Before the Frost

Sometimes he thought Anna was not the one. In that case, he would have to have more children and select his successor from among them.

Westin wasn’t sure how Langaas found these houses that stood empty and unattended, but it was a matter of trust between them. Right now the house Langaas had selected was a villa in Sandhammaren that was conveniently isolated from its neighbors and belonged to a retired sea captain who was in the hospital with a broken leg. This house had the additional advantage of a small room in the basement. The sea captain’s house had thick concrete walls, and the room in the basement was well constructed, with a small window in the sturdy door. When Langaas first showed it to him, they agreed that it seemed as if the sea captain had a private jail cell in his home. Langaas had suggested it was perhaps meant as a bomb shelter in the event of a war. But why the thick glass window in the door?

He stopped and listened. In the beginning, when the drugs had worn off, Zeba had screamed, hit the walls, and attacked the bucket that they had put in for her to use as a toilet. Then, when she was quiet, he had peeked in through the window. She had been curled up on the bed. They had put a sandwich and a cup of water on a table, but she hadn’t touched it. He hadn’t expected her to.

When he looked at her through the window a second time, she was lying on the bed with her back to him, sleeping. He watched her for a long time until he was sure that she was breathing. Then he went back upstairs and sat down on the verandah, waiting for Langaas to arrive with Anna. There was still one problem to be solved, the question of what was to be done about Henrietta. So far, both Anna and Langaas had been able to convince her that all was well, but Henrietta was moody and unreliable. Once upon a time he had loved her, although that time lay wrapped in a haze of unreality. If possible, he would try to spare her life.

He looked out at the sea. People were walking on the beach. One of them had a dog, one was carrying a small child on his shoulders. I am doing this for your sakes, he thought. It is for you that I have gathered the martyrs, for your freedom, to fill the emptiness you may not even realize you carry within yourselves.

The walkers on the beach vanished beyond his sight. He looked at the water. The waves were almost imperceptible. A faint wind blew from the southeast. He went out into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water. Langaas and Anna wouldn’t arrive for another thirty minutes. He returned to the verandah and watched a ship slowly making its way west on the horizon.

True Christian martyrs were so rare now that people hardly even thought they existed. Some priests had died for the sake of their fellow men in concentration camps during World War II, and there had been other holy men and women. But in general, the act of martyrdom had slipped from Christian culture. Now it was the Muslims who called on the faithful to make the ultimate sacrifice. He had studied their preparations on video, how they documented their intentions to die the death of a martyr. In short, he had learned his craft at the hands of those he hated most, his biggest enemy, the people he had no intention of making room for in the New Kingdom. Ironically, the dramatic events that were about to take place would in all probability be attributed to the work of Muslims. A welcome benefit of this would be to provoke greater hatred of that faith, but it was unfortunate that it would take the world a while to fully understand that the Christian martyrs had returned. This would be no mere isolated phenomenon, no Maranatha, but a wave of true evangelical power that would continue until the New Kingdom of the Lord was fully realized on Earth.

He studied his hands. Sometimes when he contemplated what lay before him they would start to shake. But now they were steady. For a short while they will see me as a madman, he thought. But when the martyrs march forth in row upon row, people will understand that I am the apostle they have been waiting for. I could not have managed this without the help of Jim Jones. He taught me how to overcome my fear of death, of urging others to die for the greater good. He taught me that freedom and redemption only come through bloodshed, through death; that there is no other way and that someone must lead the herd.

Someone must lead the way. Jesus had done so, but God had forsaken him because he had not gone far enough. Jesus had a weakness, he thought. He did not have the strength I possess. We will complete what he lacked the strength to do.