The Second Ship (The Rho Agenda #1)(75)

“And to the new aspirant, I say welcome. You have expressed a willingness to be released from the heavy bonds of worldly doubt, so that I may anoint you as one of the chosen. You desire to witness the miracle, so that you may know that I am come and that the end of times is at hand.”

Raul paused in front of the young man. “Aspirant Roderick Bogan, rise now.”

Rod Bogan stood. He was a senior, his heavy build having earned him years of ridicule from his classmates. That ridicule had taken a toll on his self-confidence, something for which he had tried to compensate by growing his blond hair long and by piercing his nose, eyebrows, tongue, and ears with prominent metal studs. But instead of looking tough, deep in his heart, Rod knew he just looked like a pathetic, fat loser.

Rod also knew what brought him here. It was the changes he had seen in his three friends, who until recently were even bigger losers than he was. Then they had met Raul and been transformed.

Not that they had become popular—far from it. Instead, they had found a heretofore unknown reservoir of inner strength and confidence, as if they knew something nobody else knew, something that made them superior.

Rod wanted that knowledge. He wanted that confidence. Wanted it so badly he could taste it. But now, here in the strange half-light of this chapel of crosses, he felt anything but confident. When his friend Paul slammed the deadbolt shut, it was all Rod could do to keep from screaming.

“Are you familiar with the book of Revelation?” Raul asked.

Rod cleared his throat. “A little.”

Raul smiled. “I am not here tonight to preach you a sermon. I will never preach at you. I will reveal something the book of Revelation promised would come. I will show you the face of God. Mankind is out of time. The end of days is at hand, and I have come to gather the faithful to me, in preparation for Armageddon.”

Rod was confused. He glanced at his friends, but the light shining in their eyes matched the intensity of Raul’s. With a shock, Rod realized they believed what Raul was saying. Unequivocally. Completely.

Raul turned and lay back on the cross, his arms spread out along the crossbeam, palms out, his knees bent, his bare feet positioned one atop the other. Seeing Raul nod his head, the three others rose, Gregg Carter moving to Raul’s right hand, Jacob Harris to his left, and Sherman Wilkes kneeling by Raul’s ankles.

Raul’s voice rang out clear as a bell in the semidarkness. “Kneel, that you may know that you are in the presence of the Lord.”

Before Rod could move, each of his three friends pulled forth a six-inch-long spike. They positioned them over Raul’s outstretched hands and feet. In a ritualistic unison that could have been choreographed, three six-pound sledgehammers struck the spikes, driving them through skin and bone, pounding the metal deep into the thick wooden beams of the cross.

Rod was frozen in place, too stunned to move. Again and again, the hammers rose and fell, pinning the hands to the cross, spiking one foot atop the other to the vertical beam. Blood seeped out around the thick spikes, congealing at a rate that was unnatural, and although Raul’s jaw clenched in pain, he did not cry out.

Having finished the crucifixion, Jacob moved to the crank and began winding it, slowly pulling the cross along its track until it stood erect against the far wall.

Rod stared in openmouthed wonder at the image of Raul dangling from the cross, the light of the dancing candle flames now jumping as if a sudden breeze had entered the room. Rod's legs lost their strength.

As he fell to his knees on the chapel floor, Rod stared up at the crucified form above him.

“My God.”

Raul smiled down at him.

“Yes, Roderick. I am.”





Chapter 53





“So what is the report?”

Jack spoke into his cell phone as he moved across the parking lot toward the far end of the shopping mall.

“I’ve been monitoring home lines on all the scientists on the Rho Project.” Harold's voice on the far end was delayed and sounded slightly distorted, an annoying side effect of the encryption device. “Other than what is in the report I faxed you, we have nothing of great significance so far.”

“What about Dr. Anatole? She was mentioned in the New Year’s Day Virus message.”

“She’s a cold fish. Adheres to security procedures by the book. And forget about Stephenson. His phone calls consist of things like, ‘Get over to my office now.’ I’ve never heard someone less talkative on the phone.”

“So you’re telling me we've got nothing? What about the bugs?”

“If you mean the ones you planted in the McFarland and Smythe houses, there is the barest mention of some of the scientists calling for them to work weekends. They seem more excited by their kids' national science project than anything else.”

“What project?”

“Their kids have pooled their money, with help from both fathers, and are trying to build a home-sized cold fusion device.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Apparently not very. I did some checking, and several graduate students around the world are doing roughly the same thing. The papers on the subject are flying around the Internet.”

“Odd for high school students, though, wouldn’t you say?”

“In most places, yes. Not here in Los Alamos, though. Most of the parents have PhDs and work at the lab. Even the teachers are highly qualified. This school is first-rate.”