Chapter 12: Camp Meeting

Francine steered the drab Agency-issued sedan on the mind numbing journey from Washington D.C. to Paris, Virginia. Apparently the seasoned agent was in no mood for idle girl-talk or speculative shop-talk. After a few exchanges of pertinent information, she withdrew from conversation and opted instead for stoic silence.

Amanda decided to save her breath. Plagued by her frantic thoughts of Lee, she stared out the passenger side window. Each hill and dale of the rolling landscape passed in a blur of lush green fields, crystal clear ponds, and weeping willow trees. Somewhere in the bucolic landscape of stone farmhouses and white rail fences, Scarecrow may be tucked away - concealed from federal agents and hiding from his faithful partner. In his drugged state of amnesia and paranoia, Lee's colleagues and friends were now the enemy. Only God knew what unspeakable acts he may be poised to commit.

"Oh, Lee," she whispered, surprised that she'd uttered his name aloud in front of her relentless critic.

Francine's dour expression softened a bit, and she briefly turned her gaze on Amanda. "Don't underestimate Lee Stetson," she said with a fleeting smile. "Somewhere in his twisted mind, he still knows you care."

Amanda merely nodded, thankful for the kind words from her prickly companion. "Maybe if Lee can stay out-of-sight for another day or two, the drugs will wear off sufficiently for him to regain his memories."

"Or," Francine added, "We may spot Scarecrow skulking around the revival grounds. From what Billy said, Lee's warped mind is obsessed with all things religious."

Amanda cringed. "Well, he employed a lot of God-talk at the hospital until I corrected his perception about himself. Thanks to my efforts, Lee now knows he's not the religious type."

"Just the same, Leroy Simpson may show up looking for his wife," Francine said with a laugh.

Amanda felt a stab of guilt as her mind replayed the kitchen fiasco with Lee. "Unfortunately, Leroy Simpson clearly understands that I'm not his wife. I practically pounded the truth into his brain with a sledge hammer before he fled into the night."

Francine shrugged. "Well, you did what you thought was best for Lee. I won't second-guess your decision this time."

"Thank you," Amanda said with a sigh. "However, you know the Stetson motto - 'the truth is highly overrated'."

"Yes, Lee does prefer living in denial, and we both know he can be very difficult. I imagine his alter ego, Leroy Simpson, could drive a person to drink." Francine's colorful bangles jingled against the steering wheel as she reached for the radio dial. "I think we need a weather report," she added, redirecting their conversation. "A storm front seems to be heading our way."

Amanda turned her attention to the road ahead. Sure enough, darkening thunderheads mushroomed in the evening sky, and a stiff wind swirled through the trees.

Soon a weather bulletin interrupted the country music station. "Lines of severe thunderstorms are moving through the Shenandoah Valley, bringing damaging winds, golfball size hail, and dangerous lightening. Tornadoes have also been sighted, so be prepared to take shelter inside, away from windows. Please stay tuned for weather updates."

"Oh great," Francine said. "It's crazy to sit in a revival tent with tornadoes in the forecast. I don't suppose the preacher will cancel the service and send his loyal fans home."

"Not a chance," Amanda replied. "Reverend Armstrong interprets everything that happens as an act of God. He'll think the Almighty is choreographing the weather to set an appropriate mood for his sermon on the end times."

Francine sighed heavily. "Great, just what we need in a cyclone - a preacher who only cares about the afterlife."

Amanda eyed the threatening sky. "I'm beginning to feel a little like Dorothy in 'The Wizard of Oz.' I hope Scarecrow will find his brain and help us tonight."

Francine rolled her eyes at the storybook reference. "Sorry, Amanda, we're not in Kansas."

"Definitely not, but you'll need to follow the yellow brick road. See the turn up ahead. The campground entrance sign is painted to look like a golden street."

"As in heaven's streets of gold, I suppose. You have to be kidding." A groan emanated from Francine.

Amanda offered a tight smile. "Let's hope we both wake up from this nightmare, very soon."

Francine's jaw clenched with steely concentration as she steered the sedan into the revival parking lot. Already, thick storm clouds layered an ominous sky, and strong squalls whipped through the trees. Dodging fat raindrops, the two women hurried from the vehicle. Hanging onto each other, they bent into the wind as powerful gusts swept them into the flapping revival tent.

Stand By Me

"The wise man built his house upon the rock . . . . And the rains came tumbling down. The rain came down and the floods came up. . . . But the house on the rock stood firm." *

Belting out a favorite children's Bible song, the choir set an upbeat mood as Amanda ushered her companion into a row of empty seats. Gauging Francine's reaction to the unfamiliar setting, she was relieved to note her colleague's sincere attempt to blend into the crowd.

Tonight the senior agent downplayed her usual flair for high fashion. Neatly attired in white slacks, a yellow jersey and simple sandals, Francine almost mimicked a normal person. However, even with the casual suburban look, her professionally styled golden locks and perfectly manicured nails hinted at a woman of the privileged class and material means.

"Well, isn't this quaint," Francine murmured as she glanced at the bulletin with a twinge of amusement. "Who'd have thought something so innocent would merit a full-scale flap."

"Last night was anything but innocent," Amanda corrected.

A shadow encroached on their aisle seats. "Well, well, well, how nice to see you again, Mrs. Simpson."

Amanda's eyes shot up at the sound of the familiar voice. "Oh, hello, Mr. Abel."

"Where's Leroy tonight?" The perfunctory question lacked any show of concern.

Amanda forced a weak smile. "Ah, Leroy's a bit under the weather. I'll tell him you asked about him, Mr. Abel."

"Llewellyn, please," he countered. Looking passed her, his eyes sought out Francine. "And who has accompanied you tonight, my dear?"

"Oh, forgive my manners. Llewellyn Abel this is my, ah, friend, Francine . . ."

"Francine Redmond," the blonde said, never missing a beat. "It's Frannie to my friends."

"Frannie, it is," Abel crowed, sounding like a rooster at sunrise. His wide grin stretched from ear to ear.

Amanda watched in awe as Francine worked her prey. No one could trick a man into lowering his defenses faster than the Agency queen of seduction.

"Lew, may I call you Lew? Why don't you join us?" Francine's voice positively dripped with her best southern drawl. "Scoot over, darling," she sang to Amanda as they made room for the enchanted Llewellyn.

Abel hesitated. "As much as I'd love to join you ladies, I'm afraid that duty calls. I need to assist Brother Armstrong in his preparations. It takes a lot of willing hands to pull off such a big production."

"Oh, you're a servant of the Lord. What does a godly man like you contribute to the revival?" Francine laid her trap with compliments, couching her words with adoration. "Are you preaching, too?"

Brushing his hands over the front of his suit, Llewellyn shook his head. "No, not tonight. I'm strictly behind the scenes. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll finish rounding up the counselors for this evening's service."

"Counselors?" Amanda inquired, scanning the crowd for likely candidates. "Are there trained professionals here?" She watched Mr. Abel take a step back as she met his gaze.

"Ah, not exactly. We select counselors from our very best volunteers. A lot of folks will be redeemed tonight, and they'll need a guiding hand to live new lives."

Amanda saw an opening. "May we be of help? We'd love to be of service."

Abel seemed to weigh the offer. "Well, thank you, ma'am. That's mighty kind. I'll keep you in mind for some other task. Now, if you'll excuse me."

Watching Llewellyn's hulking frame lumber down the aisle and disappear behind the stage, Amanda turned to her colleague. "Francine, that's it."

"What's it?"

"Someone messed with Lee's mind the other night. He was not only beaten up, but he had drugs in his system."

"And?" The senior agent made no attempt to hide her disdain. "That and last week's Washington Post are old news. Tell me something I don't know."

"Well, think about it, Francine. There's no better opportunity to capture a willing audience than to invite the followers for counseling. However, who's to say what the counselors really do to the "saved."

"The who?"

Amanda bit her lip. Francine may hold senior status, but she was still a novice when it came to religious language. "I mean the born again - the redeemed." Seeing the Desmond scowl, she tried another approach. "Reverend Armstrong has an altar call at the end of every service. Lots of people go forward to make their commitments at the railing."

Francine put up a hand to stop the explanation. "I've got it, Amanda. Please spare me the course in Salvation 101."

Amanda swallowed hard. It was going to be a long night, and she didn't want to spend it bumping heads with her testy companion. "I'm sorry."

"No, don't be." Francine's relaxed her rigid posture and offered a reassuring smile. "Billy's right. You're the expert tonight."

Amanda's eyes widened with utter surprise. Her reluctant colleague had actually paid her a compliment. "Well, thank you." Feeling her cheeks flush with embarrassment, she hastened to drive her point home. "Maybe we'd better check out Mr. Abel's so-called counselors."

"And where do we find these counselors?"

"I don't know yet."

"You don't know yet?" Francine shook her head with amusement. "I guess we'll just sit here and wait for your intuitive lightning to strike."

It was Amanda's turn to laugh. "No, Francine. We'll wait for the altar call, so we can join the saved."

Redeemed

- "He lead - eth me, he lead - eth me, by his own hand he lead - eth me; his faithful follower I would be, for by his hand he lead - eth me." - **

The choir members sang the hymn with gusto as the faithful responded to Brother Armstrong's clarion call. Amanda kept a firm grip on Francine's elbow as she steered the unwilling blonde down the aisle toward the altar. Somehow her colleague had made it through the lengthy service. To her credit, she hadn't uttered one word of protest. Either the senior agent was suffering from profound cultural shock or she'd already developed an appreciation for the lively Gospels tunes.

Tugging Francine along, Amanda observed her pinched cheeks. She looked like a bewildered refugee just immigrating to a strange land. Obviously, Agency training was lacking in all things spiritual. Regardless, this was the unlikely team's ultimate test of improvisational acting. Their charade would have to be convincing if they wanted to be included in the follow-up counseling.

Francine hesitated at the front rail. With a sigh of desperation, she shot Amanda a doubtful look. "What do I do?"

"Just kneel and bow your head." Dropping to her knees, Amanda kept a watchful eye on her companion, praying she wouldn't bolt.

Tonight's crowd was the largest yet, so there were more of the devout to accept the preacher's invitation. Soon hundreds clogged the area around the altar, and assistants stepped forward to whisper words of encouragement to those who answered the call.

"Your sins are forgiven" roared Reverend Armstrong. He had no trouble being heard above the music of the choir and the prayers of his assistants. "You've been born again tonight."

Two powerful hands pressed against Amanda's skull. "Oh, Lord, we thank you for the redeemed soul." Without opening her eyes, she recognized the voice of Llewellyn Abel.

Francine squirmed next to her as Llewellyn moved his hands to her head. "The lost have been found. Praise the Lord." On down the row he went, praying for the converts.

"Right this way, folks." Abel had finished his prayers and was beckoning to several dozen people to follow him.

Leading the way, he herded them like sheep passed the pulpit and behind the stage. The so-called counselors appeared, descending with authority upon the shepherded flock.

Francine leaned closer to her ally. "What's going on?"

"Counseling, I guess." Amanda cast a wary eye on the volunteers. They looked more like prison guards than leaders in pastoral care.

"Ladies, if you'll follow me." Llewellyn motioned for Amanda and Francine to accompany him. "We select some of the faithful for the Kingdom Group. You're among the chosen."

"I don't trust this," Francine murmured to her colleague, "but let's follow his lead and see what he has in mind."

Amanda nodded in agreement. "What happens now, Lew?"

"A meditative walk," he answered, pointing to the outside. Abel's affable demeanor turned decidedly sour as he escorted his charges. Grasping their arms, he guided them around the sound system, out the tent's backstage exit, and through a maze of parked cars.

Thankfully, the rain had stopped, but another thunderstorm appeared on the horizon. Lightning flashed in the distance and the sky turned an eerie shade of green. Amanda bit her lip, worried about the threatening weather and the Agency back-up team. Would they be capable of following Abel's convoluted exit plan to reach them in time?

Suddenly an engine roared to life and a black sedan pulled alongside the trio. Bubba Bliss poked his head out the driver's window. "Need a ride, folks?"

"Ah, no thanks," Amanda and Francine chorused together.

Abel quickly changed their minds. Pulling a revolver from under his coat, he motioned them inside the vehicle and then climbed in next to Bubba. "Mind your manners, ladies." Grabbing their purses, he rummaged through the contents and confiscated Francine's gun.

Bubba couldn't resist a greeting. "Howdy, Missus Simpson," he said with a toothy grin. "That was sure some chase last night."

"Oh my gosh. Was that you, Bubba? And I thought your family seemed so nice."

"They still are. I'm the rowdy one in the Bliss clan - all for the sake of the Lord, you know."

Amanda defied him with a scolding. "God wouldn't approve of your choices, Bubba."

Francine rolled her eyes. "Spare us the sermon, Mrs. Simpson."

Bubba's demeanor turned grim as he watched Amanda from the rearview mirror. "I was really disappointed to catch your husband poking around the campground with his lady friend. I'm afraid we had to teach him a lesson."

"Shut up, Bliss," Abel commanded. "Just drive."

With a toss of her head, Francine challenged their captors. "You're not going to get away with our abduction. We have associates at the revival tonight. By now, they've most certainly missed us. It won't be long before they catch up."

"Don't count on it, Blondie." Turning his body to peer through the rear window, Abel seemed satisfied. "No one is following our car."

Seated shoulder to shoulder with Francine, Amanda leaned closer. "Wherever we're heading, I bet Lee is already there."

Francine barely nodded. "Stay alert," she whispered. "We may face enemy reinforcements. Let's hope Lee turns out to be our ally."

"Hey, hey," Abel protested as he glared at the women. "Anymore whispering and one of you will have to ride in the trunk."

Sliding away from her colleague, Amanda studied the deteriorating weather. She recognized all the signs of trouble brewing in the western sky. A low-hanging wall of dark bulbous clouds moved toward them and rotating debris swirled along the ground. Then hail the size of golf balls pelted the roadway and their car. "I think a tornado may be forming," she advised. "We should find shelter immediately."

Francine followed her colleague's gaze. "She's right. We're not safe in the car."

"Nice try, ladies." Abel nudged Bubba. "Speed up and make a right turn at the next intersection - if it's a tornado, we'll try to outrun it."

As the ominous shelf of clouds moved closer, Amanda continued to scrutinize the sky. In seconds, she saw it. A funnel cloud dropped into view, spiraling toward them.

Bubba slammed on the brakes and skidded to a stop beneath an overpass. "Get out, quick."

Tugging the arms of his captives, Abel pulled them toward the sloping cement wall. "Come on," he yelled as the rushing wind battered the foursome and nearly blew them off their feet. "We'll climb up under the bridge abutment."

Amanda resisted. "No, it's too dangerous. The underpass will act as a wind tunnel."

Francine made the decision for Llewellyn. Kicking him in the shins, she yanked free of his grasp.

Howling in protest, Abel released Amanda's arm.

Clinging together, the two women struggled against the approaching vortex that shrieked like a banshee wailing at impending doom. Staggering toward a deep ditch, they dove for the only possible shelter. Instinctively, Amanda and Francine tucked their heads into their bodies and covered their faces and necks with their arms.

Then, with a deafening roar, the twister touched down, sucking the very breath from their lungs. On an erratic path, the tornado barreled along the stretch of highway and pelted them with flying debris.

When the sound abated and the assault finally ended, Amanda cautiously raised her head. Still a bit dazed, she called to Francine. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," came the weak reply as the bedraggled blonde rose to her feet and picked fragments of rubble from her hair. "I must look a sight."

Amanda peered over the edge of the ditch and surveyed the devastation. "Oh my gosh!"

Nothing had been spared. Trees were twisted and denuded of branches and leaves. The hollowed out shell of a barn looked ready to collapse, and a battered home teetered on it's foundation. Large clumps of yellow insulation littered the countryside, and someone's roof sat by the side of the road.

"Any sign of Bubba and Llewellyn?" Amanda asked as she climbed from her refuge and started walking toward their crushed car. Along the way, she paused to rescue a battered teddy bear that may have been ripped from the arms of a small child.

"Be careful," Francine advised. "We need to find our captors before they find us."

Amanda motioned toward the overpass. "I'm afraid our revival friends may have gone to their just reward."

Francine frowned. "Let's hope not. We need them alive and well, so we can squeeze information from them."

Taking off together, the colleagues picked their way over downed powerlines and endless debris. Signs of life reappeared as other people crawled from wreckage and inspected the damage. Soon life throbbed again as dogs barked, babies cried, and sirens wailed in the distance.

Spying movement in a creek bed, Amanda stared as two men emerged from the stream. "There they are," she cried. "Abel and Bliss can barely walk, but they're alive."

Unarmed, the men didn't resist as Francine took charge. Stunned but compliant, they were in no shape to harm anyone.

Soon headlights appeared on the horizon and Agency vehicles screeched to a stop. As Beaman, Duffy, and Fielder rushed toward them, Francine greeted them with a wry smile. "Robin Hood's band of "Merry Men" are a little late, boys. Fortunately, my capable partner and I have the kidnappers under control."

Fred Fielder doffed his baseball cap and made an exaggerated bow. "We are at your service, fair ladies."

Amanda ignored the bumbling court jester. Turning in a circle, she scanned the countryside once more, searching for any sign of her partner. "I don't suppose Lee was spotted tonight?"

"There was no evidence of Scarecrow," Beaman said. "He was a no-show at the revival."

As the culprits were cuffed and loaded into the nondescript Agency sedan, Amanda detached herself from the conversation. Staring at the last remnants of the stormy sky, she made a sacred vow. By God, if she was granted one more chance to save Lee, she wouldn't waiver for a second. Whatever it took, she'd put her life on the line, even if she had to die trying.

TBC:

Songs: "Wise Man Built His House Upon a Rock," author unknown, and "He Leadeth Me," by Joseph H. Gilmore