Chapter 9

Espionage

Billy Joe Wilder took the stage of the Diamond Cathedral to the thunderous applause of his audience, his purple satin robe shining under the stage lights. Two cameras on booms flew over the audience as spotlights played across the crowd while two others focused on him, one tight and one full-figure. In the control room, Sheila Eakins watched as the director called out shots to the camera crew and cuts to the assistant director.

Wilder drank in the audience’s approval as they came to their feet in what to a lesser man might have been an embarrassing display of adoration. He held up his arms, motioning the crowd to sit down, which of course did no good. Bringing his arms down, he clasped his hands in front of him, putting on his "humble servant" face and nodding to the audience. The cameras soaked up his telegenic presence and bounced it off the Christian Cable Network satellite transponder, which in turn spewed it out across the United States. Other countries would have to settle for tape delay.

Finally, after several minutes, the crowd tired of applauding and began to quiet down as they took their seats. Wilder waited until the room was absolutely still before beginning his sermon.

"Dear friends. It’s my humble duty to bring to you today a message of the greatest importance, delivered to me directly from the sweet baby Jesus," he began, with the name "Jesus" coming out as "Gee-yuh-zuz". He spoke with a measured cadence, crafted through years of practice.

"Now I know you’ve all heard about the Devil’s work going on down in Antarctica, and you’ve heard the blasphemy being spread by the so-called scientists and the liberal media. And I’m here to bear witness to the fact that it’s lies that you’re hearin’.

"The Bible tells us that God Almighty created the Earth in six days, and that He did so about 6,000 years ago. But these charlatans in Antarctica would have us believe that this thing they’ve dug up, this monstrosity, is millions of years old." The crowd stirred in its disapproval, with numerous shouts of "No!"

"They trot out their phony science, their so-called carbon dating, and they claim it proves how old things are. But if the good Lord wants something to look like it’s millions of years old, that’s well within his power. These foolish people place greater trust in their science than the do in the revealed word of God Almighty!

"But that’s not where their blasphemy ends, oh no it isn’t. Now they claim to have found writing," he paused for effect, "in a heathen tongue! Not English! Not Greek nor Latin nor any other tongue known to God or man. They claim that whatever’s down there under the ice is the work of aliens from outer space! They want us to believe that little green men – heathens from some other planet – built a city underneath the ice of Antarctica!" Again the audience registered its anger.

"But the fact is, we know that that’s simply not possible. And how do we know that it’s not possible?" The audience, not having a clue, fell silent.

"It’s not possible because God," ("Gaaaaaawwd"), "the Lord Almighty, our Heavenly Father, made man in his own image!" The close-up shot going out over CCN showed Wilder looking like he’d just eaten a canary. God, how he loved logic!

"Don’t you see, friends? There cannot be any little green men. Little green men would be an abomination, a perversion of God’s will!" This the audience could handle, and they responded with a chorus of "Amens", with an occasional "That’s right!" thrown in.

In the control room, Sheila Eakins felt a tingle that quickly subsided when the director cut to a crowd shot that happened to pick up Mabel Wilder in the front row. The view cut back to Wilder, now hefting his Bible.

"Right here in Genesis, the Bible tells us ‘And out of the ground the Lord God formed every beast of the field, and every fowl of the air,’ but nowhere does it say a thing about the Lord God having formed little green men!" The audience howled its approval.

"He created man from dust, and then he created woman from Adam’s rib, and along the way he brought all the animals before Adam to give them names, and nowhere do we read of little green men!"

Wilder waited until the crowd quieted down before he continued.

"My friends, whatever’s down there, buried under the ice in Antarctica, has to be one of two things, and I pray to the Lord almighty that it’s one and not the other. Whatever’s down there has to be either the work of the Lord, or..." he tossed in a meaningful pause, "the work of the Devil!" He let the crowd buzz for a few moments.

"Now as good Christians, we have a duty to make sure the truth is revealed in this matter. And as the Lord Almighty’s humble servant, I will not rest until this blasphemy has been refuted, and the truth of God has been revealed in all its glory! The Lord God, our Heavenly Father has asked me personally to go to Antarctica to uncover the truth behind this heinous discovery, and I dare not refuse." The crowd erupted in amens and applause. Wilder ignored the disapproving look on his wife’s face and drank in the approbation. Now came the best part.

"Of course, mounting an expedition to Antarctica is an expensive proposition. So I must ask you today, as we pass the collection plates here in the Cathedral, please dig a little deeper than usual so that we may make sure that the word of God is heard in this time of crisis. And those of you watching at home, please do your part to help us spread God’s word."

An 888 number appeared superimposed on screen, with credit card logos and an address where those without credit cards could send checks or cash.

As the collection plates were passed, Wilder launched into general comments and reiteration of what he’d already said, the better not to distract the audience while they were doing their most important job. Once the collection was nearly finished, and the folks at home had had time to call in their donations, he started one of his signature prayers, in which he instructed God on what needed to be done.

"Oh Lord our God, give us the strength and the wisdom to fight the forces of evil that rise up against us. Guide us in our efforts to spread Your word among the heathens. Smite the sinners, that they shall not prevail over the forces of righteousness." He spoke slowly, so that God could get it all down.

This went on for several more minutes, and then he turned the proceedings over to his musical director, who fired up the choir for a rousing rendition of "Onward Christian Soldier," while Wilder retreated to his office. When the choir finished, the network would switch to a tape of one of his intimate chats, recorded earlier.

As Wilder was taking off his robe, his office door opened and Sheila Eakins entered.

"Billy Joe, are you really going to Antarctica? Isn’t it awfully cold there?"

"Now darlin’, don’t you worry your pretty head about that. I’ll follow God’s plan as he reveals it to me. If he wants me to go to Antarctica, then that’s what I’ll do."

Wilder had no intention of getting even close to Antarctica, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t planning to extend his reach to the continent. In fact, he was completely confident that any approach to the research team with such a request would be rebuffed. On the other hand, the expansion of the research effort to a consortium of universities may have opened up a golden opportunity. If he raised enough of a stink, there was a chance he could arrange for a "biblical scholar" from HMU to join the team, giving him someone on the inside.

Sheila, however, took Wilder at his word, and again she started to feel that special tingle. The fact that Billy Joe would do whatever the Lord commanded, well, it made her... excited.

"Oh, Billy Joe!" she said, "I can’t get over how dedicated you are to doing the Lord’s work."

Wilder knew that the sermon he had just finished, along with the buttons of hers that he’d just pushed could in minutes lead to a decidedly secular form of rapture. He’d seen the look on her face enough times before. But this was Sunday, and there were a lot of staff members roaming the halls. He also knew that his wife often came to his office following a sermon, and that his little announcement of his bogus travel plans had been a surprise to her.

"Darlin’, I’m just a servant of the Lord," he replied. "Now why don’t you run along and see how things are going in the phone room. I expect we should see a near-record number of donations today."

Sheila was a little disappointed, but also a bit relieved. She’d been ambivalent about their relationship ever since their first extracurricular tryst. On the one hand, she loved the attention, and she wanted to help Billy Joe however she could, and some of what they did felt really, really good. On the other hand, she knew that in a strictly technical way, they were committing a sin, and there were some things he had her do that she really didn’t like very much. So it was with a certain sense of relief that she said "Right, Billy Joe," and went to check how the tally was going.

Less than a minute after she left, the office door opened and Mabel Wilder entered.

"Hello, sweetheart," said Wilder, "what’d you think of the sermon?"

"What is this nonsense about you going to Antarctica?" she demanded without preface.

Wilder came around his desk and took her hands, leading her to the sofa.

"Now don’t get all in a tizzy, honey bunch. I’m not planning on going to Antarctica myself. That was just part of my larger strategy. I want to place a representative at that research site, and if I hit ‘em with the big guns first – meaning me – it’ll be easier to negotiate having someone else go in my place."

She regarded her husband with a mixture of relief and wariness. This sounded like the kind of tack Billy Joe would take.

Mabel Richardson Wilder was three years older than her husband, the daughter of a wealthy owner of a chain of automobile dealerships. They’d met when Wilder had gone to work for her father. He’d been 28 and she 31 at the time. They’d been married for 16 years, and had never had children.

It was Mabel who’d insisted that Wilder be born again. She had been and still was a handsome woman, and the fact that her daddy was rich made her even more beautiful. Wilder had had no problem with becoming a born-again Christian if it let him land Mabel Richardson as his wife and Jimmy Richardson as his father-in-law.

But as Wilder was exposed to the wonders of fundamentalist religion, he realized that the money to be made selling cars paled in comparison to the opportunities that existed in saving souls. He’d switched careers, and over the previous 15 years had built one of the most successful televangelical empires in the country.

Mabel Wilder was no fool, and had few illusions about her husband. Yet having grown up with money, she found it natural and comforting, and Billy Joe made sure she was always up to date on the good works that the ministry did around the world, especially when the reports were actually true.

They hadn’t known each other in the Biblical sense for more than six years now, and Mabel was fairly certain that Billy Joe had been knowing his secretary on a regular basis, but she preferred not to confront the issue. She’d always found sex to be distasteful and rather messy, and was just as happy that she didn’t have to provide that wifely service to him. While adultery was a sin against God, well, if it relieved her of the chore, then she could overlook it.

"Well as long as you’re not actually going to go down to that awful place..." she said.

"Sweetheart, don’t you never mind. I’m staying right here in God’s country where it’s nice and warm."

With that assurance, Mabel seemed satisfied, and after obtaining his promise that he’d be home for supper, she left. Returning to his desk, Wilder called Bobby Palmer.

"Bobby, did you see my show today?"

"Sorry, Billy Joe, I didn’t."

Wilder briefed him on the essential details, and explained his strategy.

"I’ll put up the money for HMU to become a contributing member of the consortium. What I need is one of your students – probably a grad student – who I can send in my place when they turn me down for a personal visit. I need someone who’s a true believer. Someone who’s willing to fight the Lord’s fight if necessary, if you get my drift."

Palmer considered for a moment before replying. "I can think of two or three possibilities off hand. Gimme a couple of days to work on it. I know I can provide the right boy."

Before hanging up, Wilder asked Palmer to look up the phone number of Royce Clayton at U. C. Berkeley. As far as Wilder knew, the project was still being run under the official aegis of the university’s Department of Geology. Palmer had easy access to academic directories, and provided the number quickly.

"Thanks, Bobby. I’ll talk to you in a day or two."

"See ya, Billy Joe."

•

Royce Clayton put down the phone, shaking his head as his assistant Joyce Hilliard came in through the open door with a short stack of folders.

"Was that Billy Joe Wilder the television preacher?" she asked.

"Yes it was," Clayton answered. She’d fielded the call when the phone rang.

"What on Earth did he want?"

"He wanted to go down to the site."

"Why?"

"Some mumbo-jumbo about wanting to make sure that the facts about what we’re finding aren’t being distorted."

"Ah ha. And you said..."

"I told him no, of course. There’s no way I’d turn the site into a media opportunity for some religious nut case – er – some preacher."

Hilliard smiled. "Don’t worry, your assessment doesn’t offend me in the slightest."

"So then he starts in about how important this discovery is, and how great an impact it could have on religions of all faiths, and asks if I’d be willing to let Holy Mother University join the consortium and send a grad student."

Hilliard looked slightly askance at Clayton. "And you said..."

Clayton shrugged. "He offered an up-front contribution of a million, with more to follow if necessary. Even with the participation of the other schools, that’s a tough figure to turn down."

"And how is that not selling out?" she asked.

"Aw, hell, all we have to do is let them send down one goofy grad student. An observer. Hal and Bob can handle some idiot who thinks the world’s only 6,000 years old, or whatever it is they believe. I didn’t see what damage it could do, so I said OK."

"Royce, I don’t know why, but I have to say, I’ve got a bad feeling about this."

"Well, I’m not exactly thrilled myself. But I also figured that if I turned him and his money down, not only would we lose the additional funds, but he could put up a huge fuss that could cause us even more trouble. Off the top of my head I know of at least two of our larger donors who’re at least somewhat sympathetic to fundamentalists like Wilder. I was choosing – I hope – the lesser of two evils."

"An apt description. Let’s hope we don’t regret it down the road."

"From your lips," he replied, with a twinkle in his eye, "to God’s ear."