Chapter Fifteen
JOHN KNOX SMITH pushed the ten-page report across his desk, then congratulated himself for not throwing it across the room, which had been his first desire. The report had been compiled by his chief-of-staff, Donna Lewis. It was well done; he expected nothing less from Donna. That didn’t he John enjoyed reading it.
“I assume that is a representative case.” His tone was icy.
Donna nodded. “I have a longer, more complete report I can give you. Some of the details are different, but the essentials are the same.”
“You conclude that the more radical people of faith are starting to pull together. With all the different denominations, I would have thought they would turn on each other, or at least keep to themselves.”
Donna agreed. “I supposed this falls under the Reagan Supposition.”
John cocked his head. “I don’t think I’ve heard of that.”
Donna looked a little embarrassed. “Sorry. I made up the term. No reason for you to have heard it. Back in 1987, President Ronald Reagan addressed the U.N. and said something about how all the differences that separate countries would disappear if the world came under attack by some extraterrestrial race. He said similar things off and on.”
“You’re saying that Bible-clinging remnants of the Baptists, Presbyterians, Catholics, Methodists, and all the others are uniting to fight a common enemy?”
“Yes.”
“And we’re the aliens?”
“In their eyes,” Donna said. “It goes beyond Christian denominations. As I mention in the report, Christians are stepping up to help Orthodox Jewish schools and congregations.”
Donna’s report used a small, Orthodox Hebrew school in Baltimore as an example. The school had come under fire for teaching Hebrew Scriptures, especially the Ten Commandments, as “truth.” Anti-religious groups complained when the headmaster, a well-known rabbinical scholar and author, taught a lesson in which he said, “Those ten laws are still relevant, every day of our lives. We all know people who violate those laws and commit sins, even though they know that God hates sin.” Then he said, “Sin in any form is an offense to God, and many of the things being pushed on young people by the popular culture—especially outfits like Pop-Teen Television Network, which promotes homosexuality and other types of sexual experimentation—are sinful and ought to be avoided at all costs.”
When word of that lesson made its way to one atheist parent, who happened to be a major stockholder in PTTN, the roof crashed down on the rabbi and the school. Threats and accusations were leveled at the headmaster and the school board. Soon the ACLU and IRS were brought into it. As the feud escalated, one parent, afraid for the future of the school, called the Alliance. Scott Freeman, the Alliance head, agreed to take a look at the situation. Within a few days, he sent Larry Jordan to investigate.
Larry visited the school and spoke to the headmaster. The Alliance agreed to take the case. This wasn’t the first time the Alliance had aided the school. Some of the city’s movers and shakers had been working for years to put the school out of business for other reasons. They tried issuing zoning violations, parking inadequacies, nuisance restrictions, and every other trick they could think of. In those early years, the Alliance stood by the Hebrew school, successfully defending every case brought against them and doing battle with the city. Larry led the charge and won each challenge—but not easily. It seemed to Larry that every case was a steeper hill to climb. In the end, the Hebrew school continued to exist and teach.
John rubbed his eyes. “I don’t mind losing the occasional case, but it galls me to lose a case like this. Especially to the Alliance.”
“And they did the work pro bono.”
John didn’t say it, but that galled him even more. Mounting a defense was extremely expensive. Many of the people and groups John and his organization hauled to court gave up simply because they could not afford to fight for their rights. The Alliance was taking away that advantage.
John thanked Donna, asked for the full report, then closed the door to his office after she left. He longed for a little alone time.
AS A RULE, the DOJ didn’t provide assistant attorneys general a staff car and driver except for official business during the day. However, because of heightened security concerns and the mission-critical status of DTED, Attorney General Stamper arranged for John to have a car and driver assigned to him. After agonizing over what to do with his old Mercedes, which was rarely driven and was becoming an eyesore and an embarrassment, he decided to sell it before he had to pour more money into repairs. The act was another way of severing ties to his past.
Since he wouldn’t be driving, it was unrealistic to go back and forth to Silver Spring every day. With the pressures of the job and all the complaining from Cathy whenever he was home, he decided to bring in an old leather couch and some bedding, and began sleeping at the office. He kept a change of clothes in the closet in his office, and there was an executive shower available. The department would have paid for a hotel room, but John decided it was too much trouble. He needed to be available at all hours, and for him those temporary quarters were the best option.
The longer this went on, the greater Cathy’s suspicions became.
“You’re having an affair, John. You might as well admit it. I know she stays late at the office with you. I see you texting back and forth on your smartphone.”
“Oh, for the love of… She’s my assistant, Cathy. Of course we text, and talk on the phone, and work late.”
“You’re having an affair. I can feel it.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I haven’t touched another woman. There’s nothing between Andrea and me.”
“That’s what I’m worried about.”
“Don’t be crude, Cathy. It’s beneath you.”
“And who is beneath—”
“Don’t say it. You want to know why I prefer to sleep at the office? This is why. I work long hours, grueling hours. You have no idea the stress I’m under. And when I come home, what do I get? Paranoid delusions, nagging, accusations, and complaints about the car, the house, everything.”
“You love your job too much,” Tears rose in her eyes.
“I do love my job, which is why you can know that I’m not having an affair with Andrea or anyone else. A thing like that would kill my career. I’m too smart for that.”
“Apparently you’re not smart enough to realize you’re sacrificing your family. You’re losing your son.”
“You’re overreacting as usual. Jack’s just going through a phase. It’ll pass.”
“You hope!”
“It... will... pass!”
That ended the conversation.
John’s workload was outrageous, with cases in litigation all over the country. It seemed the Alliance was there to meet him on the doorsteps of every courthouse, and he did all this without the support of his wife. He had once heard that if a bullfrog is dropped in boiling water it will hop out, but if it’s lowered into a pot of cool water which is slowly brought to a boil, it will remain in place until dead. He didn’t know if the story was fact or fable, but the principle rang true. He wondered if he was becoming that latter bullfrog.
John cut away layers of life until all that remained was the office and his consuming cause. He didn’t have time to squabble with Cathy; for the first time since the new legislation was enacted, DTED was getting effective resistance from some of the right-wing groups besides the Alliance. He had expected this all along, but expecting a confrontation and facing it were very different things. Once again, he had to deal with questions from the media he had never had to worry about before. He was constantly putting out fires. Andrea became his only trustworthy confidante, but there were still many things he wasn’t free to discuss with her.
AS WAS HIS custom, John Smith checked his calendar when he arrived at the office. Something new had been added. The initials next to the note said it had come from one of his PR people. To John, it was more than an app
ointment. It was another unwelcome disruption to an already too-full schedule. His press representative had scheduled an interview with a wire service reporter. It seemed he spent a third of his day turning such requests down, but somehow this one got through.
An hour later, the reporter arrived. She was tall with long brown hair that touched her shoulders. She had clear blue eyes but her face showed she could no longer be young. Andrea escorted the woman into John’s office and made introductions.
John stood and shook the woman’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Fay. I’m afraid I don’t have an abundance of time today, so we need to get down to it, if you don’t mind.” He motioned to a guest chair opposite his desk.
“Not at all, Mr. Smith. I expected you’d be busy.” She spoke in a way that made John think she was about to break into song. She sat, opened a large purse, and removed a notepad. “Straight to the heart of the matter, then?” She set the purse on the floor.
“Please.” John sat and watched Andrea walk away. Normally she would offer a beverage but that would only extend the interview. Andrea was good about picking up on such things.
“There are many citizens and some government leaders who believe that your officers and agents are overusing the show of force when you make arrests of nonprofit employees.”
John tried to smile as he spoke. It was not an easy smile. “I think you know very well why we go into places like that with a show of force. The reason we started doing this in the first place was because we knew there was a risk that someone could get hurt. I hope I don’t have to remind you what happened to Deputy Ronnie Lee Jefferson, who was gunned down in Nashville in one of those nonprofit places, a church to be exact.” John wondered how many times he had used this argument. It didn’t matter. Few could argue against it. “That brave man left behind a wife and two wonderful sons. How many more officers do we have to lose before people realize that it simply has to be this way?”
Ms. Fay’s smirk made John think she was playing games with him. “I suspect you’ll have a hard time convincing people that your average preacher is a menace to society.”
That infuriated John, but he maintained his poise, thankful the reporter couldn’t hear his heart pounding in his ribs. “We’ve found that virtually every one of these outlier churches has members who belong to the NRA. What does that tell you? These people are gun-owners; by definition they’re armed and dangerous. Why would any honest citizen need to have a gun?”
“Isn’t that a Second Amendment right, Mr. Smith?”
John sighed. “We hear that any and every time someone brings up the issue of gun control. It’s an old and tired misunderstanding of the Second Amendment. That amendment is about protecting the nation in time of war. It has nothing to do with butchery.”
“You think religious people have butchery on their minds?”
“Some do. We’ve seen it. These are people who spend way too much time thinking about blood and death and sacrifices. They worship a book that celebrates the wrath of an angry god, and their greatest heroes are people who had violent deaths. So why would anyone be surprised when they resort to violence to get what they want?”
“When you say ‘these people,’ you mean Christians?”
“Not exclusively.”
The reporter frowned. “When you speak of worshiping a book, an angry god, blood, death and sacrifice, it seems you have Christianity in view.”
“That’s just an example.”
“What other faith group could you use as an example?”
John began to seethe. “I’m not going to get into name calling. One example is enough.”
“Do you really believe it’s that serious?”
John started thinking about how he was going to punish the press representative on his staff who had allowed this fiasco.
“Think of the Crusades, the Inquisition, the Reign of Terror, and the crazy men shooting up women’s health clinics in this country. Any time these people wrangle their way into positions of power, everyone pays a price. It always leads to violence, and comes from their belief that they have the only truth and everybody else is doomed to hell.”
“Mr. Smith.” The reporter was almost apologetic. “I don’t mean to push you quite so hard, but, again, most people believe they have a right to their beliefs, and they also have a right to persuade other people that their way of thinking is correct and desirable.”
“The people you refer to are determined to crush all other beliefs. They’re carrying out a vendetta against members of the LGBT community. Their practice of conversion is nothing short of genocide. If they had their way, there would be no Muslims, no Hindus, no Buddhists, no Jews. They would wipe out all those great religions by forcing them to convert to their own bloody beliefs.”
The reporter started to speak but John wasn’t ready to yield.
“Worse, there’s a large segment of the Christian church that believes in ‘transubstantiation’ and such as a sacred part of their doctrine. Ever heard of that term?”
“Yes, I have—”
John wasn’t listening. “Look up ‘transubstantiation.’ That doctrine teaches that by the conversion of bread and wine into Christ’s body and blood, Christ becomes truly present in the sacrament, and thus, Christ Himself is really present and eaten. There’s a word for that: cannibalism. Who in their right mind would countenance a belief like that?”
“Excuse me, Mr. Smith, but only a portion of the Christian community holds to transubstantiation. Martin Luther taught consubstantiation, the idea that the blood of Christ is mingled with the wine of the Eucharist, and His flesh is mingled with the bread,” the reporter said. “And Protestants believe the juice remains juice and the bread remains bread. Neither is altered in anyway. It’s all symbolic to them—”
John cut her off with a raised hand. “Minor differences. What matters most is their centuries-old goals. The highest honor for a Christian is no different than for any terrorist group: Blood, death, self-sacrifice, wiping out entire populations by conversion. And they do it by emotional coercion and the elimination of anyone who doesn’t agree with them. Remember that their god was a martyr, hung on a cross. Is this the model they expect the rest of the world to follow?”
“And other religious groups? Do you disdain them as much as you do the Christians?”
John leaned back in his chair. His ire was rising and he needed a moment to calm himself. “This isn’t about religion, Ms. Fay. It’s about protecting the American public from hate speech and inequality. I’m not targeting any particular religion.”
“There are many who would disagree, Mr. Smith. I’m sure you sense the rising concerns felt by citizens and legislators. Isn’t it true that you’re being called before a committee in Congress to answer for the tactics of your team?”
The question landed like a punch from a professional boxer. How could she know? That shouldn’t be public knowledge.
A thin smile spread on Fay’s face. “A good reporter does background work, Mr. Smith. I’ve been talking to a few congressional aides, so I know about the hearing. I assumed you already knew.”
“Of course I knew, and it’s no big deal. I’ve been dealing with members of Congress for a long time, Ms. Fay. Many are my friends. The hearing doesn’t concern me. My team has nothing to hide and nothing to be ashamed of.”
She shrugged then rose. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Smith. I hope I wasn’t too much of a bother.”
John rose. “Not at all. Always a pleasure to entertain members of the press.”
She studied him as if she could read the lie on his soul. She left without a response.
The following Sunday the interview headlined the feature sections of both the Washington Post and the New York Times under the title, “DOJ’s Crusade Against Christ.”
John Knox Smith took to his computer and composed a scathing letter to the publishers of those papers. He wrote and rewrote the missive, each time deleting anything that could be considered sla
nder or liable and reflect badly on the DOJ. He also removed anything that smacked of the vindictiveness and anger he felt. Once done, he had no letter at all.
He had read Fay’s article several times and hated it more with each new reading. His quotes were word for word. As he thought about it, he recalled that she took very few notes. That meant only one thing: She had used a hidden recorder. John played her entrance into his office in his mind. She had sat when he offered her a seat, retrieved a notepad from her purse, then set the purse on the floor—and she left her purse open. She should have revealed that. Why hadn’t she? He could use that bit of misdirection to make the woman’s life miserable, but it wouldn’t change what he said, and the conclusion she drew.
He felt set up.