wasn't acting any more, that all this trauma was genuine. He cleared his throat again and settled into his seat.
Barnett leaned toward Jack, put a hand on his arm. "You'd be surprised how many visits I've had from people in our situation, Mr. Braun. Perhaps their presentiments were not as ... spectacular as yours, but I've seen a lot of people resembling you. Successful, outwardly contented men and women who gave no thought to the eternal until thev were touched by it. Perhaps a warning heart attack, perhaps a loved one killed in an accident or a parent suffering a fatal illness ..." He smiled. "I don't believe any of these warnings are accidental, Mr. Braun."
"Jack." He stubbed out his cigarette. He'd almost lost it there, he thought.
"Jack, yes. I believe there is purpose to these warnings, Jack. I believe the Almighty has ways of reminding us of His existence. I believe that in these narrow escapes you've had, there is a revelation of God's purpose."
Jack looked through his dark shades into Barnett's twinkling blue eyes. "Yeah?" he said.
There was a burning intensity in Barnett's china-blue eyes. "The Lord says, `Look unto me, and be ye saved, all ends of the Earth: For I am God, and there is none else."'
Look unto me, Jack thought: did Barnett mean God or himself? The preacher spoke on.
"Your wild card gave you a false belief in your own immortality, and the Lord has seen a way to warn you of its falsity, remind you whence true immortality lies, and spare you to do His work."
There was a knock on the door. As the sound pulled him out of his track, Barnett seemed to jolt slightly. He looked at the door.
"Come in."
Fleur entered with a Bloody Mary in a one frigid hand. "Mr. Braun's drink."
Jack smiled at her. "Call me Jack. Please."
She glared at him while Jack took the drink from her hand and looked into it under the rims of his shades to see if perhaps she'd spit in it.
"Thank-you so much, Fleur." Barnett didn't smile quite as warmly this time. His words were a dismissal, and Fleur obeyed.
Jack sipped his drink. It was excellent: apparently someone in the press room knew how to keep the journalists happy. "Is it good?" Barnett seemed genuinely curious.
"It's fine." Jack took a bigger swallow.
"I've never ..." Barnett waved a hand. "Well, that doesn't matter." Surprise rang through Jack at Barnett's wistful tone, precisely that of a small boy whose mother. won't let him outside to play in the rain.
Maybe, Jack thought, Barnett really hadn't had any choice in his life. :Maybe they'd all been made for him. Maybe the only time he ever did anything he wasn't supposed to was when he ran away to the Marine Corps.
Hell, he thought savagely. Nobody makes you run for president.
Barnett leaned back in his armchair, steepling his fingertips under his chin. His attention had returned fully to Jack. Jack looked at the preacher carefully from behind his big shades.
"I'd like to tell you about a dream of mine, Jack," Barnett said. His voice was soft, gentle. "The Lord put it into my mind some years ago. In this dream, I found myself in a giant orchard. Everywhere I looked there were fruit trees, all rich with God's abundance. There were all sorts of fruit in the orchard, Jack, cherries and oranges and apples and persimmons and plums-every conceivable variety all filling God's vast cornucopia. The orchard was so beautiful that my heart just swelled up with joy and gladness. And then--" Barnett looked up to the ceiling, as if he was seeing something there. Jack found his eyes following the preacher's, then caught himself. Stage craft, he thought. He took a healthy swallow of his Bloody Mary.
"And then a cloud came over the sun," Barnett continued, and a dark rain began to fall from the cloud. The rain fell here and there in the orchard, and wherever it touched, the fruit was blighted. I could see all the oranges and lemons turning black and falling from the tree; I could see leaves withering and dying. And more than that, I could see the blight growing even after the rain passed, I could see the darkness reaching out to try to taint the healthy trees. And then I heard a voice.
The preacher's voice changed, deepened, became stern. A chill surged up Jack's spine at the completeness of the transformation. "'I give this orchard into thy keeping. Unto thee I give