please. Impossible in fact."

  This surprised Joshua. "Wow, that's a downer coming from a clergyman. I thought you guys specialized in giving out words of hope."

  "Let's put it this way: God won't be pleased with purely human effort as a way to achieve relationship with Him. That'll never work."

  "Why not?"

  "The Bible says every one of us has sinned and fallen short of the glory that we were originally designed for. We all have an inherent sin flaw, and we act on that. That blocks our ability to connect with God."

  "So what's your solution...to not sin? Act self-righteous? Be pious? Go to church?"

  "Nope."

  Now Joshua was getting impatient. If there was a problem, then he liked to figure out the solution. Campbell was proposing a tragic problem for the human race, and no solution.

  "Then what?" Joshua asked. His voice was loud enough to draw the attention of a group of women eating lunch at a nearby table who turned and looked.

  Campbell replied, "Accept the one solution that God's given us. That's the only remedy that will work. The only thing that will enable us to have any kind of relationship with Him. To receive forgiveness for sin. Take us out of the enemy camp and put us into friendship with the Creator of the Universe. That's it. Nothing else will do."

  Joshua was looking for loopholes. "So no multiple options available?

  Look, if I'm way up in the stratosphere flying at Mach one and I encounter problems with my aircraft, I'm not going to limit myself to one single solution. I'll try multiple strategies to get control of that airplane."

  "Let's use a communications model. You're up in that aircraft. You want to contact the control tower. The radio has to be set on the right frequency. If the tower has only one frequency available, it doesn't make much sense to say you don't like that frequency and you'd rather have multiple options..."

  "So, what's the single frequency for God?"

  "The Bible makes it crystal clear. The ultimate reason that Jesus came to earth was simple, but pretty mind-blowing. He came to be cruelly tortured and then to die in a Roman crucifixion just outside the city walls in ancient Jerusalem. That's the only way He could be a sacrifice. The perfect Son of God, offered as a perfect payment for the price of my sin--and yours."

  Joshua was calculating the odds. Something didn't add up. "There are what...thirteen billion people who've lived on this planet, something like that? So how could one man, I don't care who he is...how could one man's blood possibly cover the sins of every single person? Couldn't be done."

  Paul Campbell nodded. "You're right. Can't be done."

  Joshua chuckled and sized up the man across the table. "Now you agree with me? What's the hitch?"

  "Because an ordinary man could never die for his own sins, let alone billions of others. But then, that's the point of those Bible prophecies I was talking about at church. God has given us the guidance from His Wor
d, like landing lights on an airport runway. Pointing the way directly to Jesus as the one and only Savior. God made into man. Fully human, yet fully Divine. Incomprehensible? Yes. But when Jesus was crucified, it was literally the blood of God being shed, which is the only thing that can cleanse the sins of thirteen billion people. Obviously, Josh, God thinks human beings are worth saving. It's that simple. And that profound. The only thing left is how we respond to that."

  "So here's my response," Joshua said. "Some things are worth saving. Right? We can agree on that. In my case I want to save my country. I caught what you were saying last night. In fact, you and I have something else in common, beyond a close golf game I mean."

  "What's that?"

  "We both realize that this may be the last and best chance we have to stop America from being sucked into a global commune. A place where liberty gets destroyed by redefinition. Our borders start to evaporate. Where we have to ask permission of the international community before we take action to defend ourselves. Where the vision of men like Patrick Henry and George Washington gets erased from the memories of our grandchildren. According to what you said last night, if that happens, it could be the beginning of the end. One long, ugly global nightmare. Well, I'm not just going to sit back and watch it happen."

  "Nations are made up of people. That includes you. So, you may want to consider looking to your own salvation first, Josh. You may be surprised what God has in store for you once you sign onto His team."

  "You want me to do the same kind of spiritual conversion thing that Abby did? Which is fine for her. But what you're offering me, it's certainly not the right time."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Let's face it. Right now my life is tied up in a complicated struggle. I'm on a mission. Everything I am and all that I have, everything is going to be devoted to that task. My business interests, my energy. Everything. I appreciate what you're saying. But I'm on a different road right now. And I'm not stopping till I've accomplished the mission."

  Campbell nodded and said. "You mentioned Patrick Henry. Wasn't he the one who said that God directs the destinies of nations?"

  "Sure. But then he rose up, shook his fist at Great Britain, and fought for freedom. I can't wait for divine intervention, Pastor. I need to act."

  "Just one thought. Something I didn't get a chance to share last night."

  "What's that?"

  "God's the keeper of the timetable. He's the only one who knows the exact timing of the end. I've made the Scriptures my lifelong study. You want to know where the United States is mentioned?"

  "Sure."

  "So would I. And I'm still looking. Why no clear, specific mention of America? Maybe He simply doesn't want us to know the fate of our nation in advance. So we can rise to the challenge. Seek His face while there's still time."

  There was a penetrating power in Pastor Campbell's gaze. He was looking into Joshua's eyes with a strange kind of tranquility.

  Finally, Joshua stood up from the table, saying he had to get to the office. He smiled and shook Paul Campbell's hand.

  But before turning to leave the clubhouse, he had to give some credit where credit was due.

  "Great game, by the way. You gave me a run for my money. Let's do it again sometime."

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Vice President Jessica Tulrude's feet were killing her. She wished she hadn't worn heels, particularly for the tour down the ancient Roman stone streets of Pompeii. She pretended to listen intently to the tour guide and worked equally hard to keep her smile in place for the small contingent of international photo press.

  Tulrude was part of a small entourage that included several officials from the European Union and the deputy assistant to the president of the EU. Tulrude had come to Italy for a joint conference between the EU and the United States on matters of common interest, including global finance.

  Before the trip she had had a heated argument with Secretary of State Danburg over who ought to attend the conference. Ever the political survivor, Vice President Tulrude was able to muscle him out of the picture. She knew the public-relations value of the event. After all, her political advisors had told her she needed to increase her international prestige in foreign affairs if she wanted to give her future campaign a bump. This would be just the thing.

  The luminaries in the tour group also included a handful of influential international entrepreneurs.

  Caesar Demas was one of them. He was strolling in his short sleeves and smiling from behind his custom-designed Georgio Armani sunglasses.

  Demas strode up next to Tulrude while he pretended to be surveying the Roman arched doorways and first-century stone houses on each side of the white cobblestone street.

  Tulrude was careful not to face him but addressed him in a side glance. "Tell me again, Caesar, who cooked up this ridiculous idea to spend a half day walking through a dead Roman city?"

  "I believe, Jessica, it was his eminence, the president of the European Union. This is part of his global media push for an international effort among the nations to jointly prepare for mass disasters."

  Demas couldn't see it, but Tulrude was rolling her eyes at that one. When she responded, her voice was dripping with the kind of whiney, cynical tone that her advisors had warned her against.

  "So he picks a city...from the first century...that was buried by a volcanic eruption, as the photo-op for his pet project on global disasters? Oh pleeease..."

  "Look at it this way. At least it gives the two of us an opportunity to chat for a few minutes in a way that doesn't raise suspicions," Demas said. "I have been meaning to connect with you anyway. Tell you how sad I was that I couldn't work with the White House as an unofficial envoy to negotiate an arrangement for sharing the RTS weapons technology with other nations..."

  "Yes, well all the polls went south on that issue for us. It sounded like a good idea at the time, but in the end we couldn't have survived the political fallout."

  "Understood. But you and I now have other things to talk about." Demas patted her on the arm. "Like your political future."

  Before Tulrude could respond, she spotted her chief of staff, Lana Orvilla, and a secret service agent walking at a fast clip toward her.

  Orvilla handed her an encrypted satellite Allfone.

  "Sorry, Madam Vice President," she said, "but we have an urgent call from the Department of Justice. Attorney General Hamburg needs to speak to you."

  Tulrude excused herself from Caesar Demas and then stepped away from the group to take the call.

  "Madam Vice President," Attorney General Cory Hamburg started out. "Sorry to break into your travels, but we have an important security issue that we need to verify. Both the FBI and our own terrorism people here at the Department of Justice need to double-check on something."

  "Certainly. National security always comes first. What can I do for you?"

  "There was a directive given from Homeland Security relating to a prime terror target. A known terrorist and assassin by the name of Mr. Atta Zimler."

  "How does this concern me?"

  "Well, Zimler has been high on our terror list for a number of years. But Homeland Security has asked us to stand down temporarily on any domestic investigations concerning Zimler. When we questioned them about it, they said we should talk to your office."

  "Yes, now I recall the situation," Tulrude said. "The White House and Homeland Security have been discussing the problem of mistaken identities in our antiterrorism programs. You know, arresting the wrong people because of a glitch in the system. Similar names. That kind of thing. We simply can't tolerate those kinds of mistakes..."

  The attorney general was quick to interject, "Yes, that's what they told us too. There was some unnamed diplomat who thinks he may be at risk, you know, to be mistaken for Atta Zimler. This diplomat is supposedly coming to the United States, and Homeland Security is concerned about international embarrassment if he is wrongly taken into custody. Truthfully, I'm a little uneasy about this on
e. We have no name for the diplomat. Frankly don't even know whether he exists..."

  "Of course he exists," Tulrude said but refrained at adding anything else. She pursed her lips and started tapping her finger on the cover of the phone. After a few seconds of silence she said, "I'm not sure where you're going with this. How this involves me..."

  "Just so you know," the attorney general continued, "Madam Vice President, this directive is highly irregular. It came from Homeland Security to the Department of Justice. Regarding a potential terrorism investigation...as you know, protocol is that it should work the other way around. They also told us that Zimler was taken into custody in Europe...maybe Paris. If Zimler is in custody, okay, fine, no problem...but we can't get verification of that. Nothing through the normal channels...zero information from the Paris police...nothing from INTERPOL--"

  Tulrude's reply was curt. "What do you want from me, General Hamburg? Spell it out."

  "While you are there in Italy, if you could talk to the EU folks, have their contacts in France put a rush on this intelligence issue. Confirm that Zimler has been caught. We need this information ASAP. Obviously, in the interim we will pull back on any investigation here in the U.S. regarding persons that might be mistaken for this Atta Zimler--"

  "Yes, of course. When the timing is right..." Tulrude assured him. "And General Hamburg? I'll be sure to put in a good word for you at the EU conference."

  "Thank you, Madam Vice President."

  Tulrude handed the phone back to her chief of staff. The secret service agent was standing right behind her. The rest of the group had wandered farther down the ancient street, all except Caesar Demas, who was lagging behind.

  The vice president ordered Lana Orvilla and the secret service man to walk up ahead and said that she would be there shortly. The secret service agent protested politely. He reminded the vice president that her safety was his responsibility. But Tulrude cut him off.

  "Agent, would you like to be relieved of your assignment?"

  He got the message. His face tightened.

  "I'll be waiting for you right up the street, Madam Vice President."