One last gasp, and he pushed the girl’s face away from him, his ululations ceasing at the same moment. He brought his armsaround in a wide circle to clasp his hands in front of him. He opened his eyes.
His deacons had caught the girl as she fell. She lay cradled in their arms like a newborn, her spindly, pale limbs drapedbonelessly this way and that. Branson reached out to her, his face clothed in a broad, reassuring smile.
The girl grasped his hand. Her grip was faint, and he could feel her trembling. Hosiah pulled her to her feet.
“Go now, and walk in God’s light,” he said, his voice amplified a hundred times by the microphone on his lapel.
The girl’s face collapsed into a mess of overwhelmed tears and red-faced huffing. Spotlights nestled in the ceiling high aboveflared into life, painting out a path for the girl to walk back into the audience. One of the Sisters appeared and took thegirl’s arm, gently escorting her away.
Branson was tired. It was good work, but draining. She would be the last for today.
He turned to face his audience: thousands upon thousands of people, arrayed in loose rows on the cathedral floor below him.Unceasing motion filled his view—people swaying, dancing, clapping their hands, all overcome with the glorious truth of theLord.
The sound of the crowd, somehow perfectly supported by the singing of the choir in their loft off to the left of the altar,rose to fill his cathedral, his beautiful stained-glass palace.
Branson lifted his hands above his head, and the choir held a long chord and abruptly ceased singing. The crowd quieted quickly,ready for what they knew was coming: the day’s final sermon.
“The Oracle,” he said, speaking softly, his voice picked up and amplified throughout the cathedral by his lapel mic.
A few shouts from the crowd—condemnations—but mostly hushed, expectant silence.
“The Oracle is a poison,” Hosiah continued. “That monstrous thing, peddling lies to this world through the Site. I am so,so sad—to my very soul—to see that some few small-minded, faithless individuals have been suckered by its con game.”
He paused, took a handkerchief from his breast pocket, mopped his brow. A deep breath, then a launch into the next phase . . .the red-faced, forceful blast of brimstone his audience expected.
“Exodus 20, verse 5. Thou shalt not worship false idols, for God will not tolerate any affection for other gods!
“Do you hear that? God will take his vengeance on those who worship pretenders. He is a jealous god! And rightly so, because he is the one true God, and woe . . . I say woe . . . to those who would challenge him!
“Exodus 20, verse 6. But if you worship the Lord, and obey him, he will grant you love, and care, and great prosperity forall your days!
“The Oracle is a tool of the devil—he may well be the devil, active in our daily lives in a seductive, novel fashion. The Site . . . giving us lies packaged as if they aregreat gifts. Is it any wonder that so many foolish people have bought into the devil’s game in these godless times?
“But in spite of all this, I am hopeful, my friends. I have hope, for I know that you, my soldiers of Christ . . . you arewell equipped to do battle with that sly trickster. You already have the only weapon you will ever need.”
Hosiah reached behind him and held out his hand, palm up. An attendant slapped a leather-bound book into his hand, makinga meaty, satisfying sound. Hosiah held the book up to the crowd, stage lights glinting off the golden words etched into itscover.
“Right here! The Word of the Lord himself! The Holy Bible!”
A resounding cheer rose up from the crowd, amens and hallelujahs and such. Hosiah noted his ushers circulating through theaisles with the collection plates.
“Denounce the Site. Denounce the Oracle, wherever and however you can. Know that I am with you in this fight, as are all ourbrothers and sisters around the world. God bless you all, and I will see you soon!”
Hosiah nodded to one of his deacons, a large man named Henry, and he and the rest of the men quickly positioned themselvesbehind him in a wedge with him as the point at the center. Television cameras on either side of the stage repositioned themselves,catching the scene from multiple angles.
Hosiah raised his arms heavenward. He knew the deacons behind him had done the same. They wore bright blue suitcoats and redtrousers, like a platoon of French Zouaves. His own little army, and him in a blinding white suit, brighter than anythingthe spotlights were putting out, standing out in front like a general, the focal point of the stage’s pageantry.
The lights cut out, and Hosiah slipped through a door set just behind and to the left of the stage, followed by his deacons.He entered a long, softly lit hallway. The carpet was a thick cream, and the walls were painted in exactly the same shade.As soon as the door closed behind him—the deacons stayed outside to make sure it stayed that way—the noise of the crowd vanished.The hall was thoroughly soundproofed. After the chaos of the stage, stepping into the hallway was like sliding into a bathof warm milk.
Branson walked down the hallway, through another door, and entered his office. He dropped heavily into the seat behind hisdesk, a sigh escaping his lips. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, pushing his glasses up toward his forehead. Letting themfall back into place, he ran that same hand across his hairless scalp. He grimaced, feeling a wash of sweat against his palm.
Hosiah checked his watch—just a cheap model, the sort of thing you could buy at a drugstore. It wouldn’t do to have the televisioncameras picking up anything too fancy. He reached across the top of his desk—an unadorned
