The bombshell that Felicity was alive and ready to fire back got the social media community ablaze. While Harrison and Prudence Anderson ordered their technical support team to shut down all her pages and jam the frequency so she couldn't be heard, they were an hour too late. Instead, seconds after Felicity's blog entry, dozens of other hams around the world who knew her plight offered their bandwidths, and live audio streaming on their related websites. And setting up live video streaming to boot. As did many of her fellow gospel singers, apologetics ministries, and a lot of Catholic sympathizers. And to her delight, even a major free speech think tank run by an atheist (who believed Felicity had the right to speak her mind) got their resources geared up.

In other words, there were now hundreds if not thousands of mirror sites and frequencies, which Peter kept updating at a fever's pitch on Felicity's website, between their making love several times.

No one was going to silence her now.

In the biggest surprise of all, even Roxanne got through to Felicity via instant messaging. She quietly told her that while it was illegal, there was a section of spectrum normally used by emergency services in New York City that was actually down for a few days during the latest round of digital upgrades and it was free for her to use – not yet knowing of course Peter was orchestrating the operation. Peter picked a few channels there that would also carry well.

It was two hours before nine pm and Peter and Felicity had finished making love for the sixth time in the last twenty-seven hours. At this point they were almost totally spent, but they knew they had a show to do. So, they went into the shower, lathered each other up for another half hour while making love yet again, and finally got down to business.

As Peter made the last preparations to sync up all the frequencies and mirror sites to his and Felicity's respectively, Felicity at last made her choice of wardrobe. It was a gold jacket and skirt, which she chose in honor of one of her heroes, Corazon Aquino and her successful bloodless "Yellow Revolution" in the Philippines in nineteen eighty-six after Ferdinand Marcos tried to steal the election from her – and Felicity's way of saying she wouldn't back down, not now. With this, she also picked the yellow shoes, nail polish and lipstick. She made a point, however, of wearing the red bra, panties and stockings. That red bra was defiantly showing through her cleavage. As she explained to Peter, the gold covering indicated her knowledge, the red meant action – in other words, attach the messenger and see what happens.

"Brilliant, sweetie," said Peter. "Are you ready?"

"Sure," said Felicity. "How much time?"

"We're on in five, but we turn on the frequencies and video feeds at two; then play the interval signal a minute later." They kissed. She took her place behind her desk and microphone, and in front of the camera, while Peter ran through the last sound checks.

Nothing the Andersons had tried to shut down their mortal enemy had worked. Finally the reining monarchs of the Word of Faith movement just decided to let the woman have her piece of mind; then they'd do her in.

Around the world, millions were tuning in and watching. In Stockholm from their listening post, and after making love at midnight for two hours, Ruthie and Lisa, having napped for just under another two and who were now sitting up again and their naked bodies touching each other and wrapped by a king sized blanket, tuned into the first frequency. Just static. Lisa thought of perhaps trying the mirror channels.

"No Lisa," said Ruthie. "Peter knows what he's doing. Trust me."

"All right," said her lover. "Looks like the video feed's on too – test pattern."

Finally the static cleared up. A red light indicated the frequency was active. Another sixty seconds of silence.

Then the interval signal. A heavy metal riff of the first four lines of an early nineteenth century piano and vocal song.

"The Erlking!?" Lisa loved the Schubert music grafted to a Goethe poem about a kid stalked and then murdered by an elf that the child's father thinks is just a figment of the imagination. But whoever was playing this now was just butchering it.

"Not my first choice, Lise," agreed Ruthie, "but it does set him and me apart from the cloud."

At the end of the riff, a recorded voice, that of Peter, said, "This is Alpha Lima Tango Tango Delta Bravo Nine, Alpha Hotel Charlie Six; Saint Louis, Missouri, United States of America. RP Consultants Group, the voice of reason and sanity in the end times. We will be pleased to provide a QSL card. Please send your reception report including your location with coördinates if available, and the time of the reception in UTC and send it to: RP Consultants Radio, Box seven two three five, Saint Louis, Missouri, six three one oh seven, United States of America. If you are in the United States, please include a self-addressed stamped envelope size sixteen or larger with two domestic stamps. If you are from outside the United States, please include a self-addressed envelope size C-five or larger with two international reply coupons. And if you are an amateur operator, please let us know so we can get a QSL from you!"

"Why two stamps or coupons?" asked Lisa to Ruthie. They were watching the YouTube channel which was showing a test pattern along with the audio. The video was broadcasting the same audio background.

"Our QSL card doesn't fit into a business sized envelope," Ruthie replied. "And the dimension it does fit into, makes it oversized even if it looks like it isn't."

Five seconds of silence, then the Erlking riff again.

Then Peter's voice again, this time live: "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen to our listeners and viewers around the world. This is a special broadcast of 'Felicity and You' tonight, coming to you live from Enid, Oklahoma, United States of America. We tell you this because she has nothing to hide, and nothing to fear. At the sound of the tone it will be exactly two hours UTC."

A loud beep then sounded.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, the number one Southern Gospel and Contemporary Christian singer, number one religious and inspirational author, and the number one radio and television talk show host in Christian television today, America's moral leader: Felicity Foster Hunter!"

The television test pattern changed to black for two seconds.

Peter turned the camera on, signaled Felicity that she was on the air, and blew her a kiss for good luck.

"Good evening, brothers and sisters!" said Felicity, with a huge smile on her face.

"I wonder how she got that smile?" said Lisa sarcastically.

Ruthie winced.

"It has been twenty-six days since I last spoke with you. In my last broadcast, as you all know, I delivered a special message to Harrison and Prudence Anderson who jointly operate the largest Christian network in the United States, if not the entire world. I am not going to repeat what I said then, it's a matter for the public record and is widely available. You also know what Pastor Anderson said. And while he can offer a plausible and deniable explanation, there is no doubt about how he ended his editorial. And since every point of reference referred to in the speech were criticisms of things I have made of him and his wife over the years, that the closing line was definitely about me.

"So, look, let's be upfront. I'm not going to press charges. Why should I and why would I want to? It would detract me from my work which is to spread the True Word of our Lord and Savior in the best way I know how.

"Doing that, also means being forthright about yourself. And while I believe I am entitled to a zone of privacy just like any celebrity, I also believe that to speak truth to others you have to be faithful to yourself. This is why my lay ministry has always published its annual report online and had it fully audited by a truly impartial arbiter who has the ability to conduct surprise forensic audits during the year. For that matter, I even go further and put out my personal tax return online. With all the receipts. Nothing to hide, unlike some other people."

Felicity paused. She had rehearsed what she would say next. And while it hurt, she had to say it. And she would not cry.

"While I was in hiding, or something like it," she continued, "there was only one person in the world who I trusted to keep the secret that I was alive. It was my intention not to speak until towards the end of the year, once I got a better sense of where I wanted to take this ministry next and it would be he that would let the world know I was still alive. However, it was through this one person that another came forward. It turns out the third is a friend of my friend and it was he who encouraged me to come out of my shell and to fight back now.

"I am not going to say at this time exactly when the contact was made or the circumstances how we met. I am also not going to give his name either, not yet. But suffice it to say, he is a married man, a younger married man, a minister of the Word and the Sacrament; and his wife is also a minister. Both love Jesus more than they love even each other. And in the course of his assisting me in preparing for tonight's show – well, he and I committed adultery. Several times. I'm not proud of it, and neither is he. I have sinned, and I am sorry. Especially to a woman who I've come to admire and respect during this time – the man's wife. A woman who has made it her life's goal to help her common man, and – like me – cast off the chaff that poisons the grain of the Holy Word.

"Words cannot express how sorry I am, sister. And just because I'm not crying doesn't mean I'm not sorry, because I am!" Felicity paused, catching her breath. She leaned her head into her right hand for ten seconds. "Your husband is also, and he'll tell you that. And when I see you soon, I will tell you sorry personally so you know I am. But we both are imbued in The Work, the True Work, and if you help me reach my goal, I'll help you reach yours. We are only as strong as we are united, as weak as we are divided."

In Anaheim, the Andersons were laughing as soon as Felicity began her confession.

"Can you actually believe this hypocritical whore?" said Harrison.

"Another one bites the dust!" cackled Prudence, opening up a bottle of 40 year whiskey and planning to down it in one sitting.

"Dad, Mom," said their daughter, Hope, a minister who unlike her parents went to an accredited seminary, and unlike them wasn't laughing, "Pastor Hunter – soon to be the Reverend Hunter, she wouldn't say this if she didn't want to get caught. Certain preachers in the past, we kicked off the network because they hid their skeletons until they had their boxers or panties down. And whether we like her or not, she has never sold her services, so she's not a whore. Promiscuous, maybe, but not a prostitute. Saying what she did is gutsy." Hope had some personal secrets of her own, that slightly endeared herself to her rival.

"What are you getting at?" asked her mother.

"I'm not taking her side, Mom. But if I did something like that, I'd want to clear the air so I could free my head too. Besides which her ministry is chump change to what we take in. She's putting it all on the line tonight. 'What is past is prologue,' and she just delivered the preamble to her main talking point. And my guess is we're not going to be the only targets.

"And the only hope we may have to stop the short term hemorrhaging if our followers and our brother and sister ministries' followers, want their money back, is telling them they have made pledges they still need to fulfill and if they don't we'll tie them up in small claims court – or by a collection agency. We'll still get seventy cents on the dollar."

"That just might work, Hope," said her father. "You're a genius!"

"No Dad ... just a preacher's kid who's also a preacher, trying to help. But thanks anyway."

Back in Enid, Felicity swallowed a glass of water and poured herself another glass from the pitcher.

Then she was ready for her sermon.

"There is no point in going ad nauseum about every single thing every wrong preacher has said and done. I have done that for a few years along with so many others. And it gets us nowhere. So instead, I'm going to get right to the point. I reaffirm everything I said four weeks ago. I am not taking it back. And as far as the British Israelism movement and my address two months ago, I reaffirm that as well. The transcripts for both are available on line at my website – you can read them yourself.

"What really has me hot and bothered, however, is what is being done with other people's money. I'm not so much talking about the sowing a seed scam, which it always has been. No, I'm talking about donations made just to run the ministries themselves, and the total lack of accountability with many of them.

"I have said this before, but I'll say it again, that if a ministry is willing to open its books then it is willing to engage with the community. If it does not, it is a cult. Perhaps this country's most celebrated minister, someone so beloved by Protestants as well as Catholics, is continuing his hot streak of ministry going into his seventh decade. He has always been clear who he is. He still lives in his home in the mountains, a humble cabin, and not in an extravagant mansion. True, I have a nice spread, about four thousand square feet, but it's because I plan on having a lot of children in the next few years, both my own and those I will adopt, once I find the Christ-centered husband I know Jesus has waiting for me."

No Felicity, thought Peter. No way. No effing way. I really enjoyed our screwing each other, and I'll always love you for that. But after this show, it's over. Really over. Ruthie and I are going to work this out. And even if we don't, and you and I do end up together, she'll never let you adopt the kids. Shared custody, maybe even the same house, but adoption, no.

"The man I speak of, and he needs not be named because you know who he is, also openly reports his revenues. He took in about a hundred million last year, has about four hundred million cash and equivalents on hand and total assets of nearly seven hundred million. His salary? Four hundred thousand bucks. That's it. A lot of money compared to what most people make, but his stipend is also set by an outside board of auditors. Not insiders. And his board of directors are all outsiders, except for two – his son and his daughter, both of whom are preachers themselves.

"He's always built bridges, always demanded racial, social and economic integration at his Crusades. And he's kept it simple. Find salvation through Jesus Christ. Not the dollar. And he's never said anything about prosperity because there's nothing to talk about. Or denying people their prosperity by making them hand over their money, denies them the simple path to salvation."

At last, Felicity controlled the agenda. But she was only getting started.

"I have never understood why a church would want to keep its books closed. Especially those with the glass walls. If you want to look out into the world, you'd better be damn well ready to have those on the other wise demand to look in through a transparent window and not a frosted or mirrored one. But after all this time, and after speaking over and over such that I feel I may be wasting my breath I shall instead present only candid facts to be reviewed by a candid people.

"Years ago, when Alfred Dreyfus was railroaded by the French Army's courts-martial, Émile Zola issued his famous 'J'accuse'. Tonight, to all of you who have crossed me over the years, I make this editorial reply. It is based not on innuendo, but actual facts and investigation conducted by me and my team of private investigators, the following accusations. This is my true bill of indictment."

For the next eighty minutes, and with the assistance of a suite generated slide presentation created by Peter and set to change slides automatically with a timed transcript, Felicity made no fewer than twenty-seven specific allegations – twenty-one against the Andersons, and other six aimed at a British Israelism sect just an hour's drive from where she lived and who lived in an even greater bunker mentality. For each, she produced documentation obtained through her sources. At the sixty-five minute point, she dropped a huge bombshell – just before she holed up, she delivered the entire dossier, writ large, to a federal grand jury that had convened in Dallas six months before to investigate three dozen ministries, including her own. She conceded that about two hundred seventy thousand dollars of dirty money had made its way to her coffers but as soon as she found out she was being set up, she immediately turned the money over to prosecutors.

At their parsonage, Shelby and Rod were watching on her laptop along with their daughters as well as James and Heather who were being babysat during their parents' absence. It was only half-way through the dissertation that Shelby finally realized who was the invisible hand behind the broadcast.

"Peter! Peter's directing this. And he slept with Felicity! How could he do that to Ruthie? And what did he possibly tell her with the stuff he's gotten with his security clearance?"

"Shel," said Rod, "he wouldn't say a word. I know him. He and Ruthie both know about discretion. But what Felicity told him at first would have overlapped a lot of what we've covered – as well as Lisa and Tom. He figured she also had the smoking gun we've all been looking for, and she's more than showing it now! And if she's gone to a grand jury already, we're at least a quarter of the way there. If they fell in love, that's their problem – but if Felicity said she's sorry, that's really big of her."

"Mom, Dad, Maighread – and James and Heather," Rhiannon asked her parents and sister and friends, "twenty bucks Aunt Ruthie didn't sleep with Lisa."

"No bet!" came the chorus.

In New York City, Chandler and Roxanne were watching the broadcast with their daughters. They were all marveling at a woman who had nothing to hide and was going for the jugular. At one point Roxie openly asked why she wasn't running for President, she was just one year above the minimum age requirement and seemed to have the ability to solve intractable programs. But she and her husband weren't ready for what happened next.

"Mom ... Dad ..." Rita's voice was shaking. "You know our babysitter, Emilio?"

"Yes," her parents said.

"Um...I know this is going to be hard to believe, but four weeks ago, he ... he ..." Rita started to cry.

"The asshole raped both of us!" snapped Cathy. "And it's been going on every time he's been here, three times a week!" And she started to cry too.

"WHAT!?" screamed Roxie and Chandler together.

They pounded their fists on the table, then hugged their daughters, weeping too.

"Why didn't you tell us until now?" asked Chandler.

"We were afraid to," said Cathy. "We didn't know what to say, or if we could, when. And it gets even worse."

"How could it possibly?" Roxie was beyond inconsolable at this point.

"He's Hope Anderson's ex-boyfriend," replied Rita, "or so he claimed to us. A week ago, when he made me have sex with my sister – and it was even worse than him being inside of us – he was laughing, then he said he was sitting on a hundred and twenty million dollars that he stole in precious metals trading three years ago, and he tithed to Aunt Ruthie and Uncle Peter's church to evade income taxes."

While Ruthie and Peter weren't their real aunt and uncle, of course, the ministers had always treated the girls as if they were their nieces as much as their real nephews and nieces through Ruthie's older siblings.

"When Felicity announced her broadcast," Rita continued, "Emilio told us if we said anything about the money, he'd kill us – and you! He then skipped town. We tried to call him to say we weren't going to be bullied ... but he was using a disposable SIM card."

"Wait ... " said Chandler, "...did you girls just say this coward parked twelve million of stolen money at Ruthie and Peter's church?"

"Yes!" chorused the sisters.

"Well, there's still eight million more to be accounted for," analyzed Roxie, "but if I had to make a bet, maybe another pedophile has done the same for the rest. Maybe a BI. But who would his – or her – victims be?"

"I don't even want to know," said Chandler. "Girls, we believe you, but those are strong allegations. Can you prove he said all of this? And what he did to you?"

Rita ran to the hutch, and after pulling aside a few books, pulled out a video camera. She grabbed some latex gloves Cathy had thrown to her, and nudged out the data card.

"Nanny cam," grinned Cathy. "You thought we'd take chances with strangers?"

Roxanne was ebullient. She grabbed the phone and dialed her precinct captain so the family could be rushed to the station to file a report.

Chandler was also delighted, but realized there was one missing point.

"Girls, you should have told us right away, so we could have gotten you to a hospital for rape kits!"

"Way ahead of you, Dad," replied Cathy sadly. "We got them right after number eight, on the way to our weekly tutoring session. They're at the lab, ready to go."

"Fantastic!" said Roxie. "I'm proud of both of you. Dad is too! Not only did you stand up for yourself, you may be the fifth column Felicity Hunter's been dreaming of!"

"Uh, Roxanne," said Chandler, "not to nitpick, but a 'fifth column' is someone on the inside who undermines the whole. I think what our daughters have in mind, is that they want you and the other members in your precinct to call your colleagues in Anaheim to get to Emilio's ex, Hope. My read is she's always been the more doctrinally sound minister in an otherwise heretical ministry. She may have broken up with Emilio because she found out he's a prick. Or if not, was into movies that were way beyond hard core – videotaped simulated rapes or even snuff films. We get her to talk about him, she then talks about the role he may have had at her church and why she dropped him or if he was driven out ... and then the house of cards starts to fall."

"Let's hope she does talk, before he rapes any more innocent children – if he hasn't already!" said Roxanne, angrily.

The parents hugged their daughters, and promised no one would ever hurt them again. And Roxanne and Chandler were shedding a tear for another reason – they were going to tell the girls their mother had had a really late "late" day and was now four months along and they were going to have a brother; but that happy news would now have to wait.

Meanwhile Felicity was wrapping up. She finally ended her broadcast with these words:

"I have presented my evidence. This is verifiable, this is truth. I have more, about your personal lives, obtained through a private investigator not connected to the private eyes who helped me gather the evidence presented tonight. My next broadcast is in two weeks, the day after I finish my divinity degree that I have earned by correspondence from the University of Tulsa. As the soon to be Reverend Felicity Foster Hunter, and head of my ministry which will be reset as a church, I do not want to engage in smears. I will give you a chance to admit your sins, as I have mine tonight. If not, I will let it rip, and there will be no mercy – not from me, not from man, not from God.

"Thank you all for keeping the faith, and all your prayers. I have not realized until the last two days, just how many friends I have – even among those who are not Christians, and those who have no religion at all! The Lord bless you and keep you, the Lord make His face shine upon you and be gracious unto you, the Lord lift His countenance upon you, and give you peace. And may the Lord make you a blessing. Until next time, I'm Felicity Foster Hunter. Advance."

The broadcast ended. The feed terminated, and the frequencies were vacated.

"Thank you, darling," said Felicity to Peter.

"You're welcome, Felicity, but you understand this is the end," Peter replied. "I have to save my marriage with Ruthie, if I can."

"What about my telling her I'm sorry? I said I would!"

"You'll have to come to Saint Louis, at your own expense. And unless things get out of control with the investigation, I'd say wait at least a week, please."

"Okay, Peter, I understand. Are you okay?"

"Never better!"

"I guess you'll be packing up?"

"Yeah, I'll be gone before dawn. If you need me for anything, other than sex, you have my cell. I'm on call like any minister. I hope you remember you have to be starting a fortnight from now."

"Good night Peter," said Felicity quietly, "and again, mega thanks!"

"Good night, Felicity," said Peter, "and good luck."

He and her loaded up his gear into the van. They shared a hug and a final kiss, a strictly platonic one, and went to their separate bedrooms, but just two hours later he tiptoed out of his room, headed to the van, and drove straight back to Saint Louis. He only stopped once, for a four am breakfast and tank refill, before arriving back at his parsonage at dawn. He knew it was time to face the music – from his children first and foremost.

Shortly after, Felicity woke up and saw Peter had already left. She could not understand why Peter couldn't discern what she knew in her heart - they belonged together, forever.