01 Babylon Rising (24 page)

“We were the lucky ones,” said Wagoner. “Four dear friends died, plus one body has yet to be identified in the basement. That poor Wallach boy in a coma…” His voice trailed off. “But we’re going to start rebuilding just as soon as we can. And then we’ll be back in that lovely church, praising the Lord again.”

“Don’t go do any rebuilding yet, Reverend,” Welsh said coldly. “Right now your church is still a crime scene.”

“A crime scene? I don’t understand.”

“That explosion wasn’t an accident. That old boiler in the basement is one of the few things that wasn’t damaged in the blast.”

“Then, what did cause it?”

Welsh looked at him steadily. “I was kind of hoping you could tell me that.”

Murphy was on his feet, leaning over the table. “Just what are you suggesting? Bob was nearly killed in there.”

Welsh didn’t blink. He waited until Murphy sat down again, then lifted the flap of one of the boxes.

“The explosion was caused by a bomb. Plastic explosive. And we found detonators and other equipment for making more bombs. The basement of your church was being used as a bomb factory, Reverend. Your parishioners were making bombs.”

He let that sink in, watching as Wagoner went pale.

“That’s absurd,” Murphy said. “Why would members of this church be making bombs?”

Welsh scratched his chin as if he were asking himself that question for the first time. “How about to blow up the U.N.?”

“The U.N.? What are you talking about?”

“This kid, Paul Wallach, they pulled out of the basement, he wasn’t from around here, was he? I know he’s a student, supposedly, but my information is that he only recently started attending, is that correct?”

“What are you suggesting? That Paul Wallach was somehow responsible for this explosion? That’s crazy. He’s just a kid.”

Welsh smiled sourly. “In my experience, kids do the funniest things. Especially when they come under the influence of fanatics.” He said the last word as if he were spitting out something unpleasant.

Murphy jumped up. “Fanatics? What are you, the Joe McCarthy of G-men, Welsh? Conspiracies everywhere. Fanatics like who?”

“Like the sort of people who believe the U.N. is evil. Evangelical Christians, for instance.”

“We don’t believe the U.N. is evil,” Wagoner interjected. “We believe it does some good work. Peacekeeping in certain third world countries where there is chaos, humanitarian aid,
health programs, and so on. But we are suspicious about their efforts to promote globalism by uniting all religions regardless of their beliefs, and by uniting the world’s governments under a single entity. In particular, I’m very concerned about turning the sovereignty of the United States government over to a world court.”

“Are you saying you oppose striving for world peace through global unity?”

“Every single attempt to secure a one-world religion or a one-world government in the past has resulted in a totalitarian regime, inevitably causing the deaths of countless numbers of innocent citizens. We must learn from history. Man is incapable of bringing peace to this planet on his own. This world will never enjoy world peace until Christ Himself comes to set up His kingdom. His kingdom will last for a thousand years, and the Bible is very clear regarding this prophecy.”

“Then maybe some of your people thought a few bombs might hurry it along.”

Wagoner was stunned.
“Our
people? Evangelical Christians don’t set off bombs, Agent Welsh.”

Welsh jabbed a finger at him. “How about the people who bomb family-planning clinics? Who kill doctors who perform abortions? They’re Christians, aren’t they?”

“Not in my book,” Wagoner said fiercely. “Yes, it’s a terrible thing to take the lives of the unborn, but more murder is definitely not the answer. The Christian community universally opposes killing, even to save the unborn from being killed.”

Agent Baines had been quiet while Agent Welsh had carried on with his arguments, but he could contain himself
no longer. “Sir, I know I’m out of line, but I have to speak up. I certainly don’t pretend to know the facts of this bombing, and there is certainly circumstantial evidence that makes it look pretty bad that something crazy was going on in that basement. Except I know these people. Not these people specifically, I don’t mean that, I mean I know churchgoing folks in a community like this, because that’s who I am. I know their hearts, and they could never be terrorists, bombers, or murderers for any cause, no matter how righteous.

“Look, something terrible has happened here in Preston. People have died, more are in the hospital. And everyone wants to know why.
We
want to know why. Professor Murphy risked his life to save someone. Is that the action of a wanton murderer? Reverend Wagoner was lucky not to be killed himself. These are not the people we should be hunting down. I know that’s gut talking, not forensics, sir, but sometimes we have to listen to bigger evidence than what our eyes tell us, don’t we?”

Welsh just gave a sour, angry stare to Baines, and never got a chance to answer him, because Laura Murphy stumbled through the doorway looking wild-eyed and in pain.

She stared straight ahead for a moment, as if trying to think of the right word, then Murphy watched in horror as her eyes rolled back in her head and her whole body went limp like a puppet whose strings had suddenly been cut. She put a hand out to steady herself, and the chair crashed to the floor as Murphy caught her in his arms.

“Get an ambulance,” he screamed at Baines. “Now!”

FOR THE SECOND
time in a matter of weeks, Stephanie Kovacs thought, the gods of media good fortune were smiling down on her. She had decided to spend the evening in the hotel poring over more of her research before snooping around Preston the next day to get more background about Professor Michael Murphy.

She heard the church bomb ignite from her hotel room and was already beeping her cameraman when the BNN national bureau chief called her. Within an hour of the blast she had gone live with her first report. Even as more reporters swarmed over the site, she stayed ahead of the pack with a combination of her own drive and some additional tips being fed her by the New York and Atlanta bureaus. Now, the day after, she was ready for her next exclusive.

“Stephanie Kovacs, BNN, live from the horrific bombing
of the Preston Community Church in Preston, North Carolina. Even while the search for victims and assessment of the damage continues desperately, there are ugly realities beginning to come to light at the scene.

“Most shocking of all is the report that we are talking not about a terrorist attack upon the innocent churchgoers, but rather a far greater nightmare for the citizens of our country. There is now evidence that, contrary to earlier reports that suggested the church was the
target
of a terrorist bomb, the truth could be something even more deadly and cowardly.

“Sources have revealed to BNN that the cause of the explosion was in fact a bomb
factory
in the basement—a bomb factory that went tragically, horribly wrong for four members of this tightly knit congregation. And these same sources have further suggested that evidence found in the debris here at Preston points to a connection with another recent terrorist attack.”

She paused dramatically, as if she needed to compose herself before making her biggest revelation. “Though authorities are making no public statements yet, we are told that there are indications that members of this church terror group were connected to Farley the Fanatic, yes, the suspect who is still at large and wanted for questioning for his role in the recent attack on a United Nations building in New York.

We’re told that there were disturbingly similar materials found at the two investigative scenes, the basement of the Preston Community Church, just a few feet from where I’m standing right now, and the house of Farley the Fanatic, where, you may recall, I was standing reporting to you just a few days
ago. I am told these materials include religious publications and pamphlets of the evangelical variety and evidence that the bombing of the U.N. was a very chilling possibility. And still could be, perhaps by surviving members of the terror cell whose plot went so horribly wrong here tonight in this church.”

Reluctantly, she broke eye contact with her viewers for a moment and turned to a tall, balding man in a black polo shirt and brown sport jacket.

“I have with me Dr. Archer Fallworth, dean of the School of Arts and Science at Preston University, many of whose students and faculty worship at this church.” She smiled sincerely, regretfully. “Thank you so much for taking a few minutes to be with us at this tragic time, Dean Fallworth.”

Fallworth looked as if he just managed to stop himself from saying
My pleasure
. He nodded, pursing his lips.

“Dean, I think we’re all in a state of shock about these revelations. I mean, members of a church congregation making bombs? And possibly connected to those plotting to commit terrorist attacks in our major cities? Can you throw any kind of light on what’s been going on? Can you make any sense of this for us?”

Dean Fallworth looked up with a serious expression. “I’m not sure I
can
explain what appears to have happened here in Preston, Stephanie. I don’t know if anyone can. When fanatics maim and kill innocent people, I think we all… I…” He shook his head, apparently overcome with emotion.

Stephanie decided to help him out. “When you say fanatics, Dean Fallworth, what exactly do you mean? Who are these people? What’s their agenda?”

Fallworth cleared his throat. “Well, I’ve been at this university a good number of years, and I have to say I’ve witnessed some disturbing changes in recent times.”

Stephanie’s brow was furrowed with concern. “What kind of changes?”

We’ve always had a strong evangelical presence here. Nothing wrong with that, of course. But I believe more extreme elements—fundamentalist evangelicals, if you will—are gradually taking control. And I believe these elements may be behind the terrible tragedy we witnessed here yesterday.”

“You’re obviously well acquainted with this group. What exactly do they believe? And if what we’re being told is true— and I’m sure like a lot of our viewers I’m finding it hard to take all this on board—why are they targeting institutions such as the U.N.?”

“Stephanie, I think the most important thing to say is that whatever they believe—whether it’s that the end of the world is approaching or the Second Coming or whatever—they just don’t accept that you or I might take a different view, that we might have different beliefs—even different
Christian
beliefs.”

“So what are they trying to do—bomb us into belief?”

Fallworth gave her a patronizing half smile that would have been familiar to his students. “I think that’s very well put, Stephanie. Yes, that’s exactly it.”

And I’ve just written tomorrow’s headline
, Stephanie thought.

“Stephanie, the welfare of our students is my topmost priority, and we have to be aware of anybody who may be trying to influence them in a negative or dangerous way.”

“Would you say Paul Wallach, who is now in a coma, was influenced in the way you describe?”

He hung his head. “Tragically, I believe so.”

“And do you know who is responsible for turning such a promising student into what could be a fanatical killer?”

He flinched a little. Maybe she was laying it on a bit thick. But he couldn’t turn back now.
Come on
, she thought,
you know what you have to do. And you really want to do it too
.

“It hurts me deeply to have to say this, but I believe one of our own faculty is the leading voice behind this pernicious movement.” He winced to show just how deeply it hurt him.

Stephanie moved the microphone closer, almost as if it were a cattle prod.

“Professor Michael Murphy.”

She affected horrified surprise. “And what subject does Professor Murphy teach?”

“Biblical archaeology,” he said, making it sound like a disease. “At least that’s what he was doing until today.” He turned and looked directly into the camera. “In the interest of the students, I will be recommending to the university board that we suspend Professor Murphy until we conduct a proper internal inquiry.”

MURPHY CROUCHED ON
the floor of the ambulance and held Laura’s hand while one of the paramedics got an IV into her arm and the other wrapped thermal blankets around her. “She just collapsed?”

The last few hours were a blur. Murphy could hardly think. “Yes. She was in the church when the bomb went off. We both were. But they said she was okay. Just bruises, nothing serious.”

As the ambulance sped down Route 147, the paramedic briefed the waiting trauma team. By the time he’d finished, they’d already turned off the highway and onto the main campus roadway leading to the hospital, sirens blaring. Murphy pressed a cold hand to her cheek. “Hang in there, sweetheart.”

They stopped with a jolt and the paramedics pulled the gurney out onto the tarmac and started barreling toward the
trauma center like a bobsled team trying to gain momentum. The automatic doors slid open and closed like a greedy mouth, and they were in the receiving area, where the waiting trauma team instantly surrounded the gurney, brushed-steel equipment carts at the ready.

More IV needles went in. A vital-signs monitor was hooked up. A nurse started calling out pulse rate and blood pressure. All while the gurney accelerated toward a set of doors marked TRAUMA STAFF ONLY.

Murphy was sucked along in its wake, trying to keep Laura’s face in sight as the trauma team worked furiously around her. Then the gurney was bumping through the doors and a hand gently held him back from following.

“I’m sorry. You’ll have to wait out here. We’ll update you on your wife’s condition as soon as we have more information.” He mumbled a thank-you and the nurse disappeared after the gurney. He could hear the urgent back-and-forth of the trauma team for a moment, then the doors thumped shut and he was alone.