Tyndale House - The Mark - The Beast Rules the World

Do I get a vote? David wondered. He might rather have vomited on Leon than call him Most High anything. He bit his tongue to keep from asking Viv, er, Ms. Ivins, whether it had been Hickman's groveling that won him his promotion. Or perhaps that performance was in gratitude for a move that had already been put in place,

"And no," Viv continued, "the new Supreme Commander will not be moving into Reverend Fortunato's old office. Mr. Hickman will be sharing space with His Excellency's assistant."

"Real-ly," David said. "Seems Sandra's kind of cramped as it is."

"How shall I put this? Though Mr. Hickman will have the same title Mr. Fortunato had, the job may not have quite the same range of influence." "Meaning?"

Viv appeared frustrated, as if she were seldom asked to be more precise. "Mr. Hassid, it should be obvious to everyone that a leader whose deity has been publicly affirmed would not have need for the same level of assistance he may have in the past. Mr. Fortunato was, in essence, the chief operating officer to His Excellency's chief executive officer. Mr. Hickman's role will be more that of facilitator."

Like sergeant at arms or town crier? David wanted to say.

"And, of course, you are aware of Reverend Fortunato's new duties."

More than you are. But False Prophet may not look right on the business card. "Refresh me."

"He will be the spiritual head of the Global Community, directing homage to the object of our worship."

David nodded. To cover any unconscious look that might have given him away, he said, "And, what, ah, is to become of Leon's, excuse me, Reverend Fortunato's old office?"

"It will become part of the potentate's new quarters."

"Oh! I knew he wanted to expand upward. But out as well?"

"Yes, it should be magnificent. One of the benefits, so far anyway, of his resurrected body is that he is apparently immune to the need for sleep. Busy twenty-four hours a day, he needs variety in his work environment."

"Uh-huh." That's all we need. Satan with no downtime.

"The potentate's new office will be spectacular, Director Hassid. It will encompass both his and Mr. Fortunato's old spaces, as well as the conference room, and above the ten-foot walls will extend another thirty feet of windows to a clear roof."

"Sounds impressive, all right."

"I'm sure you will have your share of audiences with him," she said, "though you will more often meet with the new Supreme Commander."

"If I were the potentate, I would want an office large enough to allow plenty of distance between him and me."

"I don't understand."

"You know, the throwing up thing."

"Oh, yes. I get it. Amusing." But she did not appear amused.

"Will Mr. Hickman have a meeting area, or will we have to keep our voices down so as not to disturb the potentate's assistant?"

"I'm sure between the two of you, you'll be able to work something out. For instance, meeting here. Oh, my, look at the time. I have several other appointments, so you'll forgive me if I plunge ahead."

No, time's up. Get out. "Certainly, Ms. Ivins. I understand."

"During your incapacity, we were unable to wait on several important issues. We needed to get orders placed for several technical purchases that involve international shipping and manufacture."

David had to concentrate to keep from making a face. He knew exactly what she was talking about, and he had hoped he could stall such requisitions and frustrate the potentate's efforts.

"Technical purchases?" he said.

"Biochip injectors. And, of course, loyalty enforcement facilitators."

Loyalty enforcement facilitators!? Why not just call them cranium and trunk separators? "Guillotines, you mean?"

That made her wince. "Director, please. That has such an eighteenth-century sound to it, and you can understand why we want to avoid any language that bespeaks violence or conjures images of beheading and the like."

And the like? "Begging your pardon, ma'am, but do we not assume that people will recognize the guillotines, or loyalty enforcement facilitators, for what they are? What else might they be used for, halving cabbages?"

"I don't find that the least bit amusing."

"I don't either, but let's call a blade a blade. People see a heavy, angled, razor-sharp edge waiting to be triggered from the top of a grooved track, with a head-shaped yoke at the bottom over a handy basket, and my guess is they'll have a clue what it's about."

Ms. Ivins shifted in her chair, made another check mark on her list, and said, "I shouldn't put it so crassly. But my guess, no my sincere belief, is that these will hardly, if ever, be used at all."

"You really think so?"

"Absolutely. They shall merely serve as a tangible symbol for the seriousness of the exercise."

"In other words, willingly express your loyalty or we chop your head off."

"That will not need to be said."

"I should guess not."

"But, Mr. Hassid, I wager that only the most unusually hard cases, so few and far between that they will be newsworthy for their uniqueness, will result in complete consummation of the enforcement."

I'd hate to see incomplete consummation of the enforcement. "You're confident, then, that all opposition has been eradicated."

"Of course," she said. "Who in their right mind could see the resurrection of a man dead three days and not believe in him as God?"

Rayford did not get the reception he expected, and Chloe hurried to him to explain it. He was staggered by the news of Annie. The three sat, stunned as the rest, and most, it appeared, avoided eye contact with Hattie.

"What do we hear from David?" Rayford said. "Is he all right?"

"We heard from Mac," Buck said. "Worse is that David collapsed from heat exhaustion or sunstroke or something, and that just delayed his finding out about Annie."

Rayford sat shaking his head. He knew more and more of this would be their lot, but it never seemed to get easier.

"Not everybody knows everyone else here," he said finally, and made cursory, subdued introductions.

"'Scuse me," Zeke said, "but is it OK if I ask a dumb question?"

"Anything," Rayford said.

"No offense, lady," he said to Hattie, "but I didn't expect to see a mark on you."

Tsion stood, lips trembling, and approached her. "Is it true, dear one?" he said, putting his hands on her shoulders. "Let me look at you."

Hattie nodded, her eyes darting to Buck and Chloe, who stared, wide eyed.

Tsion embraced her, weeping. "Praise God, praise God," he said. "Lord, you take one away and send one anew." He opened his eyes. "So, tell us. When? How? What happened?"

"Not twenty-four hours ago," she said. "It wasn't just one thing, but all of you caring about me, loving me, pleading with me, praying for me. If you have not heard Albie's story, though, make sure you do soon."

She leaned close and whispered in Tsion's ear.

"Certainly," he said. "Chaim, Zeke, Albie, Leah, let's let our new sister have a few moments with the Steele family, shall we? There will be plenty of time for getting acquainted."

The others rose and followed Tsion as if they understood, though Zeke looked puzzled. When it was just the four of them, Hattie stood as Rayford, Buck, and Chloe sat. "I'm so happy for you," Chloe said, "and I mean it even if I sound stunned. I am. I wish you'd told me on the phone before I went off on you."

"No, Chloe, I deserved that. And I don't blame any of you for being shocked. I'm a little shocked myself. But I have so much to explain. Well, not to explain, because who can explain rottenness? But to apologize for it. I was so awful to you, all of you at different times. I don't know how you could ever forgive me."

"Hattie," Chloe said, "it's all right. You don't have to-"

"Yes, I do. And Chloe, one thing you need to know is that something you said to me a long time ago never left me. I couldn't get it out of my mind, though I tried over and over. It was when I visited you at Loretta's house and I accused you all of just trying to change my mind about an abortion and of only really loving me if I bought into the whole package and agreed with everything you said. Remember?"