Plot Line (6 page)

Shackleton smiled.

“Is that funny?” Ray asked.

“I’m not laughing at you, Ray. I’ve always
been amused by the term agnostic. It was a word I used to describe
myself about ten years ago. The term comes from the Greek and means
‘without knowledge.’ I once told someone I was an agnostic and they
said, ‘That means you’re a know-nothing.’”

“I’m a writer. I know a little bit about
words. Agnostic can also describe someone who believes God is
unknowable.”

“True,” Shackleton admitted. “I came to
believe God was knowable. That was during my second year of
college. I have found nothing since to change my mind.”

“I’m sure it’s very real to you.”

“And to me,” Skeeter added. “Dad, Jesus has
made a big difference in my life, and I believe he can make a
difference in everyone’s life.”

“Would anyone like coffee?” Nora said,
abruptly standing. “We can move to the living room and have coffee
there.”

“Mom,” Skeeter objected. “This is
important.”

Ray raised his hand, catching his daughter’s
attention. Then to his wife he said, “That’d be great, sweetheart.
Do you need any help?”

“No, I’ve got it.” She carried the used
dishes into the adjoining kitchen.

“I didn’t mean to make her uncomfortable,”
Shackleton said.

“No need to apologize. Her father was an
unkind man, cruel to her and her mother, yet he insisted they
attend church every Sunday. She associates church with all those
negative memories.” Ray stood. “Let’s go into the living room?”

Seated on the family’s new sofa, Shackleton
finished the last bite of chocolate chiffon pie. “That was
extraordinary.”

“Thank you,” Nora said. “My mother gave me
the recipe. She got it from her mother.”

Ray watched his daughter. She fidgeted in
the love-seat and poked at her dessert. There was something on her
mind and he knew what it was. More than once she had expressed her
concern about his and Nora’s spiritual condition. How she had
become so religious was beyond Ray, but he was respectful of her
opinion. If it would make his daughter happy, then he and Nora
could hear a little more God-talk.

“So, how long does it take to become a
minister?” Ray saw Amy raise her eyes. Out of the corner of his
eye, he saw Nora tense.

“I went to four years of college and three
years of seminary.”

“Seven years? I had no idea it was that
long. What kind of college degree did you get? Bible? Church
history? Something like that?”

The minister shook his head. “No, my
undergraduate degree was in math with a minor in physics. I left
seminary with a M.Div. degree—Masters of Divinity. It’s a
professional degree.”

“Math and physics?” Ray raised an eyebrow.
“I didn’t think religious folk went in for science.”

“I love science. I hope to go back to school
and pursue an advanced degree in math. But I’ll wait until my wife
finishes her education.”

“Aren’t the two contradictory?” Ray asked.
“It seems to me you’re trying to mix oil and water.”

“Not at all,” Shackleton said. “Nature is
the 67th book of the Bible. A person can learn a great deal about
God by studying the universe.”

“So you believe God created everything?” Ray
said.

“Yes, I do. I believe all things visible and
invisible were created by Him and that God holds all things
together.”

“Invisible?” Nora asked.

“Yes,” Shackleton said. “The Apostle Paul,
who wrote twelve books of the New Testament, said: ‘For by Him all
things were created, both in the heavens and on earth, visible and
invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or
authorities—all things have been created through Him and for Him.’
He is referring to Jesus when he says, ‘Him.’”

“I thought
God
was the creator,” Ray
said.

“He is, and He is shown as
such in the first two chapters of Genesis. But Jesus is the
agent
of creation. Like
the Apostle Paul said, ‘all things have been created by Him and
through Him.’ Of course that leads to a question.”

Uh, oh
.
Here it comes
. “What question is that?”

Shackleton leaned forward on the sofa,
resting his elbows on his knees. “If the world and everything in it
was created by God, then we are His creation too. If that’s the
case, and I believe it is, then what should our relationship be
with the Creator? Does the creature have a responsibility to the
One who created him?”

“That would work both ways,” Ray responded.
“We could also ask what responsibility does the Creator have to His
creation?”

“Absolutely,” Shackleton said. Ray felt as
if he had stepped into a trap. “Yes, the Creator does have a
responsibility to His creation, and He has shown that by sending
His only Son Jesus to us to teach, preach, and ultimately to die
for us. We all have sinned; Jesus paid the price for that sin. Now
the ball is in our court. What do we do with that knowledge? Do we
treat it as a small thing, not worthy of our time and
consideration, or do we see it for the loving sacrifice that it
is?”

Ray was afraid the conversation would lead
to this point. He had encountered “born again” Christians and faced
their zeal. They were always looking to convert someone, to make
others just like them. But Ray had no interest in such things. So
what if someone named Paul had written that Jesus was God’s Son,
and that all of creation was His doing? The Apostle Paul may have
just been a gifted writer. Maybe he did 2000 years ago, what Ray
did today—make up stories. He had no idea why an ancient Jewish man
would do such a thing, but he may have had his reasons. If so, then
Paul and the other writers of the Bible were just earlier versions
of himself.

He glanced at his wife who sat in the corner
of the sofa, her hands folded and resting nervously on her lap. She
was bouncing one leg up and down like a piston. Amy, on the other
hand, was leaning forward. Her eyes were closed. Was she
praying?

Ray hesitated, caught between the discomfort
of his wife and the eager anticipation of his daughter. He turned
his eyes back to Pastor Shackleton. “That’s an interesting
concept,” Ray finally said. “Thought provoking. I’ll have to think
on it some more.”

Shackleton made eye contact with Ray then
nodded. His guest had sensed the tension in the room. “Well,” he
said standing. “It’s been a wonderful evening. I enjoyed dinner and
the pie. I especially enjoyed the conversation. Next time, we’ll
have you over to our place. My wife makes a wonderful
meatloaf.”

“That would be nice.” Ray rose from his
chair. The others joined him. They drifted toward the front door.
Shackleton said, “We’ve talked about some very important things
tonight. If you have any questions, or want to talk more, let me
know.”

“I’ll do that, Dale,” Ray said. “I hope you
won’t think us heathens or anything.”

“Not at all. Spiritual matters require
thought.”

Shackleton took his leave.

In the kitchen Ray, Nora and Amy put the
dishes in the dishwasher. Amy was quiet and withdrawn, moving about
the work listlessly.

“I thought your pastor was a pleasant man,”
Nora placed the remaining pie in the refrigerator.

“Smart, too,” Ray added. “Seemed to know
what he was talking about. Not that I agree with everything he had
to say.”

Amy sighed, but said nothing.

“What’s the matter, Skeeter?” Ray asked.
“Did your old parents embarrass you?”

Amy looked up from the counter she had been
wiping. Ray could see a glistening sheen of tears. Her face was a
shade redder than usual. Sadness washed over Ray. “I don’t think
you took him seriously. You didn’t listen to what he said.”

“We listened, Amy,” Nora said. “Religion is
just a very personal thing.”

“We’re not talking about religion, mom.
We’re talking about faith. Depositing our trust in Christ. That’s
different than religion.”

“It’s all the same to me.” Nora’s words had
an edge to them. Ray feared everything she would not say with Dale
Shackleton in the house was about to be said now.

“You couldn’t be more wrong,” Amy
snapped.

“Listen young lady,” Nora shot back. “Your
grandfather shoved that faith stuff down my throat, but never
swallowed any himself. It was a way of controlling other people,
especially me. That’s all religion has ever been, a way to control
other people.”

“That’s not true, Mom!”

“Enough, you two,” Ray said loudly. “Let’s
not ruin a decent evening by squabbling.” He took Amy in his arms.
She was on the verge of tears. “Listen, kiddo, your mother and I
appreciate your concern for our souls. I know this was an important
night for you, and I’m sorry if it didn’t go the way you planned,
but few things in life do. We’re happy with your involvement in
church. It has made a very positive difference in your life.”

“It has, dad, it really has. I wish you
could feel what I feel, understand what I understand.”

“I know, Skeeter. When you first started
going to the church, did your mother or I object?”

“No.”

“We’ve worked hard to rear you to be an
independent thinker, to make good decisions. That’s true, isn’t
it?”

“Yes.”

“Then you need to extend the same courtesy
to us. You’re an individual and so are we. We all make life
decisions. Yours is just a little different than ours.”

Amy gently pulled away.
“It’s not a little different, Dad. It’s
very
different. This isn’t about
choosing a sports team to follow or who to vote for in the next
election. This is about eternity. This is about God, the Creator of
the universe. This is about accepting or ignoring what Jesus did on
the cross. It’s not a little different—it makes all the difference
in the world.” Amy walked from the kitchen.

“That church sure has turned her head,” Nora
said. “Maybe we should insist she stop going.”

An unsettled feeling welled in Ray’s chest.
He couldn’t say why, but he knew it was a bad idea. “Most kids her
age do their best to ignore their parents. Her concern comes from
love, not rebellion. If she wants to go to church, she should be
allowed to go.”

“Sometimes I think you’re too easy on
her.”

“Sometimes I think you’re
too
hard
on her.
She’s a great daughter. She deserves our love and
support.”

“I
love her.”

“I know you do,” Ray said. “Raising a child
isn’t easy. Just about the time a parent gets it figured out,
they’ve grown up and moved on. We need to enjoy her while we
can.”

“I suppose so,” Nora admitted.

Ray stepped to his wife and gave her a long
hug, and wondered what to do about Skeeter.

Six

“The general knows we’re
here?”
Devlin spoke with authority. He’d
been on more military bases than he could count and dealt with
high-ranking personnel more times than he could remember. It was
important to immediately set an authoritative tone. No military
commander liked a “suit” coming in and telling him what needed to
be done.

Devlin was indeed wearing a suit, a navy
shadow-strip, straight cut Giorgio Sanetti, a blue silk tie and a
white shirt. The fact he was one hundred and seventy feet
underground made no difference to him. The suit was his uniform.
From the soles of his black St. Paul Oxford shoes to the
three-button suit-coat, Devlin was wearing over a thousand dollars
on his body.

Betty and Quinn were more casual. Quinn,
ever the Californian, wore Nike sneakers, blue jeans, and a tan
polo shirt. Betty was a woman with simple tastes wearing a black
ankle-long cotton duster covering a simple gray pantsuit.

“Yes, sir. The general was advised of your
arrival.”

Devlin glanced around the empty room as if
to ask, “Well, where is he?”

“I’m sure he’ll be here any minute.” Taylor
was stone-faced.

“He’s here right now,” came a gruff baritone
voice from the doorway. General Ben McLain stormed into the
conference room like a surging tide. All eyes turned to him. After
shaking hands and making introductions, McLain said, “Let’s sit
down and get to work. Since the Pentagon insisted you come, I
assume they’ve told you about our problem.”

“I’ve been briefed,” Devlin said. “Has
anything changed in the last six hours?”

“We haven’t found him, if that’s what you
mean, Mr. Chambers. We have helicopters searching the area but
they’ve come up empty handed. As you know, there’s very little
topside but dirt and more dirt. This facility is located here for
two reasons: Existing underground caves and the absence of towns
and highways. If Dr. Rehnquist left the base, he’s not going to get
very far. He’ll die in the desert.”

“Could he have commandeered a car?” Betty
asked.

“Every vehicle associated with the place is
accounted for as well as every car, truck, helicopter, and
motorcycle that has come close to the base. We run a tight
operation here.”

“What about his home?” Quinn asked.

McLain glowered. “Yes, we even thought to
check his home. The scientists that work here do so for four weeks
at a time. They can’t leave the base. We provide everything they
need.”

“If Dr. Lindquist is not outside, then he
must be inside. Yet, he hasn’t been found. How is that,
General?”

McLain leaned back in his chair, closed his
eyes for a moment then spoke as a weary father would speak to a
stubborn child. “This base is different from most underground
facilities. It is largely natural and not dug from native rock. The
walls are limestone, carved by countless years of erosion. Carlsbad
Caverns, one of the largest caves of its type in the world is only
twenty-two miles from here. Our country has scores of such caverns.
This one has been kept secret. The only way we could do that
successfully, was to use what nature provided and not bring in
large, easy to identify equipment. Consequently, there are caverns
connected to caverns, most are secured or unreachable, still many
exists where a man, properly motivated, could hide.” He paused,
then added, “We’ll find him.”