The Last Judgment (4 page)

After a few chuckles the software CEO continued.

“Okay. Here's what I'm seeing. I don't particularly care for the UN's Norms. And I don't like their Global Compact. But isn't the intent behind these documents to force companies that do business in impoverished or oppressive countries to begin helping to enforce human rights for the local citizens, rather than just going in and making huge profits and ignoring the misery of the nationals—”

“So you
are
a bleeding heart—I'd always heard that,” the media magnate said with a smile.

“It's just that I look at it differently,” the CEO shot back. “I consider myself a corporate financier with a conscience. That's why I've set up all my foundations that help impoverished children, renovate urban ghettos—”

“Yes, we have all established foundations,” Mullburn interjected. “I know the good work you gentlemen have done. And I'm sure you're familiar with the many philanthropic activities I've done around the planet. I'm sure each of you is familiar with the recent article in
Fortune
magazine where I'm listed as the creator of more nonprofit, charitable foundations than any other single person in the world. Which is why I am a fierce believer in the global free-market concept. I believe people will ultimately be bettered by the ability of companies to vigorously sell their products, render their services, and make their profits, free of this high-handed intrusion by the United Nations. And my sources indicate that the European Union is soon going to be backing these United Nations Norms with their own enforcement mechanism. That's why those of us with international corporate interests need to construct a solid front—a unified opposition.”

After a pause, the investment banker spoke up.

“One unrelated question, Mr. Mullburn. But I would like an answer to it. My people would like to know whether you had any hand…directly or indirectly…in the arrest and imprisonment of Mikhail Khodorkovsky in Moscow. And please understand the question is not intended to impugn you. On the other hand, my people would appreciate a clear answer to that question.”

Mullburn leaned forward toward the camera and smiled broadly.

“Surely, sir, you don't believe that I have either the intent or capacity to interfere with operations within the Kremlin? Besides, from what I know of Russian entrepreneurship, it is a complex, if not Byzantine, maze from which no soul that enters ever exits safely—or alive.”

At that, the investment banker smiled, and the other two corporate giants chuckled.

For the rest of the video conference Mullburn smoothly guided the discussion toward a broadening of their coalition. To initiate the formation of a Global Economic Alliance—purportedly for the purpose of counterbalancing the attempt by the United Nations and the European Union to control the conduct of international corporate entities.

Yet each of the three attendees in the small conference room off the coast of California harbored their own suspicions. Concerns about Warren Mullburn's own private agenda.

At the conclusion of the conference the banker leaned forward, glanced down for an instant, then asked one final question.

“Mr. Mullburn, with all due respect, I don't believe that you directly answered my question. Did you have any role to play, in any way, in the arrest of Mr. Khodorkovsky in Russia and the stopping of his proposed oil merger?”

“Let me answer you directly,” Mullburn said with a tinge of sarcasm. “I had nothing whatsoever to do with that event. I have no contacts within the Kremlin. I have no ability to dictate policy to the Russian Federation. Does that satisfy you?”

The investment banker smiled courteously and nodded.

When the satellite transmission was ended, Mullburn strolled over to his desk in his palatial Caribbean palace and pushed the intercom button.

“Ginny?” Mullburn said to his secretary.

“Yes, Mr. Mullburn?”

“Get me Secretary Lazenko. Try his private direct line at the Kremlin.”

“Yes, Mr. Mullburn.”

“Oh, and Ginny…”

“Yes, Mr. Mullburn?”

“Tell him it's important. I'm not in the mood to wait.”

4

B
ILL
C
OLLINGWOOD AND HIS WIFE
, E
STHER
, were waiting patiently in the lobby of the Will Chambers and Associates law office in Monroeville, Virginia. Bill was a middle-aged man, short and wiry, with a tan, creased face. He was wearing a faded blue denim shirt, work pants, and rubber, stable-mucking boots that came up nearly to his knees. He was twirling a baseball cap in his hands, staring at the ground.

Esther, though the same age, looked older. She was pale and slightly drawn. She was wearing a plain dress with a slightly faded flower pattern.

Hilda, Will's secretary, called them both into the inner office, where Will greeted them both with a warm handshake, seated them, and dove right in.

“Sorry I couldn't talk to you at the banquet.”

“We understand, Mr. Chambers,” Bill replied in a soft voice. “It's just that Professor Redgrove recommended you. Very highly. Said you were the best lawyer he ever knew. And told us about some of your cases. Around the country, even in different parts of the world. And also it was very important that we knew you walked with the Lord.”

“I appreciate your confidence.”

“Now, we're actually here about our son, Gilead. Esther and I have always called him Gil. His full name is Hassan Gilead Amahn. We adopted him. What was he…about ten years old then, dear?”

“Ten and a half,” Esther answered quietly with a smile.

“You see,” Bill continued in his plain, soft voice, “Gil's from Egypt. His mother was killed there. Right in front of him. It was a terrible thing. She had converted to Christ from Islam.”

“Was that the reason she was killed?”

“Yes, sir. She was a martyr for the Lord Jesus. At first, when Jadeah—that was his mother's name—when she came to the Lord, well, it was an embarrassment, a great shame to her husband, Abul. His background was, unusually, Shiite Muslim—Shiites are a small minority in Egypt—though he was not particularly ardent or observant. But Gil's mother, Jadeah, after she got saved, was very open about the Lord. She shared her faith every chance she got. I tried to warn her to be a little more…more circumspect. But she was so excited…she just wanted to witness to every one of her Muslim friends.”

“You sound like you knew the family. Were you over in Egypt?”

“Yes. Esther and I were missionaries with Sudan Gospel Mission. The target area of the mission was Northern Africa and the Middle Eastern countries. We were assigned to Egypt. As you probably know, the Islamic nations are closed to the gospel and to formal missionary work. So we were sent to Egypt with day jobs. I worked with an American manufacturing company in Cairo. That's where I met Abul—he also worked there. He was a foreman, and because I had an engineering degree, I was his supervisor. So, during the day, I worked at the plant as a production engineer, and Esther worked in the office as a secretary. At night we led small, very secret Bible studies. Jadeah was the first person to come to Christ in that group.”

“How was she killed?” Will asked.

“I went over to visit that Saturday,” Esther said, “and I arrived just after it happened. Abul wasn't there at the time. It was so brutal. Poor Jadeah. She was walking on her way to the market. She lived in a pretty traditional Shiite neighborhood in Old Cairo. There had been a number of threats against her…the
sharia
law of the Muslims—depending on which mufti you talk to—
sharia
law gives Muslims the right to kill those who leave the Islamic religion.”

“Wasn't she still there in the street when you arrived?” Bill remarked.

“No,” Esther replied. “Someone had dragged her body into her house by then. But she was already dead when I got there. A group had attacked her with rocks while she was on her way to the store. She was hit in the head. She fell to the ground apparently. Then one of them poured gasoline on her and lit her on fire.”

There were a few seconds of silence as Will visualized the barbaric end of that unfortunate woman in Epypt.

“And her son—Gil—he saw the whole thing?”

Bill and Esther nodded solemnly.

Then Bill spoke up.

“Gil is why we're here. He's never been in any trouble before. Until now. But he was arrested the other night for starting that big riot with the Muslims—”

“Over at the Islamic Center?”

“Right. That's the one. Bless his heart, I just think he was there trying to share the gospel with those folks…but…well…you have to know Gil, I guess. He came to Jesus when he was eighteen. Now I call him our young Elijah—”

“Tell him about Abul, dear…” Esther added.

“Oh, yeah. Well, back about six months after Jadeah was killed, Abul had had enough of Cairo. He had an offer from a British company to work at one of their subsidiaries over here in the States—in fact, here in Virginia. Well, as the Lord planned it, Abul gets transferred and comes over here with Gil, and ends up only twenty miles away from where Esther and I were then living. See, shortly after Jadeah's death, Esther got real sick…malaria…she's been battling it for several years. So we left the mission field and came back here. Both of us are born and bred Virginians. I ended up working as a project manager for Roland and June Dupree, at their big horse stables. And I do engineering work
every year for the Gold Cup—you know, the horse tournament—and doing some handyman projects, troubleshooting jobs, here and there. Well, Abul runs into us here in northern Virginia. We invite him to church with us. He ends up coming to the Lord…and we got pretty close. Good friends. Then he was killed in a car accident. And in his will he stated he wanted us to raise Gil. So we adopted him.”

“Where is he now?” Will asked.

“They've got him down at the county jail. I was going to post bail for him. But the federal authorities are talking about holding him under some terrorist law—it's all Greek to me—but Mr. Chambers, our Gil is no terrorist. No way. If anyone deserves that label, it's that Muslim sheikh that Gil was preaching to, over at the Islamic Center…but certainly not Gilead.”

“How old is Gilead?”

“Thirty. As of just three-and-a-half months ago,” Esther answered.

“What has he been doing for the last few years?” Will continued.

“He graduated from Bible college. Then, I guess with a little prompting from us,” Bill threw a knowing look at his wife, “he enrolled in the same mission school Esther and I trained in before going out on the field. And we thought that he was being led in the same direction—the mission field. But then…in the last semester, he just dropped out.”

“Do you know why?”

“Not really,” Bill said. “We tried to talk with him about it. He didn't say a lot. But after he dropped out, he did accept a position as an associate pastor in a small rural church in West Virginia.”

“I was shocked,” Esther said, “when we first visited the church. It was a Sunday that Gilead was scheduled to preach…the head pastor was out of town…it was a small church up in the mountains. In a very poor area. I just wondered to myself,
How in the world can they afford to pay two pastors?
”

“Did you ever get an answer to that?”

“Well…more or less.” Esther gave a gentle laugh. “The fact is…I don't think they were paying him. There was a little apartment in the back of the church—a one-room affair. With a bed and a stove. And outside plumbing…had to pump water from a well. He was staying there rent-free. And folks in the church would take turns bringing him food every week.”

“Maybe it was his growing up in the poor section of Cairo as a boy,” Bill added, “but Gilead has never cared much for material things. He has always seemed content with very little.”

“So…he continued working there at the church in West Virginia?” Will asked.

“Yes,” Bill replied. “For a number of years. Until just before he showed up at that Islamic conference. I called the head pastor, Ralph Wyman, after Gilead had been arrested here in Virginia, and when all the news broke…I thought they should know, if they were looking for him. And Pastor Wyman said that Gilead had already given his notice and left the church, just before heading back here.”

After jotting down a few more notes, Will glanced at his legal pad to see if there was anything else he needed to glean from the parents.

“Well. That gives me a good background. Is there anything else you think I need to know?”

There was a pause. Bill Collingwood threw his wife a quick glance. “Maybe it's nothing…” he finally volunteered. “But…well…the last few contacts we had with Gilead—”

“Yes?”

“He would say, quite a bit,
Dad—the time is short.
And so I would ask him what he meant. But he really didn't explain.”