29
Even at two o’clock in the morning, the superstore’s parking lot was a quarter full. Anthony ditched his notion of grabbing a parking spot near the door and settled on a well-lit area a couple of dozen yards away.
“We must be a nation of insomniacs,” he said. “I thought this place would be empty.”
“Honey, please,” she said. “Shopping is a compulsion for folks. I have girlfriends who go shopping no matter what time it is—it’s something to do, like eating or watching TV.”
Inside the massive, brightly-lit building, bleary-eyed shoppers wandered the wide aisles like zombies cursed to browse store shelves for the rest of their existence. Clerks shuffled the floor as if dazed, yet avoided making eye contact with customers, either too tired or apathetic to care. A couple of tired-looking young women were pushing giant carts with little children in tow, the kids’ heads drooping sleepily.
“There should be a law against bringing a child into a store this late,” she said. “What kind of parent does that?”
“They’re handing down valuable life lessons. Shop till you drop—literally.”
In the electronics area, they selected a basic, prepaid cell phone and three calling cards, each with a hundred minutes.
The main benefits of the phone were that they could activate it without giving a credit card number or name to the cellular provider, and they could purchase additional minutes as they needed them. Their use of the phone should be invisible to the zealots.
As they walked to the bank of cash registers, Lisa tugged his arm.
“Hold on, I want to look at something,” she said.
She led him into the Books department. The shelves were arrayed with popular fiction and non-fiction titles, including, he noted, several copies of his most recent novel in mass market paperback. In his current state of mind, it felt as though he were looking at a book written by someone else.
“What’re you looking for?” he asked. “Something to pass the time while we’re on the lam?”
“This.” She pointed to a flashy floor display for a hardcover book entitled The Keys to the Kingdom: Open the Doors to the Life You Want. It was written by a Bishop Emmanuel Prince.
The front cover included a color photograph of the author standing in an oak-paneled office. He was a lean, fair-skinned black man perhaps in his early fifties, clean shaven, with short hair, grey eyes, and the balanced, handsome features of a Hollywood A-Lister. He was impeccably attired in a dark two-piece suit, and he had a confident smile that displayed perfect, capped teeth.
Although it was hard to gauge his height from the picture, the length of his slender torso made him appear to be very tall, well over six feet.
As Anthony studied the photo, his stomach tightened.
“Who is this guy?” he asked. “I feel as if I’ve seen him before.”
“I’m quite sure you have. He’s all over the place. Books, DVDs, TV, radio, conferences, the works.”
“I never paid any attention to him, or any other preacher. Why’d you want to look at this?”
“Check out the publishing company.” She fished the Bible out of her purse and turned to the copyright page. The book had been printed by New Kingdom Publishing, Inc., which had an address in Austell, Georgia, a suburb west of Atlanta.
“I noticed it a little while ago,” she said. “I wasn’t sure it meant anything, but thought I’d point it out to you.”
He shrugged. “I’ve never heard of them.”
“The publishing company is owned by Bishop Prince’s church—New Kingdom Church International.”
A chill skipped down his spine.
“Seriously?” he asked.
“It could be only a coincidence,” she said. “His church might print and distribute millions of these Bibles, and Bob happened to pass this one on to you. It probably doesn’t mean anything.”
Anthony glanced at the bishop’s photo again, and once more felt that coiled knot of tension in his gut.
“What do you know about the church?” he asked.
“They’re in Austell, near Six Flags. It’s a non-denominational church. And let me tell you, it’s gigantic. Huge. The biggest church I’ve ever visited, by far.”
“You’ve been there?”
“I went there for a wedding, maybe five years ago. The place is literally a self-contained city. One of my girlfriends is a member, and she loves it.”
“But you didn’t?”
“It’s much too big for me. I prefer our small church, where you can actually
speak to the pastor. At New Kingdom, I hear they treat Bishop Prince like a movie star.”
“He sure looks like one.”
He picked up the bishop’s book. He traced the man’s chiseled face with his finger.
Something about that face unsettled him. But he couldn’t put his impression into words. It was only that, a deeply troubling feeling—like smelling something burning and being unable to determine the source.
He opened the book and skimmed the summary on the inside flap of the dust jacket.
Bishop Emmanuel Prince reaches one of the largest audiences in the U.S. and across the world—over 280,000 people attend his churches every week, and millions more tune in by television, radio, and Internet to hear his lessons of inspiration and wisdom. His fourteen books have sold over thirty million copies and are available across the world in forty-one languages.
In his new book, Bishop Prince lays out ten simple action steps that will help readers open the doors to the life they are born for . . . greater fulfillment in their finances, relationships, health, and spirituality. Incorporating key biblical fundamentals, personal testimony, and devotions in the easygoing, charming manner that has made him a beloved figure worldwide, Prince’s message will encourage, educate, and inspire readers from all walks of life.
“He’s sold a truckload of books,” Anthony said. “Funny that I’ve never heard of him until now. I need to get out more.”
“He was on the cover of Time,” she said.
“So was Osama bin Laden, if I recall.”
She scratched her head. “I don’t know, Tony. It’s hard to imagine that his church would be involved in murders and conspiracies. I’ve seen Bishop Prince on TV—he’s really charismatic, smooth, comes across as a nice, family guy.”
“Hitler was a charmer, too.” Anthony put the book under his arm. “Let’s go.”
“You’re buying it?”
“I’m intrigued.”
Before leaving the department, he plucked an Atlanta metro map off a rack, as he’d realized that he had no idea how to reach Mike’s rental in Roswell. In the past, he would have consulted his GPS-enabled cell for such information.
Technology made life more convenient, but it was also a crutch.
At the cash register, he paid for their items with cash. Although he usually used his debit card for most everything, he didn’t want to take a risk on the zealots hacking into his bank account, finding out where and when he’d used his card, and using the information to track him. Going forward, they had to operate on a cash-only basis. It might have been a paranoid measure, but it made him feel better.
“That’s an awesome book,” the cashier said. She was a young, freckle-faced woman who seemed hyper-alert at that late hour. “I love Bishop Prince. He’s anointed.”
“Anointed?” Anthony asked.
Her eyes shone earnestly. “God speaks through him.”
“Is that so? Then I guess I better read this right away.”
She grinned. “It’ll be a blessing on your life.”
“I could use a blessing or two.”
Walking across the parking lot, Anthony said to Lisa, “The preacher man has a lot of fans.”
“In the age of the megachurch celebrity pastor, he’s as big as they come.”
In the SUV, while she reclined her seat and got comfortable, he slipped the book out of the plastic bag and once again examined the bishop’s handsome countenance.
She yawned. “Can we go, please? I’m starting to crash again.”
He twisted the key in the ignition and pulled away from the store, his gaze straying, over and over again, to the picture.