The Resurrection File (12 page)

Mullburn discreetly touched his shirt collar, where he had his wireless microphone, and heard the muffled tap reverberate from countless speakers in the stadium. Now that he knew his mike was hot, he was ready to roll.

Just then, four mammoth jumbo-trons that had been sitting darkened and dead in the stadium blinked on. Their huge screens lit up with the image of Warren Mullburn walking to the center of the stage.

“BEHOLD THE NEW CENTURY,” he said, his voice ringing like a shot.

“I am here to bring a gift to you, and it is worth more than any amount of money you could ever win in the world's biggest lotto. It is an idea that will change your life.

“You came to hear some music. And it's great music. And this is a great night. But after the music is over you'll all get in your cars and drive home and nothing will have changed. Nothing will be different for you.

“I know that down deep you are better and smarter than your teachers think you are. You guys are stronger and much more hip, much more unique than your girlfriends give you credit for. You young women are smart and tough, and talented, and beautiful—and you wonder why the guys don't realize it.

“You've got jobs, some of you, and college degrees and you're making good money—but let's be honest—you're not being paid what you're really worth, are you? You're working for bosses who don't know half of what you know—who can't do half of what you can do.

“So you are stuck. You feel like something is keeping you down. As if some invisible force is preventing you from being the superstar you know is down there—deep inside. You guy musicians know you could be a Curt Razzor. And you young women know you could be a Missy J.J. So why aren't you?

“Here is why. There
is
an invisible force keeping you down. But it's not fate. And it's not God. And it's not the laws of nature. You can forget all of that.

“In the medieval ages sailors were being kept back from sailing across the ocean. You know why? It wasn't fate, or God, or the laws of nature. It was the fact that they hadn't learned a secret. What was the secret? The secret was that the earth was not flat—and big sea serpents were not going to eat up their ships. When they had the courage to learn the secret, then they had the power to become gods of the sea and sail around the world.

“For thousands of years men and women believed in this idea of a big God up in the sky, and as a result they were kept from learning the secrets of science, kept from flying in the air, kept from learning how the human body worked. They were kept in darkness.”

Just then a picture of medieval monks flashed onto the screens, followed by an ancient painting of someone being burned at the stake.

“But then about a hundred years ago, suddenly the secret was out. We learned that we are all part of an evolution, an evolving power. Through science we learned that all human life started with little molecules, and turned into one-celled animals, and then into reptiles and fish and birds and mammals. And eventually into humans.”

A picture of Charles Darwin came on the huge screens.

“But did you ever wonder why that evolution took so long? Why it took billions of years? It took so long because those little molecules, and the single-celled things swimming around in the sea, even those higher forms of animals—they hadn't learned the secret. They hadn't learned the secret that they were evolving. They were caught up
in the middle of
their own evolution—but they hadn't learned to
master
their own evolution.

“Almost all of the important discoveries of science, medicine, computer technology, astronomy—almost all of the great discoveries have happened since the discovery of evolution. And that is because we started to learn the secret—the secret that we are evolving upward into something better. We have started—whether we realize it or not—to speed up our own evolution.”

The jumbo-trons showed a picture of the first moon landing.

“And now we come to this moment. Right here. Just you and me. Some time ago I learned the secret. I learned that every one of us can be the master of our own evolution. That's right. You can do it. I did it, and so can you. It's not that I am smarter or better. It's just that I happened to stumble across the secret. And you can learn that secret too.

“But to do it you only have to do three things. First you have to look in the mirror and admit that you are evolving into something better.

“Second, you need to throw the crutches away that are holding you back. Drugs are a crutch. Sure, it's fun to trip out and feel good for a little while.”

Some cheers rose up from the crowd.

“But where does that get you when it's over? It slows you down. It keeps you from evolving.

“Now other things can hold you down too. You know, I went to Sunday school like some of you did. I know all of the Bible stories, and they were nice little stories. But while we were listening to those stories we were missing the real secret.

“Here's the secret, and here is the third step. Jesus was not some super-God who died and then got resurrected so he can send you all to hell when you don't behave. There is a really powerful discovery that was just made by a great scientist by the name of Albert Reichstad that proves, beyond any question at all, that the old Sunday school, Bible make-believe story about Jesus just isn't true. And the whole scientific world is now agreeing with him.”

Up in the cheap seats a man with a T-shirt that simply said “Jesus” on the front yelled out, “You're a false prophet! Tell the truth. Tell them that Jesus is the Messiah!”

Then two of the musclemen in the black T-shirts quickly approached and whisked him out of his seat and down one of the corridors that led out of the stadium.

Smiling, Mullburn continued in his powerful and emphatic voice.

“But here is what is true. Jesus was just like you and me. He was just like one of us. So that means that he had learned the secret of his own evolution. He was able to do miracles and wonders and rock the world with love because he had mastered his own evolution.

“BEHOLD, THIS IS THE NEW CENTURY. It is time to put the old ideas away. I want you to join me in being the master of your own powerful evolution. Being smarter—being better—being richer—being more successful—being on top and not on the bottom. And all it takes is for you to reach out and have the guts to grab it. Grab it now. It's there for the taking.

“Face it. Realize it. You always wanted to be part of a real revolution. Now it is here. When they sang about the Age of Aquarius back in the '60s they knew something was coming. The real revolution now is spiritual. Be prepared for a real mind-melding experience—a real coming-together of the old religions of the world. Can you imagine it? The mystical secrets of Eastern Islam magically melding together with the Christian ideas of justice and love—coming together and creating something entirely new, and awesome, and powerful, in this new century.

“You have got to be open. Be open in order to catch the wave of this evolution that's going on.

“I love you people, every one of you. I love you all! Rock on!”

The lights dimmed except for a single spotlight on Warren Mullburn. He then wheeled around and strode off the stage, his back to the audience, as a symphony of percussion filled the cavernous arena.

Then for the next two hours, under the bluish white iridescence of the stadium lights, forty thousand young people screamed and cheered and leaped and danced to the rock music that had brought them together, that had made them one under the warm California night sky.

A chauffeur drove Mullburn and his bodyguards to the private jet that was waiting for them. The billionaire was quickly airborne, making phone calls around the world—to his contacts in the Asian markets, to the geologists in his several oil companies, to the executives in his multinational computer networking company. Soon he would be circling his modern-day castle in the Nevada desert preparing for landing.

Mullburn clicked off the telephone and eased back in his chair. He turned to the men in the seat across from him and said, “I think those kids loved me tonight. I felt really good out there. I do think that we are just about at critical mass. And I don't think there's anything—or anyone—who is going to be able to stop this now. Not now.” And then he smiled confidently and looked at the biggest of the men. “Don't you agree, Bruda?”

Bruda Weilder, his big, blond bodyguard, smiled a big smile in return, nodded his head, and then said, “You are so right, Mr. Mullburn.”

12

W
ILL
C
HAMBERS HAD A LOT ON HIS MIND
while driving back from the main office of his former law firm in Richmond. His meeting with Hadley Bates and the other partners had gone about as badly as he had expected. There were accusations, name-calling, and threats. But worst of all was the white envelope that Hadley had pushed across the conference table to Will at the end of the meeting.

“By our calculations, using the formula we just described to you, this is what we have determined that you are entitled to,” Hadley Bates said calmly in his monotone.

When Will opened the envelope and looked at the check, he thought at first this was some kind of sick joke. But then, after reminding himself that Bates was incapable of humor, he decided that this was for real.

The check was for $9,756.22. Will had expected at least twenty times that as his portion upon the partition of his partnership share. But Hadley had talked the other partners into debiting Will for all of his uncollected billings. Even further, Bates and the partners were charging Will for office expenses the firm had paid to him over several years without protest but which now, in retrospect, they were vaguely claiming to have been “exorbitant, unreasonable, or otherwise unjustified.”

They tried to calm Will's angry response by telling him that they would pay him a portion of his client receivables as they collected them in the future, but only after, of course, the firm had deducted a “fair” sum for their costs of recovery.

But Will was not sure whether it was the paltry check that offended him the most, or whether it was the envelope that contained it. In the upper-left-hand corner of the envelope was the new name of the firm. It read, “Bates, Burke & Meadows.” Hadley had not wasted any time. He had already taken
his deceased father's name off the letterhead, and now he had removed Will Chambers' name and put his own name first.

When Will rose from the table at the end of the meeting, the other partners extended their hands and tried, a little awkwardly, to wish him well. But Will Chambers did not shake their hands. He just looked at them, and then looked at Hadley Bates, who was still sitting, his head cocked just slightly to the side, smiling a razor-thin smile.

“Is there anything further, Will?” Hadley asked.

“Yes there is,” Will said through clenched teeth. “May I express my fond hope, Hadley, that you die—after a prolonged and painful illness—and then rot in hell.”

Going eighty miles an hour on the interstate about thirty minutes out of Richmond, Will started feeling some regret about his comment to Hadley Bates. He felt certain that his rage had not come from hate, or any emotion even similar to that. Instead, it had exploded out of the depths of some other very dark and very lonely place. And now he was feeling as if that abyss—whatever its origin, and whatever it was—was beginning to swallow him up whole.

Prior to his meeting with the firm Will had made some financial calculations, and the results had been dismal. His investments and retirement account were substantially less than he had recalled. When Audra and he were together they had poured huge amounts of money into restoring Generals' Hill. It was going to be their dream house. But now, the remodeling was still unfinished, and it had tapped much of Will's financial reserves.

Further, during his separation from Audra, Will had let the premiums on their life insurance slide. When she died there was no insurance on her life. He had always tried to push that thought out of his mind. The guilt over her death was so enormous that he had tried to just dismiss the whole insurance issue.

As his financial worries swirled around his head Will kept thinking back to his meeting with Angus MacCameron. It had been three days since their first conference, and his only potential client had not been in touch with him about whether he could pay Will's fees.

Will had quoted him a substantial figure that he would need as his retainer fee. Estimating the huge numbers of hours the case would take, and taking into consideration the extra gymnastics that J-Fox Sherman would put him through, Will had thought the figure was reasonable. But MacCameron had looked at him with a troubled expression and simply told him
that such a figure would tap out the remaining budget for the magazine for the year.

MacCameron had also made it clear in their meeting, after Fiona had stepped outside, that he would not permit his daughter to contribute a single penny to his legal defense.

Through his experience with the ACLU and the Law Project for the South, Will knew the realities and opportunities of public fund-raising. But when he asked whether there might be other religious groups—those that shared his beliefs—that would contribute toward his defense, MacCameron just shook his head and laughed.