The Ambition (13 page)

“My God, my God —
look!”
he declared, his voice rising as he stomped his feet to test the rigidity of his newfound legs.

He jumped — and then giggled like a child. He squatted and rose again. He stood on one leg while swinging the other back and forth to test his knee. He walked five steps in one direction, pivoted, and then walked back, all the time gazing downward, his mouth unhinged in amazement that his legs were actually — for the first time since his childhood — doing what his mind told them to do.

“Yes, thank God —
look!”
declared Dick Urban, his face blossoming into an enormous smile. “It’s … well, it’s a miracle.”

CHAPTER
NINE

I

“I’ve got protesters outside my window — fifteen or twenty of them, waving signs and chanting. Can’t make out what they’re yelling. One sign says,
Keep Church and State Separate.
Another says,
No Gay Haters in Senate.
I can’t quite read that other one. Oh, wait — it says,
Reason, Not Faith.
Huh. Well, Good Reverend, it looks like you’ve stirred up a bit of a hornet’s nest.”

It was Governor Edward Avanes on the speakerphone, calling from Springfield. Eric Snow was sitting behind the desk in his new office on Wilcox Street in downtown Diamond Point, with Debra Wyatt and Art Bullock in the room. He wasn’t quite sure how to respond.

“It’s the least I could do,” he said finally.

“Aw, this is nothing. Ever been burned in effigy? Now, that’ll get your attention! I got charred from Peoria to East St. Louis the last time we cut welfare.”

The governor chuckled at his own humor, then continued.

“Look — I expect some pushback for considering a pastor for the Senate. Might be unprecedented, at least in modern times. Remember when Richie Daley tried to appoint that pastor to the city council, but he had to back down because of all the gay–rights protesters? Well, that’s the price you pay when you’re a Chicago Democrat. Nobody expects a Republican appointee to be in favor of gay marriage anyway. And who cares what the atheists think — what are they, 5 percent of the population? Or is that the gays?”

Eric shrugged. “Depends on who’s counting,” he improvised.

“Anyway, I’m just calling to let you know that Barker is going to plead guilty within two weeks and he’ll get sentenced right on the spot. That way he has to resign immediately from the Senate. And that puts the ball in my court, so to speak.”

“I see,” said Snow, restraining his eagerness.

“Well, there’s no need to drag this out; everybody knows I’ve been mulling this for a while. So I’m planning to hold a news conference within five days of his guilty plea to announce my selection.”

Debra shot a cautious smile in Eric’s direction.

“That’s very decisive of you, Governor,” Eric said. “I suppose it would be presumptuous for me to ask for a preview.”

“To be honest, Eric, I haven’t decided yet. I’ve got the makings of a great senator in both you and McKelvie. He’s safer, of course — more legislative experience and I’ve known him forever. But he’s old school, already past his prime. I don’t just want someone to be a placeholder. I want to launch a career, someone who’s a game changer. That’s why I’m leaning your way, Eric. We just need to minimize your negatives.”

There was a lull before Eric spoke up again. “Well, Governor, just let me know what I can do.”

Avanes was quick and blunt: “You can resign from that church, for one thing. What are you waiting on?”

“My team and I are meeting in my office this morning to discuss that decision. Obviously, it would help if I knew the appointment was mine.”

“No guarantees — not yet. But I’ll tell you what: the sooner people start calling you a
former
pastor, the better. I want to see ‘Internet entrepreneur’ or ‘successful businessman’ or ‘RTA committee chairman’ next to your name. I want to see ‘philanthropist’ or ‘advisor to the President.’ Your biggest liability is that church; the more distance you put between you and it, the better your chances.”

“If I resign now, won’t the media assume it’s because I’ve already been tipped that I’ll be appointed?”

“Who cares?”
snapped Avanes, the sound of him smacking his desk coming through loud and clear. “Your future’s not in that pulpit anyway. Why would you want to keep preaching to the choir? You should be spending your time shaping foreign policy and strengthening national security and cutting taxes, not counting crumpled dollar bills in the offering plate or figuring out whether the choir should sing
Amazing Grace
or
Rock of Ages.”

Fortunately, the phone didn’t pick up Art’s snort across the room.

“I’d love to get news of your resignation by the end of the week,” the governor concluded. “Take some action, Eric. Be decisive. Be a leader. In the meantime, I’m going to go see if these folks outside need some matches for your effigy.” Over and out, click and dial tone.

Eric’s smile faded as he turned off the speaker phone. “Next time, tell us what you
really
think,” he quipped.

Eric leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head as he scanned the room. In some ways, he was already getting used to being away from the church. His new office, two miles from the church’s campus, was located in a nondescript four–story, red–brick building populated by lawyers, accountants, and insurance agents. The lobby directory purposefully bore no reference to him.

Snow’s office was straightforward and functional, painted in beige and trimmed with white wood veneer. Outside was a reception area where a young political science graduate of the University of Illinois — an atheist, per Halberstam’s suggestion — sat researching policy positions, working hard to look busier than the task required. In all, Snow rented five large rooms, just in case he would need them for his future campaign staff.

Wyatt and Bullock sat in mismatched wingback chairs, temporary furnishings from Snow’s basement until his newly purchased office furniture arrives.

As usual, Debra Wyatt looked the part of a successful lawyer, smartly dressed in a dark blue suit with a turquoise blouse, while Bullock’s faded blue jeans and brown sweater signaled a pastor on his day off.

She was the first to speak. “Let’s face it: we’re lucky Garry Strider wasn’t at the Elders Prayer meeting. In light of the Harold Beamer situation, this might be the right time for you to resign before we end up flooded with miracle–seekers.”

Bullock exploded, “The Harold Beamer
situation?”
Glaring at her, he continued, “Are you kidding me? A man afflicted with polio is miraculously healed in our church — and that’s an inconvenient
situation?
A little girl regains her hearing and eyesight, and we’re cowering because Garry Strider might actually tell the world about it? And now we’re afraid that people who desperately need God might flock to our church? What’s happening here?”

Eric sprang forward in her defense, leaning over his desk as he pointed a finger at his friend. “Art, listen — “

“I’ve listened enough,” he said, rising to take a defiant step toward Snow’s desk. “Eric, people wait their entire lives for the kind of miracles we’re seeing in our church — and now you’re going to walk away? These miracles aren’t coincidences; God is saying something to us. He’s reminding us that the entire church is a miracle. That people’s lives get pieced back together there. That people find hope and salvation there. And
healing,
if your faith is still big enough for that.”

Eric folded his arms across his chest. “Don’t preach at me, Art.”

“Someone has to! You’ve been spending all your time scheming to get this appointment. You’re not elbow–deep in people’s lives anymore. You’re not a pastor; you’re the Chief Executive Officer of God, Inc. You couldn’t care less about Hanna or Harold; you only care about your political future. You’ve forgotten that the church
is
the hope of the world. All of the legislation you could ever pass in Washington will never change people’s lives the way this church does.

“How many marriages were put back together in the church last year? How many alcoholics got off booze? How many unemployed found hope? How many chose adoption over abortion? How many homeless people did we feed? How many lives did we save in Africa? How many hurting people discovered the grace of the God who loves them? How many men and women around the world persevered because they’ve seen what’s happening in our church?

“The world is watching,” Art warned. “This church has inspired people all over the planet — and if you walk away now, the message is going to be that God isn’t powerful enough to deal with the problems of the world. No, we need to help him out by packing up and going to Washington. And what’s the congregation going to think? Just when God rewards their faith with these miracles, their leader puts his faith in politics.

“Think about it — when news of these healings sweeps through the community, the church will be like a magnet to the hurting and the spiritually hungry. This is our chance to reach thousands and thousands of people. Eric, we dreamed of this sort of opportunity when we started Diamond Point. When did you give up on that dream?”

Debra, still seated, reached out to touch Art’s arm; he turned to face her.

“Come on, Art — take it easy! Don’t you see that this is Eric’s chance to reach into the corridors of power where the values of the nation are
really
shaped? He’s not turning his back on God; he’s walking through a new door of opportunity that God is opening for him. Remember how Jabez prayed in the Old Testament that God would expand his influence? That’s what God is doing for Eric. He’s giving him a seat at the table where the decisions are made that will transform our country.”

Eric stood and walked out from behind his desk, putting a hand on the shoulder of his long–time colleague. “Art, do you trust me?” His friend’s eyes were cast downward. “Art, do … you … trust … me? You’ve known me for a long time. Do you believe that I earnestly seek God’s will for my life? Look at me!” Now both hands grasped Art’s shoulders; their eyes locked.

Art’s voice rose low in his throat. “I trust God; I’m just not sure I can trust you anymore.” Pulling away, he stormed toward the door, grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair along the way.

He spun around, taking in the sight of Eric Snow, the friend he once knew, and Debra Wyatt, who he still couldn’t quite figure out.

“The governor’s right — you need to resign,” he said. “Otherwise, I’ll have to ask the elders to fire you.”

II

Garry Strider shifted in his chair. He crossed his legs, uncrossed them, then repositioned them again. He rubbed his temples, fidgeted with his glasses, stroked his chin — and he wished that he had shaved that morning.

If there was one thing Strider hated, it was being interrogated. He preferred to be the one posing the questions, pressing for answers, demanding details. He didn’t relish John J. Redmond, the
Examiner’s
much–feared editor and the paper’s former chief investigative reporter, turning the tables on him.

Redmond had caught Strider in the hall and beckoned him into his glass–walled office. Strider flashed back to being summoned by his high school principal for skewering the gym teacher in the student newspaper.

Redmond took his place behind his steel desk, clad in his usual white shirt and dark tie, the sleeves neatly rolled up to his forearms. His left wrist bore an expensive gold watch — the newspaper’s gift for snagging a Pulitzer. It was his subtle way of reminding everyone in the newsroom that whoever they were and whatever they did, he was better.

“The editorial board is going to have to endorse Snow or McKelvie for the Senate,” he began. “If you’ve dug up something on Snow, we need to know. We don’t want to pat his back on the editorial page and then spank him the next day on the front page.”

Again, Strider felt like he was back in high school — this time caught without having his homework. “Well, I’ve been interviewing a lot of people, checking records, looking at court cases — “

“Yeah, fine, but what’ve you
got?”

Strider had been in similar predicaments before. Sometimes he would spend weeks on an investigation that would yield no results. He had learned to feed his boss just enough juicy tidbits to allow him to continue his probe, buying enough time to actually come up with the story he was after. It was worth a try. Then again, Redmond knew a bluff when he heard one.

“Nothing incriminating yet, but I just interviewed a woman who says she’s going to sue Snow for sexual misconduct during a counseling session.”

“How solid is she? Is this one case or part of a pattern?”

“Let’s just say I’ve got some, uh, reservations about her. But her lawsuit might flush out some other victims who haven’t come forward yet.”

Redmond tilted his head. “So let me get this straight: her case is weak and you don’t have any others — is that what you’re saying?”

“For now.”

“Does she have any kind of corroboration?”

“Um, I’m not sure yet.”

“Have you heard any rumors about Snow ever crossing any sexual lines?”

“Actually, no.”

Redmond gave an exasperated sigh. “What else have you got?”

“Looks like negligence at the church’s camp resulted in a kid drowning a couple of summers ago.”

“Does that directly involve Snow?”

“Uh, no, not personally. It’s the subject of a lawsuit; I’m in the middle of reading the depositions.”

“But it’s not part of a pattern of negligence, is that right?”

“Apparently not.”

Again, Redmond exhaled loudly. “Strider, what
do
you have?”

“I’m still checking some leads — it’s possible Snow discouraged the state’s attorney’s office from filing charges against one of the church’s accountants when she was caught embezzling. I’ve heard the SEC investigated his software company when he cashed out — something about insider trading. Lots of possibilities.”

Redmond was running Strider’s words through a mental grid —
Is this a scandal or not?
“Sounds like you’ve got a long way to go. Unless he was embezzling from the church, who cares if he’s dragging his feet to help some former employee? The SEC never took any action against him, right? I’ll give you two more weeks to come up with something.”

Relieved, Strider started to get up. “Two weeks,” Redmond repeated. And with Redmond, a deadline is a deadline — period.

Strider walked to the door, then hesitated. There was one topic he hadn’t broached. He knew if he failed to mention it and Redmond found out about it later, he’d be in trouble. But he also knew he had to use caution.