Rise of the Beast (28 page)

“I don’t understand,” admitted Julien.

“And that is why I’m here,” said the stranger. “There is a man coming to Marseille from America. There is healing in his hands, Mr. Devereux. He will restore your son to health in the twinkling of an eye.”

“I’ve been to spiritual healers,” objected Julien. “None of them could do anything for my son.”

“This one can,” assured the man. “His name is Lusan. God has His hand on this man. Your son’s health will be restored so that you may return to the task God has set before you. You must complete the task you have begun. You must return this world’s economic health. For without economic health, there can be no spiritual health. Take your son to him, Mr. Devereux. Allow God to do something for you. Then you can do something for God. Remember, you have three days.”

Julien was amazed when the man seemed to vanish into a mist. In that last fraction of a second, his body was transformed into the form of a winged angel in white. A second later, Julien found himself in his bed once more. He quickly sat up. It had been a dream, nothing more. Oh, if only it could have been real. He looked over at the clock. It was just a minute before midnight. He might as well get up.

Julien ran his hands through his hair. Flicks of white dropped to the bed. It was sand.

“Sir, it has to have been a dream,” objected Joan. “I know you want it to be true. So do I. But it was a dream.”

“But this Lusan that the stranger spoke of is real,” objected Julien. “He is coming to Marseille the day after tomorrow. He will be speaking at the Stade Vélodrome. I’m convinced that he can heal my son.”

Joan shook her head. “But Julien, how would we get him there? It would be dangerous to move him in his present condition. And from what I have heard, there would be so many people, so many chances for something bad to happen.”

“He can be moved by ambulance,” replied Julien. “I can arrange for that. It can deliver him right there to the field. If I’m such a great hero of the people, well, maybe it is time for them to humor me a bit, give something back to me. They will be setting up a stage in the middle of the field. I will be there right in front of it. I’ll be there with Adrian.”

Joan nodded. “I can see I’m not going to be able to talk you out of this. I’ll help you get ready. What do you need from me?”

The two days that followed were hectic. Still, Julian was right; the authorities couldn’t deny him this favor. It all went as he had asked. Two hours before that early evening crusade, an ambulance carrying Adrian and a limo carrying Julian and Joan rolled out onto the soccer field.

The authorities took every precaution. Security was very tight, and paramedics, nurses, and a doctor were right there on the field in the event that something unforeseen occurred. As evening fell and the field lights came on, Julien was prepared for a miracle.

The setup on the stage was very different from that of the evangelist in America. There were no elaborate props, no whirling metal globes or flashing lights, just a simple lectern, about a dozen microphones, and a single banner with the emblem of
Lusan’s organization. It sort of reminded Julien of the flag of the United Nations. A camera linked to the stadium’s large screen would allow the crowd to get a clear picture of the one they came to see, this worker of miracles.

The crowd was quickly filling in the seats of the gigantic outdoor stadium. It was estimated that there could well be 40,000 on hand tonight. The 20,000 chairs on the field represented about half of the stadium’s capacity. But Julien had his mind upon just one, Lusan.

Julien and his entourage had attracted quite a bit of attention. Yes, there were other sick people here. There were people on crutches and in wheelchairs, but none in quite so serious a condition as Adrien. The area around them had been cordoned off for their safety, and an escape route had been cleared if a quick exit were required.

Julien knew only too well that his coming here had complicated an already difficult job for the police and stadium security. Few people in France would have had the influence to have pulled off this last-minute stunt.

When Lusan did arrive, he did so without any obvious fanfare. He walked with about 30 others from the far end of the field. The crowd watched in silent wonder as they approached. He wore a simple business suit, as did the other men in his company. All of the suits were identical. The 12 women who accompanied them all wore long pink dresses, also identical.

To Julien, they looked like members of some sort of fundamentalist cult. Already he was questioning his motives for coming here. It was all based on the fleeting dreams of a desperate father. Might doing this make matters worse for his son? No, he couldn’t think like that. Belief was an important element of the healing event. That was what that evangelist had told him in America.

The program opened up with singing by Lusan’s 24-member chorus. Their song selections were, to say the least, unusual for a crusade. They opened with “We Are the World,” only to follow it up with the modern Christian hymn, “God is Love.” All the while, Julien waited impatiently. He often glanced over to confirm that his son was stable. It had been a long time since he’d been out in the open air, and it was not a particularly warm February evening.

It was the mayor of Marseille himself who introduced Lusan. That in itself struck Julien as being strange. The mayor was a devout Catholic, and this Lusan was anything but. If any term described the nature of Lusan’s beliefs, it was New Age.

Lusan was a dynamic speaker. There was no doubt about that. He opened with the traditional thanks to the mayor and the events committee that had made this rally possible. Then he spoke of the state of the world, the need to discard racial prejudices and ethnic hate. He spoke of their being many ways to God and of a new age of enlightenment.

One of the things that attracted the crowd’s attention was the fact that he addressed them in fluent French rather than using an interpreter. Yet, quite abruptly, he stopped. What followed was a good 20 seconds of total silence, followed by growing rumbling from the crowd.

“Before I continue, before I speak further of the coming golden age or pray for God’s healing power upon the multitudes of sick people among us tonight, there is a special blessing that God Himself wishes to bestow upon one of your number,” said Lusan. “You see, there is one here among you that will be at the heart of the new and better Earth that is coming. He is a man who is touched by God’s spirit, a man whom God has already used and will use again. But he has a need that must be met first. Our Heavenly Father is about to grant that need.” Lusan seemed to be looking directly at Julien. “It is not just to clear the way for your own ministry, but to give this congregation of people proof of God’s power. Please, come forth. Bring your petition before the throne of God.”

Julian’s actions were impulsive. He reached to pick up his son and carried him up the steps and onto the stage. He brought him directly to Lusan.

The cameras zoomed in on the gathering. The tension mounted.

“Julien Devereux, you have a task to perform,” said Lusan. “God is with you, and as confirmation, so there can be no doubt, your son must be made whole.”

Lusan touched Adrian’s forehead. “Awake, young man,” he said. “Awake and be whole.”

The cameras zoomed in even closer. There was no sound of thunder, no flash of light, but Julien felt something. It was like a darkness had been lifted. Abruptly the boy coughed; then his eyes opened. His gaze turned to his father. Their eyes met. Yes, they really met. There was depth to those eyes, not a blank stare. The slightest of smiles came to Adrian’s face.”

“Daddy, the sun doesn’t really make the sea boil when it sets, does it?” asked Adrien.

Julien looked at his son in total astonishment even as tears of joy flowed from his eyes. “No, Adrien, I was just making a joke, that’s all.”

“I thought so,” replied his son. “I feel like I’ve been asleep for a long time. I’ve woken up a couple of times, but I couldn’t move or speak. I remember you saying the thing about the sun and about the trip to Africa. I do want to go to Africa.”

“And so you shall,” cried his father, holding his son tightly. “We’ll go there together.”

The crowd’s response was one of amazement. Yes, they’d heard about this boy, the son of a national hero. Word was that his condition was terminal, that his mind was gone. Now, here he was in his right mind and talking. It was a miracle like none had ever seen before. After a moment, a growing applause erupted from the multitude, and it continued for two minutes.

“It is the return of the Lord,” cried a man in the front row, falling to his knees.

“No,” cried Lusan. “I am not the Lord. I am just His messenger, a prophet, no more. I serve the living God, and so should you. Let me show you how, all of you. Let me bring power into your lives. I tell you this, the age of miracles has returned.”

When Lusan was finished speaking, over 10,000 came forward for prayer and healing, and still more miracles were seen. Yet, to Julien, this was all anti-climactic. Julien had his son back. He was in Lusan’s debt, and he intended to repay that debt.

The service had been over for nearly an hour as Julien waited for Lusan outside of one of the meeting rooms below the stadium. Lusan had requested to meet him, and Julien would not deny the request of the man who had given back to him his son. A security guard opened the door, and Julien headed in to meet Lusan one on one.

The room contained a long, wooden table with 12 comfortable chairs surrounding it. At the end of the table sat Lusan. He still wore his suit, though he had loosened his tie a bit.

“I want to thank you for what you’ve done for my son,” said Julien. “Mere words can hardly express what I’m feeling right now.”

Lusan smiled broadly, extending his hand. “I assure you, it was my pleasure to have been an instrument of the Eternal Father. Please, Mr. Devereux, sit here beside me. We have much to discuss.”

Julien sat beside Lusan. There was something about this man. Julien had long prided himself on being able to read people at a glance, but he had never been in the presence of someone like this. What was he sensing in his presence, power?

“And how is your son feeling?” asked Lusan. “Is he experiencing any unpleasant side effects from his long illness?”

“It’s strange,” replied Julien. “He remembers very little of his illness. He knows that he has been sick, but he found it difficult to believe how much time has passed. He remembers only bits and pieces of the past couple of years.” Julien chuckled. “You know, it’s funny. The last thing he remembered was a funny little story I told him three days ago about the setting sun causing the ocean to boil with its heat. He thought I’d told him that story just a few minutes ago.”

Lusan laughed openly. “I was wondering about that. It was such an unusual comment. Now it makes sense.”

“Actually, I’m glad he doesn’t remember,” continued Julien. “Really, I am. There were so many unpleasant things that happened these past two years. He complains that his legs feel week. He is having a bit of trouble walking. But I’m surprised that he can walk at all after so long.”