CHAPTER TWO

THE CIRCLE SPHERE

Pamela had no track of time.  By earthly standards, she had been dead for two weeks.  She was locked into a different timetable where everything moved in circles, not in direct lines between birth and death as it had on earth.

She knew who she was, but she hadn't even remembered what had caused her death on earth.  She knew that by calling out to the Mighty One's Son, she had been taken to the Circle of Light.  She knew the Son had paid a price for her entrance and that the scars on His hands and feet were a continual reminder to everyone that He had paid with His own life's blood.  The gratitude she felt was immense.  It seemed that she could not contain it.  She found herself before the Mighty One caught up in rapturous adoration.  Her sense of belonging was complete.  It was as if a puzzle with a thousand pieces scattered to the four corners of the universe had miraculously come together.  Best of all, she was living it.

She had begun to get the hang of transporting herself around.  She would simply think of a place and be there.  She saw several familiar faces.  One in particular was a young fellow who had drowned while their families were on a scuba trip together in Sonora Bay.  At the time she had thought he was pretty square.  He read the Bible everyday and wouldn't sneak away to smoke cigarettes or drink beer with the other kids.  Now she welcomed his face.

Without speaking, he answered many of her questions.  He told her that oftentimes people didn't remember dying because to remember would bring pain, and in the Circle of Light there was no pain.  He told her that at anytime she wishes she could monitor the followers of the way on earth, but all transmissions were edited to remove the many transgressions that those on earth continually committed.  He explained that no sin could exist before the Mighty One and no sinful thought could either.  He told her of the huge battle eons ago when the followers of Santero had tried to usurp the authority of the Mighty One and establish their own hierarchy.  He told her of the beautiful planet the Mighty One had made and the man - Adam - and woman - Eve - he had created to have offspring to enjoy his love and compassion and how Santero had spoiled that as well.  He spoke of the time coming when the spoiling by Santero would cease and they would rebuild the universe under the loving guidance of the Mighty One.

On earth Pamela had always been attracted to fine jewelry.  Her parents had always bought her little gifts like pears from the Orient, gold charms from Europe and carved jade from China, but what she saw in the Circle of Light kept her in a state of constant awe.  The streets were as wide and as long as the eye could see.  They arched and banked and shone like they had never been stepped on.  She could feel the coolness of the shimmering gold beneath her feet which, rather than walking on top of the street, seemed to walk within it.  She had comprehended that although her body seemed real to her and the bodies of others around her seemed real, it was actually of a much different nature as was everything that surrounded her.  The very presence of the Mighty One was like a cool-blowing mountain top wind, only rather than chilling her, it just made her feel delightful.  She knew the feeling was inexplicable.

Throughout the Circle of Light, messengers traveled to and fro at the speed of thought.  Each time on earth one of the Mighty One's followers made a request, it was instantly responded to.  Many times when the followers asked for material things, the Mighty One had to deny their requests knowing it would only add to their pain by saddling them down with additional concern and worry.  He delighted when they asked for help in spreading His message to others, and was concerned that everyone be exposed to His love and forgiveness.

From the beginning of time, He had set forth the limits of Santero's rule upon earth.  Heartbroken, after centuries of watching as mankind continually rejected His love and forgiveness and accepted slavery to their own weaknesses, He was glad the New Millennium had almost arrived here.

He had dispatched ten of his best warriors to the San Francisco Peninsula.  Bound by His own rules of intercession, He could send no more until a human cry reached Him to do so.  His warriors were busy preparing for what was to be the greatest battle for a city since Sodom and Gomorrah.

Santero had used his advantage with cunning.  With gleaming vengeance, he had sent myriads of the fallen ones to bring the city to new lows.  There had never been so many suicides, murders, rapes and overall violence.  It was beginning to lose its lure as a tourist mecca and even the visiting Orientals were shying away from it.  No longer would honeymoon couples come up to the Bay for dinner or walk through the beautiful park.  There was too much violence and no one was doing anything about it.

As most of Santero's schemes did, this one was beginning to backfire.  Ministers and lay followers of the Mighty One began to hear about the grave condition of the city and entire groups would intercede on its behalf.  This made it all the more easy for the Mighty One to slip in his own warriors to strengthen those who followed him.

Bruce Wainright lay sound asleep in his second-story apartment.  He was awakened by the scuffling in the street below him and the sound of breaking glass.  A sinking feeling hit his gut and he quickly threw on his slippers and robe to go outside and investigate.  He grabbed his large study Bible.  In case any of the vandals had a knife, he knew it would protect him.  He clambered down the steps into the parking lot.

"Who's there?"

In the parking lot several kids began to run in all directions.  One passed right by him and he grabbed him by his black Raiders sweatshirt.  The kid was only about thirteen years old, and though he tried to squirm away, Bruce was determined to hold onto him.  Several of his neighbors had turned on their lights.  The landlady saw him holding the young boy.

"You want me to call the police?"

"No, I'll handle it.  He's too young for them to hold anyway.  I'll have a personal talk with him.  Come on, I need to talk to you."

Bruce half dragged him up the stairs to his apartment and locked the door behind him.  The boy hovered like a cornered rat on the edge of the tattered thrift store sofa.

"Tell me why you have to steal from me.  My radio - what's it worth?  Two dollars?  Three dollars?  It's the second time my window was busted.  I hate to tell you, pal, it's getting expensive.  Speak up.  What's your name?"

"Mario, Mario Rodriguez.  Look, it wasn't my idea.  I was just the lookout.  You're the preacher, right?"

"Yeah, what's that have to do with it?"

"This dude, he came by the teen club and paid Louis $50 for us to break in your car.  He said you preachers were bad for the neighborhood.  Said you didn't like drugs, sex, nothin' man.  And if we didn't get you out of here, you'd ruin everything."

"Everything, really.  So what do you got now, Mario?  You eat a square meal every night?"

"No."

"You feel safe when you walk home from school through some other home boy's turf?"

"No."

"Your sister ever been pregnant?"

"Yeah."

"Did the guy marry her?"

"No.  She got an abortion."

"Did that make her happy?"

"No, she won't have anything to do with boys anymore.  Says they're all bastards."

"But I'm the one ruining the neighborhood.  Isn't that a little bit ridiculous?  Look hermano, I'm only trying to bring the Main Man's message - love one another.  That's all.  This Louis that you're hanging around with, will you take me to him?"

"Now?"

"Yeah, why not?  I'd like to get things straightened out a little bit."

As it was, it wasn't too hard to find Louis.  He was leaning against his 1978 Chevy Impala entertaining a few neighborhood girls.  They all gathered around when Bruce pulled alongside with Mario.

Bruce found himself in a unique situation - a foreigner in his own country.  He found himself surrounded by twenty of the gang as Louis stepped up.

"Hey homey, I see you're back."

"No thanks to you, Louis.  Everybody split and he caught me."

"You all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

Louis strutted around Bruce like a cock preparing for a fight, feathers bristling and knife ready in his belt.

"What you want dude?  Now you're on our turf."

"I think somebody gave you some wrong information.  Mario says some dude paid you to harass me out of the neighborhood.  I wanted to find out who and why."

"I don't have to say nothing to a dead man."

"You're right.  That's a cross around your neck, isn't it?  The cross of Jesus Christ.  Well, let me tell you a little bit about it.  Jesus wasn't just any man.  He was the Son of God.  He wasn't afraid to march into Jerusalem even when He knew they were going to put him to death.  I'm not afraid either, because when He died, He died for me.  He paid for my sins, and now I live with Him in my life.  It's so simple, it's ridiculous.  You try to out macho one another, get the girls pregnant, steal things from each other, drink beer until you throw up, and what happens?  You end up with liver disease in hospitals, no future, and you break your mother's hearts.  That's death, man.  That's walking death.  I'm not some pulpit preacher man.  I've been there.  The best the world has to offer doesn't hold a candle to what God has to offer.  Now if you guys want to get in a real gang and be real gang bangers, then be gangsters for God.  You see, the devil's terrorizing this town and he's got everyone stone cold ignorant.  Every time one of your buddies takes a knife in the back or a bullet and gets thrown in jail, he's laughing at what fools you are for not following God.  You got me.  I'm no fool.  You kill me, I know where I'm going.  I'm going to that great Circle of Light and I'm leaving this place behind.  What about you?  If you died tonight, do you know where you would be going?"

"No, man.  What if I just don't care?"

"You mean to tell me, Louis, you really don't care where you spent eternity?  This earth is all you ever want?  You never wonder what more there is?"

"Yeah, I wonder what more there is, but shit man, religion is for old people.  Holy water mass, it's crap.  Now crack, it gets you high man.  You forget about it all."

"Yeah, but it's all still here when you get down and you just have to look for the bread to do it all over again, don't you?"

"Yeah, it's not hard getting money."

"Yeah, by stealing, stealing from your own people.  Some life, isn't it?  Look, the Mighty One has a better way for all of us.  Why don't you give him a chance to prove it to you?  You want to get high?  The Mighty One is the Most High, the superlative high, the celestial high, the highest of the highs.  You know why, homey?  Because He alone can live within you and fill up all those empty spaces.  When your homeys leave you like you dudes did little Mario, Jesus won't leave you even if you want to leave Him.  He'll stay with you.  I didn't come out here to bust anyone's chops.  I came out here to tell you guys, get right with the Mighty One and things will go right for you.  The Mighty One's looking for a gang.  Any of you dudes want to join?  I want you all to close your eyes and pray with me.  Dear Mighty One, I know I am a sinner . . . I believe that Jesus died to save me from my sins.  Come now, Lord Jesus, into my life.  I want to join your gang.  I want to bang the devil's head."

Every one of the gangbangers around Bruce prayed that night to receive Christ.  They stood around until nearly sunlight and talked with Bruce.  He invited them the next Sunday to his church, and sure enough, Sunday came and they were all there filling the first three rows.  The elderly people in the congregation didn't know at first what to think of it, but recognized it as a miracle and quickly embraced the new converts.  The youths immediately went around helping some of the elderly with home repairs, car repairs and even went on the church softball picnic.  Bruce was quick to spot Louis's leadership ability and began to personally train him.  In short, the whole neighborhood had been turned inside out.

Jerry Hauser's trip to Santero's estate had not been without incident.  Travelling down Pacific Coast Highway, one of the Mighty One's messengers had slowly let all the air out of his tire until he was forced to pull over and check why his steering was so bad.  Although it delayed his arrival by at least an hour, Jerry was undaunted in his intent to go to Santero's.  Eclete, the messenger assigned to watch over Jerry, was forced to stay outside of Santero's compound.  He wished that Jerry would come out and he wondered how the debauchery would further affect him.  He had seen men so controlled by lust that the only thrill left to them was the murder of their sexual conquests after sex.  He knew the stairway to Hell was inviting for humans and most didn't know they were even on it until it was too late.  By force of their habits and their constant rejection of the Mighty One's love, they had trained themselves to refuse His help in the hour of their demise.  There was not a more sorrowful sound to him than the wailing of a soul being dragged to the bowels of the earth for eternal damnation.

The Mighty One had told them about it, but He had not allowed any of them to actually visit.  He knew the effect it would have on them and did not want them exposed to so much pain and suffering.  Many of the messengers had friends that had rebelled with Santero.  In fact, all of them knew the rebels and to have seen them in their state of punishment after so long away from the eternal light of the Mighty One would have been damaging.

Eclete had known that the Mighty One's Son had gone to the lake of fire for three days after the humans had painfully tortured and crucified Him.  He and all the other messengers had stood by waiting for the Mighty One's directive to remove Him from the cross.  No directive had come and He had wept in sorrow when He cried out, "My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?"  It was a scene He would never forget.  It had paralyzed Him.  Even though He returned to the Circle of Light with the others to wait for the final outcome, nothing had ever been able to erase the pain He had felt.  He had never seen the Mighty One's sorrow, He had never seen the Eternal Light dim except at that moment when the Son had drawn His last breath.  The Eternal Light dimmed and the entire universe momentarily went into chaos.  Stars imploded forming huge black holes sucking in stellar particles.  Even on earth at mid-day, the sky grew dim.  No, it was an event he would never forget.

He was the first to implore the Mighty One to allow him the high honor of rolling back the gravestone.  Michael and Gabriel had lead the host of angels.  They materialized in front of the tomb and sent the sentries fleeing in terror.  The heaviness that weighed on them all was lifted when the Son stepped out of the tomb.  They had accompanied Him back to the Circle of Light where the hosts of the universe had greeted Him in triumph.  Never had the eternal city felt so much joy.  The sorrow of the Mighty One was vanquished and a crescendo of adoration rose to such levels that Eclete had wondered if the very gates would disintegrate.  The Son had gone back to give His final instructions to His followers and a number of the messengers had gone as well.  Eclete had been one of the hosts to lift Him above the multitudes who had watched Him return to the Circle of Light.  Never before had he seen humans caught up in such rapturous joy.

The battle had begun almost immediately after the Son was back in the eternal city.  Santero had come to Jerusalem to spread the word that the Son's body had not resurrected from the dead but was stolen by His lying followers.  Too many had seen Him to make that report believable.  Santero's suggestion to the High Priests to bribe the guards had backfired as well.  The guards themselves became followers of the way.  But what couldn't be accomplished through lying was accomplished through hate.

Santero managed to convince the religious leaders to even further hate the Mighty One's plan for redemption.  When the curtain to the Holy of Holies had split from the top to the bottom and the Mighty One had made a way for all to come before Him, the religious rulers had resented the fact that they no longer had an exclusive privilege.  They hired investigators whose sole duty it was to stir up hatred against the followers of the Way.  The first one to be destroyed was Stephen, innocent of everything except his great love for God and others.  He went down under a barrage of stones.  The messengers had been unable to intervene except in guiding his spirit back to the Eternal City where he was given a hero's welcome.  Eclete had been given the assignment of converting the main persecutor, Saul of Tarssus, and came up with a brilliant plan to knock him off his donkey and blind him until he found the real light inside his soul.  His plan had been a brilliant success with Saul going on to travel throughout the earth unafraid and mightily speaking and working signs and wonders wherever he visited.  It had kept Eclete busy, and several times, especially in Ephesus when the crowd turned against him, he had been forced to call for reinforcements in dealing with the hordes of Hell bent on destroying the messenger and the message.  It was too little too late.  Every time Santero martyred one of the followers, others would join the ranks until the whole earth began to be full of the glory and knowledge of the Mighty One's eternal plan of hope.  After sparing his life so many times, even shaking a prison to allow him to escape, Eclete had found it difficult to watch the Roman executioner sever Paul's head from his body.

When Eclete saw Paul's face so full of joy at the prospect of joining his savior, he never again questioned the Mighty One's wisdom in calling him home.  Paul's words echoed in his heart on the way to the eternal city.  "To be absent in the body is to be present with the Lord."  It was a glorious homecoming and victory celebration.

The struggle had gone on over the years.  At times the earth grew dim from the lack of the knowledge of God as men hid the truth in monasteries and caves.  Religious leaders dealt out truth as if it were bread crumbs not to be spilled or tasted by the masses.  Eclete had been there to watch it all, and standing outside of Santero's, he knew that his assignment to Jerry was to be one of his most challenging ever.

Most humans didn't understand even how their assignments came about.  In many instances, the messengers were forced to the background while humans simply destroyed their own lives.  It was usually a relative or someone especially gifted in intercessory prayer that enabled the Mighty One to release the messengers to fight on behalf of their charges.  Eclete had heard that Jerry's wife had been earnestly praying for him and also knew that the small church run by Bruce Wainright had been praying for the whole area.  He knew the lives and destinies of millions of souls were at stake.  He just didn't know how everything hinged together.

The Mighty One's power and authority reigned supreme in the universe.  Santero, while challenging Him, had to do so on the rules the Mighty One had put into play.  The battleground was the free will given to the humans.  The Mighty One would never violate it and Santero was free to influence it to the extent of the man or woman accepting that influence.  In many instances, the man or woman had totally pledged their allegiance to Santero and forever rejected the Mighty One.  Most humans had not made that choice.  By not choosing the Mighty One, they had automatically chosen Santero.  The Mighty One had instructed, "All who seek Me shall find Me when they search for Me with their whole heart."  So many never bothered to search and unwittingly missed the opportunity to know and be immersed in their Creator's love.  As Eclete reflected, he realized how sad it was that so many decided by not deciding.  He knew the relatives could intercede and the Mighty One would allow them to grant extra protection and even do signs and wonders.  But even in those cases of Divine intervention, the free will of that human always prevailed.  The Mighty One would not have anyone share eternity who had not voluntarily chosen to do so.  He knew that to allow someone into the Circle of Light against their will would cause eternal havoc, pain and suffering for all.  It would be a replay of Santero's rebellion.  It was to be a choice the humans were to make.

Santero didn't play by the rules.  He found substances that quickly altered the minds of humans - crack, LSD, heroin, marijuana, hashish, alcohol, designer drugs - and began to dull the consciences of those that dabbled with them.  Like rats in cages, he had imprisoned many in addictive bondages.  Others he had erected false religions for, religions so fanatical that many would hook fishhooks through their bodies and drag idols through the streets, walk barefoot on hot coals, pour gasoline on themselves and become human torches, and crawl on their knees to shrines for hundreds of miles.  They became prisoners of evil religious spirits whom they could never please.  The Mighty One had said, "Where sin abounds, grace shall abound even more."  He knew that without special intervention, the prisons so many had put themselves into would be impossible to escape from.

Mankind had turned to drugs to escape the doldrums of the world and find peace of mind.  The Mighty One knew that it was a temporary peace that didn't last.  He knew abuse of alcohol led to cirrhosis of the liver and violent behavior.  He knew continual use of THC containing marijuana led to birth defects and brain malfunction.  He knew the toxic chemicals in crack led to a false state of euphoria where reality was clearly distorted.

People that turned to the Mighty One for help found Him more than able to relieve them of the habits that were destroying them.  Countless times, lives horribly tangled were unwound.  Those who followed the Mighty One from death to life became some of His strongest supporters venturing into the inner cities throughout the world with an eternal message of freedom and hope.  Santero hated them.  They were living examples of his failure to provide anything of long-term satisfaction to anyone.  People like Louis, hopelessly hooked on crack and set free by the blood of Jesus Christ were a threat to all with whom they came in contact.  The power of love never failed for even the haters had their hard hearts pierced with love.  Some of the greatest Christian persecutors like Idi Amin couldn't resist the Mighty One's love and they themselves became His followers.  Following the Mighty One on a daily basis was another matter.  The human heart birthed in separation and sin needed to be taught to trust in the ability of the Mighty One to take care of every circumstance.  Those forgiven by the Mighty One oftentimes had to deal with the earthly justice system as well.  The Mighty One not only forgave but he forgot those on this earth were oftentimes spurned on by Santero to imprison the followers of the Mighty One.  After countless defeats, Santero still believed that he could squelch the message of love.

Several months prior to Louis and his Bracerros finding the Mighty One's love, they had been involved in a battle for the turf around South 4th Avenue.  During the scuffle, the gangs had used zip guns, knives, rubber hoses filled with lead and tire irons.  Nicolous Delia, the leader of the Ice Men, had his lung punctured and one of his arteries cut.  He had been in the hospital for months in and out of critical condition.  Though the police tried, they had been unable to get anything out of anybody.  Finally, after being badgered for months by his mother to tell the police, Nicolous's little brother told Officer Kilgore about Louis Eschavez and the Bracerros.  Louis was working at the church car wash when a squad car picked him up.  In front of the shocked church members, they handcuffed him and stuffed him in the back of the patrol car.  Bruce advised him not to say anything without a lawyer present.  Police forgot to read him his rights.  They didn't figure Hispanics had any rights.  On the way to the station, they stomped on the brake and sent Louis flying into the grill separating the front and back seat.  After three hours in the holding cell, they allowed him to make a call.  He called Bruce at home.  Bruce had lined up Ray Wilburn, a local attorney who was also a follower, and Bruce told Louis to sit tight, that Ray would be on the way down.

When Ray showed up, he was forced to wait about thirty minutes until the guards had cleaned up some of the blood from around his face.  His eyes were still a little puffy when they brought him into the room to meet with his lawyer.

"What happened to you?"

"I guess they were trying to make Mexican pizza, you know.  Hey, I'm cool."

"Well, hang tough.  The guy they are saying you assaulted with deadly force is hanging between life and death over at County Hospital.  If he dies, they are going for a murder one rap.  No one has fingered you, but they did name your gang.  I need to know, did you do it?"

"Really man, I don't know.  It was like a rumble - thirty, forty guys, everybody hitting, kicking, poking, stabbing.  It was like crazy.  I suppose I could have, but I was too high on crack to know."

"They're pressuring his little brother to identify you as the one.  Look, Bruce told me all about your conversion and your work with the kids with the other gang members.  This isn't about stabbing somebody.  This is about your new message.  You know what I mean."

"You mean, El Diablo wants to silence me."

"Yeah, that's exactly it.  Question is, are we going to let him?  We need to pray for protection for the boy at County Hospital.  El Diablo would like him dead.  Until he dies, all they can throw at you is assault with a deadly weapon.  It's not that bad.  First time offense, I doubt if you'd do much time."

"Are you like a public defender?"

"No, if you're asking who's paying.  You can pay me when you get off by staying on the straight and narrow.  I've got enough clients who pay my bills.  Look, tomorrow we go up in front of Judge Farrigan.  He's a fair man.  We stand a good chance of getting you out on your own recognizance.  No bail.  Most of the church members are going to stand for you, Louis.  God's people take care of each other."

"Way cool, hermano."

"Louis's smile spread from cheek to cheek when he realized that he was part of a bigger family than he had ever imagined.  That night - the church members got together to pray for the healing of Nicolous Delia.  The Mighty One responded quickly and sent Yoballa, a messenger gifted in the art of healing, and almost immediately Nicolous came to and his lung began to heal up.  The infection disappeared.  The doctors gathered around him were surprised at his swift recovery.  Archinote, the death stalker, grumbled and cursed at Yoballa as they battled over his life."

"It is appointed for men to die, Archinote.  This is not his time."

"What could the Mighty One care for this one?  He is not even one of his followers.  Let him pass into my keeping."

"Why, for the tormenting and capture of his soul?  Are you demons never satisfied?  Think back, Archinote, when you truly had a life.  Gathered around the throne of the Mighty One, cool water flowing, heavenly music traveling throughout the universe.  Have you really forgotten?"

"No, Yoballa, I have not forgotten.  Santero will take over the universe again.  He has promised us.  And when he does so, it will be you and the other Gods of War that will be cast into the Lake of Fire.  Not I.  How I will enjoy hearing you scream."

Yoballa was amazed that Santero could still convince his followers that he would indeed win.  The universe was a creation of the Mighty One.  It was held together by His power.  Without Him it was impossible that it could even exist.  To think that someone, anyone could vanquish the Mighty One from His throne and rule and reign over His creation, was beyond stupidity.  Yet, in his contact with the fallen, Yoballa had quickly realized that all of them believed that Santero would win the battle.

Yoballa knew the only battle that Santero and the fallen could win was for human souls.  Each soul meant more to God than the world He had put them on.  Yoballa didn't know whether the body he was healing would go on to be a follower or be lost in the eternal chasm of death.  He knew that perhaps having been miraculously saved and healed, it would think on the Mighty One.  Yoballa spotted a minister, George Steinwood, and suggested to him that he go into the room where Nicolous had recovered.

The doctors had left and Nicolous was sitting up eating and watching television when George approached his bed.

"So everyone tells me you've made a most amazing recovery.  Do you think it was natural or supernatural?"

"I don't know.  I haven't given it much thought.  Why do you ask?"

George extended his hand to greet him.  "Sorry, I felt impressed to come in and talk with you.  I'm George Steinwood, the hospital chaplain.  The doctors, they take care of your body.  I look after matters of the soul.  You know, just a little while ago there was a battle for you soul."

"How do you know?"

"I've seen it too many times.  One time Jed Carlson, an old-timer, was dying.  He'd been an alcoholic for most of his life.  His liver finally quit working and his body was poisoning itself.  Anyway, his wife, Jeri, had me come in to pray for him.  There were three of us and Jed was down to about a hundred pounds.  He told us the flames were getting hot and asked us to lift him off the bed.  We did.  It was just a few minutes later that he asked us to lift him higher again.  We did and we lifted him up over our heads with him screaming the whole time, `the flames, it's hot.'  Well, that was the most dramatic battle for a soul I've ever seen.  Most of them go on without the person even being aware."

"I thought you went in to pray for him.  How come you couldn't save him from the flames?"

"It was his choice to die without being saved, not mine.  He had led his whole life leaning on the bottle.  He really didn't have much use for the Mighty One and His sacrifice for His soul.  He died forever separated and right now is spending eternity in the Lake of Fire."

"I thought all that was just hocus pocus.  You make it sound so real."

"That's because it is.  Look, Nicolous, the Mighty One did a pretty special miracle for you, bringing you back from near death.  You turn your back on Him now and who knows if you'll have another chance?  It's up to you."

"What do I have to do?"

"First of all, you know much about Jesus Christ?"

"Yeah, I know He died on a cross and He rose from the dead after three days in the grave."

"Do you believe it?"

"Yeah."

"Well, what you have to do is be willing to change your life.  I mean the things you know are wrong - the gangbanging, fights, drugs, and sex.  Turn from those things and follow Him.  Ask Him into your life and accept His death as a total payment for your sins.  Do you think you can do that?"

"Yeah, I'd like to.  I don't want to be like that old dude being burned up by the flames."

George never got tired of leading people to the Mighty One.  The enthusiasm of this one was especially precious to his old heart.  After staying around a while to talk, he promised he'd be back the next day with some literature and help him start on his new life.

Jerry Hauser's venture into Santero's estate had been beyond his imagination.  The human mind, when it begins the gradual descent into pornography, needs more and more stimulation to keep it satisfied.  It is like a forest fire that grows and grows until countless firefighters are needed to bring it under control.  Jerry's mind was already on fire.  After just a short while, he was already growing bored with straight sex.  He had seen movies and pictures of people doing a lot of strange things and he was looking to venture out.  His badge attracted the attention of Cad the moment he walked in and he was escorted right to the V.I.P. tent on the grounds.

"Allow me to introduce myself, Commander.  Cad Firestorm, I'm Mr. Santero's assistant."

"Jerry Hauser.  Quite a place you have here.  I was told maybe Mr. Santero would possibly have some information on my missing daughter, Pamela.  She's been missing for quite a while and was doing movies before she died."

"Well, Santero's into a lot of things of that nature," Cad responded with a knowing grin.  "Hey, you've just driven down from Frisco.  You must be thirsty.  Can I get you a drink?"

"Hell yes, I'll have a screwdriver."

Hauser couldn't take his eyes off the activities going on.  A scantily-clad girl of about fifteen wearing a see-through top and hike up shorts was motioned over and told to fetch a drink by Cad.  Hauser tried not to look too closely at her, but he couldn't help himself.

"I understand you really like the ladies.  Kasen told us you were spending quite a bit at some of our places up in Frisco.  Well, don't worry tonight it's on us.  No cost at all and anything you want."

"I'd really like to meet Mr. Santero."

"Hey, so would a lot of people.  He knows you're here.  Sometime tonight he'll introduce himself to you.  You can ask him all about your daughter."

When the girl came back with the drink, Cad inserted a special swizzle stick into it.  The stick was coated with XTC - just potent enough to make someone slightly crazy.  As Jerry sat drinking listening to the New Age Orchestra entertaining on their harps and various stringed and keyboard instruments, his mind began to wander.

At first he thought he was in a dream.  Two handsome blond surfer types took him into a tent replete with Victorian furniture, and in the middle of the tent was a high backed Victorian walnut bed.  Attached to each of the corners were leather harnesses.  A young girl undressed him and applied massage oil all over his body.  His body began to grow hot and several of the men put him on the bed.  The young girl performed fellatio on him and his hands and feet were tied to the posts.  The lights grew brighter and he closed his eyes to black out the glare.  His body was twisted one way and another.  He had things forced into his anal cavity and his mouth and was led to an orgasm.  Endless hours went by and the lights dimmed.  He was led to a shower where several girls showered and massaged him.  The effects of the XTC began to wear and images that were distorted by the hallucinogenic compound began to get clearer.

The shower room he was in had highly polished Italian marble, white on dark green, with specks of black and grey.  The floor was highly polished black tiles with all gold fixtures in the sinks and toilet.  The center of the room housed a magnificent sauna adjoined by a hot tub which appeared to be carved out of stone.  In the background was a large stairway of solid walnut with an electronically controlled door.  Hauser gazed over as Santero entered.

The room electrified and heated up considerably.  He noticed a strange other-world reddish gleam emanating from the man's eyes.  The masseuses left immediately as if they saw a ghost, and Santero approached the table.

"Are you quite comfortable, Commander Hauser?  I trust your visit has been quite pleasurable."

"Yes, you must be . . ."

"That's right, I'm Santero.  We have preserved your visit on tape for your later viewing enjoyment.  Let me run a few scenes for you.  I think you'll find it most stimulating."

Santero pushed a series of buttons and Hauser watched aghast as he saw himself having oral sex with the young blonde surfer.

"Here, I'll change to another scene."

Hauser is being sodomized by a leather-clad biker type who is riding him like a horse.  He chokes involuntarily.

Santero turned to savor the look of shock on Hauser's face.  "Quite a miracle, our modern technology."

"You . . ."

"Go ahead, say it . . . bastard, son of a bitch . . . you can call me what you like as long as you do what I want.  I know you have been searching for your daughter.  Pamela, wasn't it?"

"You know something."

Santero pulled out a piece of paper.  "Here, this is from the County Infectious Disease Center."

Hauser looked in horror at the positive report on HIV infection with the name Pamela Hauser.

"You don't die immediately with HIV.  It's a lentovirus.  Where is she?  You know I'd like to see her."

"She would have been of considerable use to me, a beautiful girl like that with such a deadly disease.  She could have infected hundreds, maybe even thousands.  Unfortunately, she took matters into her own hands and tried to kill herself.  We had her sent to a hospital we run.  You cooperate with me and you'll be able to see her.  Let me assure you she is receiving the best of treatments and has access to all the latest experimental drugs."

"What is it you want from me?  I'm not a politician.  I'm a Naval Officer.  You overestimate me."

"No, not at all.  I know you authorize the movement of the nuclear missiles from your submarine.  I want one."

"You are insane.  What could anyone want with a nuclear weapon?  You could never get away with it."

"Commander Hauser, how would you feel about the Joint Chiefs of Staff seeing your latest video?"

"You wouldn't.  That's a direct invasion of my privacy.  You could be sued."

"Yes, I suppose I could.  I don't have a release from you or do I?  You don't remember signing in, do you?  Look Hauser, your career would be ruined long before the case ever got to court.  All I'm asking for is one nuclear weapon.  That's all - one.  No one will even know it's gone.  All you have to do is route it to a warehouse we already have near the submarine dry storage docks near Alameda and we'll take care of it from there."

"What do you plan on doing with it?"

"What's it to you?  You'll get to see your daughter and we'll destroy this video."

"You think I'm going to give a nuclear weapon to a madman?  Think of the destruction and loss of life."

"Hauser, do you really think I'd use it on a place that didn't deserve it?  You have my assurances that those who would be destroyed by it are deserving of sudden death."

"What if you use it on Washington?"

"Hauser, America is my country too.  I pay my taxes, vote, I'm as patriotic as anyone you'd meet.  You can trust me, Hauser.  This nuclear weapon will be well used.  Jerry, don't force me to destroy your fine career and think of what it would do to your wife.  All you have to do is agree.  That's all.  Sign one requisition form, one order.  No one will discover that it's even missing."

During the conversation, Hauser's mind was awash with questions.  Should I save my own hide, would this venture into perversion destroy my wife as well?  What'll happen to Pamela if I never see her again?  Will she die of AIDS forsaken and forgotten?  Then slowly he began to rationalize.  Suppose Santero just wanted to blow up a Palestinian terrorist camp or Libya.  After all, he's an American.  He's probably not going to do anything here.  Maybe he's just going to use it to blackmail South Africa to change the apartheid laws.  Slowly he began to rationalize - until he realized giving the weapon was really the only true logical choice.

"I'll give you a few moments to think about it.  This tape is my present to you.  You alone can decide whether or not the whole world will view it."

Hauser sat down to think as his clothes were laid out in front of him.  He saw through the opening in the tent that the sun was beginning to rise.  At eleven o'clock his wife would be landing.  A twenty-year good marriage thrown down the drain.  A daughter with AIDS and now these perversions.  They were like leeches that kept sucking out everything that was decent about him.  He was surprised to find out he was hardly even revolted at having been sodomized by another man.  He didn't know what he would stoop to.  It was as if a hot brand had seared his conscience and left no ties to the past.  His morals, his values, things he had believed and held dear since being a child - gone!  His past was like a sand castle at high tide completely awash with no definition and the present that had replaced it - gratuitous sex, lusting after strange flesh, abusing himself and others - was revolting.  In just two weeks he had succeeded in undoing what had taken him a lifetime to build.  And now for the sake of his own pride, he was selling out his country as well.  Give this madman a nuclear weapon.  Why not?  What a perverted world it was anyway.  Maybe people didn't deserve to live.  He certainly felt like dying.  The wrestling match was off.  Situation ethics had replaced his sense of right and wrong.  He wasn't going to sacrifice himself for anyone.

What he didn't know was that Santero's promises were only as true as the one who promised them.  The Mighty One had called him the Father of Lies.  Nothing had changed.  He knew Pamela was dead, but he would say and do anything to get his way -the destruction of the human race.  

How Santero wished and longed for the day the Mighty One would let him start World War Three.  World War Two had ended far too quickly for him.  He had wished for the destruction of England and the United States, not just Russia and Germany.  But the damn followers of the Mighty One had held prayer vigils, fasted, gathered in churches, fields, schools, auditoriums throughout the United States and England and had prevented him from seeking the destruction he had planned.  Gradually, his control of Adolf Hitler had diminished until the great power that mesmerized millions began to sound like the broken record of a madman.  Even his own loyal generals sought to silence him.  He had managed to herd countless millions into the deathcamps, but at the last moment the Mighty One had seen to their release and fulfilled his prophecy in the book of Isaiah to rebuild Israel out of the graveyard.  That had been especially painful to him.  He longed for another world war where countless millions would gasp for fresh air while choking on poisonous gases moaning in agony as the flesh melted off their faces.  A war where mothers would hold their children in horror and his abode, the Lake of Fire, would overflow with newcomers wailing in agony.

Hauser didn't know Santero's real identity.  Outside of Cad and a few others directly around him, he had kept his identity a well-guarded secret.  He was able to slip back at will into the spirit world to oversee the minions that tended the fires of Hell.  He hoped that the boundaries of the paradise made for him would expand so far that their existence would always be remembered by the Mighty One.

Santero had not realized that the Mighty One could forget as well as forgive, and his existence and the existence of countless others would be forgotten for eternity.  Their existence would only be remembered in their own minds.  The part of each of them created by the Eternal One would go on living an eternal death.  A death of the spirit, no promise, no hope for change.  Lost forever in His own pride.  Santero's existence would not torment the Mighty One.  He would be forgotten not so different from a snowflake melting in the sun till every trace of even its shadow was gone.

The shadow of pain and misery Santero had cast over the universe would be gone.  He knew he didn't have much longer.  But for now, every life he came in contact with, every person that failed to accept the Mighty One's promise of eternal life was open season.  Hauser had happened to fall into his hands and Santero was determined to personally destroy his life.  He had no intention of destroying all the copies of the video.  He would send the video to CNN with a statement and papers of how Hauser had been responsible for selling the weapon to a terrorist group.  Through the years he had learned how to shift the blame so everyone got blamed but himself.  If a young child died after childbirth, instead of taking the blame from the ill health of the mother or the poor nutrition during pregnancy, Santero's agents would convince the grieving parents, grandparents and friends that it was the will of the Mighty One.  When a teenager died in an auto accident, instead of letting the blame fall on the use of drugs and alcohol, two items he heavily supported, he would let the blame fall on the Mighty One and sow seeds of distrust.  Very few humans had recognized his hands behind the destruction of marriages, child abuse, alcoholism, murder, and the countless other misfortunes that happened daily in their midst.  It was a running joke among the fallen about the gullibility of the humans.  He knew the Mighty One had promised to chain him and cast him headlong into the Lake of Fire, but his mind refused to believe it.  After all the years of mastery over the creatures the Mighty One created, he felt he knew the Mighty One's weaknesses and would be able to defeat Him.

Hauser begged for the tape not to be released and had promised to reroute one of the missiles from his submarine.  He didn't know exactly how he would do it.  The logistics of moving the missile were extreme.  He didn't understand how Santero would be able to launch it, but he figured maybe he'd already gotten a missile launcher.  He didn't know that on Santero's property in Half Moon Bay an underground bunker was being built under the Bay that would easily house a missile launcher.  The bile from Hauser's liver rose at the thought of his betrayal and his stomach churned as he pulled out of the massive gates in front of the estate.  As he looked to the side at the large gargoyles, he realized he had been in Hell.

Denise, on the red eye from Washington non-stop to San Francisco, had been unable to get any sleep.  Every time she closed her eyes, she would see Jerry doing horrible things.  His face would smile and then turn into a skull.  At one point in her dream he had tied her to a bed and was violently assaulting her.  She took her Bible out for comfort, but the passage she picked was not for comfort but for warfare.  "We battle not against flesh and blood but against principalities and powers."  She tried to remember when she had heard someone explain what that meant.  At first she thought that it meant people weren't the real enemies, but then she remembered what the visiting evangelist had told her prayer group.  Humans often were only pawns in the battle between good and evil, and if someone you knew or someone who affected your life was causing you discomfort or destroying themselves, then prayers would not be directed at them but at the spirits that were controlling them.  She wondered if Jerry was being controlled by a spirit.  She remembered the last conversation and how distant he had sounded and how his voice was like the cry of a cat when it had wandered so far up a tree it was afraid to come back.  She wondered if Jerry had gotten caught up into something over his head.  She knew him so well.  Twenty years of marriage, stationed all over the world, they had been best friends.  She would see what was bothering him, and if there were spirits controlling him, she was confident that she would be able to battle them.

As the plane circled the San Francisco International Airport, she marvelled at how calm everything looked from the air.  Cars looked so small and homes and freeways looked like scale models.  A surge of confidence grew in her and she knew in her heart of hearts that the Mighty One was big enough to handle all her problems.  She prayed as the plane descended and the captain turned on the seatbelt sign.  She prayed to be able to bring Jerry back home.  She had heard of the wickedness in San Francisco - the legalization of homosexual relationships, the live sex acts, satanic worship.  She knew because of her lack of spiritual diligence, her own daughter had succumbed to evil.  She was sure that there was nothing else she could do for Pamela, but she was determined that she wouldn't lose her husband to the same evil.  As the plane taxied to the jetway, she fidgeted about in her seat and placed the small pocket-size Bible she had been reading back in her purse.  She realized that after traveling all night, she probably looked a little battle weary, but she was hoping Jerry was looking forward to seeing her as much as she was to seeing him.

As she stepped onto the terminal, she looked around and barely recognized him.  He was wearing the top three buttons of his shirt open and had bought himself a rather garish gold medallion.  Even though he was standing inside he had his dark Ray-Bans on, not too much different from what John Belushi had worn in the Blues Brothers with Dan Akroyd.  Faded denim jeans with precut holes in several places, a colorful scarf around his neck and suspenders filled out the rest of the outfit.  In her whole life, she had never even imagined him in such wild getup.  Even though sunglasses prevented her from looking him in the eye, she could tell by the sluggish way he moved he hadn't had much sleep.

"Denise."  He kissed her.  "How was the flight?"

"Fine."  She looked at him coyly.  "Looks like you've been up all night."

"I was.  I was tracking down a lead on Pamela."

"Anything turn up?"

"I can't really say yet.  It looks promising.  Here . . ." as he reached over and took her carry-on, "let me help you with your bag."

As they walked towards the baggage claim, Denise shuddered.  It was worse than she had imagined.  He had gone away on a routine trip and after just three months, she no longer even knew who her husband was.  He was like an apparition from a singles bar.  The lack of sleep had aged him almost five years.  She also knew she couldn't save her marriage alone.  She didn't know how long he would insist they stay in San Francisco, but she was determined to seek spiritual help.