The Harvest Read online

  “Now, here is the pivotal issue. We have arguably reached a satiation point on this particular level of Maslow’s hierarchy. If so, what is next? What will the next need be? Or the next set of needs? The critical aspect of the hierarchy not mentioned earlier is that our urge to satisfy our current need, whatever it may be, is as intense and all-consuming as was our need to feed ourselves, our need to protect our family, our need to survive. What will be the unfulfilled desire which is subjected to the intense spotlight of our collective hunger?

  “With the diminution of influence and control over the ‘arts’ of the pop culture, we have already seen the effect. In my lifetime I have seen married couples depicted on television who were not allowed to sleep in one bed. It was the rule. Dick Van Dyke and Mary Tyler Moore had twin beds. Today I can stop at a red light while driving my daughter to school and hear a song, broadcast on public airwaves, which celebrates the beating and raping of a girl.

  “The stage is set. We have created a network of computers with access to the Internet, television with access to hundreds of channels, cell phones with these capacities plus more. We have reached a satiated ‘need level,’ and the governor has fallen off the carburetor. We have billions of people on this planet who have demonstrated an ability to ‘get it done’ whatever ‘it’ is. We are truly at a crossroads. We can choose to plunge deeper into the abyss or we can, with some help, choose our next level wisely.

  “First of all, I’m not a prude, recognizing that denial has become a cliché among public speakers. But I wanted to say it anyway because it is true. This course is not going to be a litany of all of the horrible symptoms in society which have caused me to come to the conclusion that we are all going to hell in a hand basket. That’s not the point. And, as much as I’ve taken pot shots at the scientific method, I do plan on discussing, as objectively as possible, some fundamental ‘cause and effect’ scenarios. I don’t care which side of this issue you may be on; if you are intellectually honest, I believe you will see that the presence of religion throughout our history resulted in ‘A’ occurring, and since its diminishment during the twentieth century, ‘B’ has occurred.”

  Reese studied the faces of the class. Gone were the angry, clenched looks. Even Megan Mislin was sitting on the front half of her seat, her pen gripped and hovering over a forgotten notepad.

  “We are not talking about simple hedonism. This is not an issue of pleasure and gratification. The fundamental oppositional forces between religion and human nature have been utter and absolute selfishness, and the concept that there is an undeniable ‘someone’ who is above you. If you believe there is a God and God is your creator and your judge, it cannot help but temper your selfishness…your narcissism. Without the existence of God, there can be no authority higher than you. No king, no president, no dictator can truly control you…can truly lead you. If you are convinced you are intelligent enough, you will believe you can outwit societal authority, successfully conceal the most despicable of acts, and make each and every decision based solely upon how it affects you.

  “That is the reason for the secular wish to eradicate religion. If religion is gone, God is gone. If God is gone, the position is open.”

  Chapter Two

  Stu Carroll leaned back in his chair, balancing on the rear legs, his heels propped on the table. A line of more than fifty students waited patiently as he talked with the first. Reese Johnson was leaning against the wall, reading text messages, when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Turning, he recognized Dexter Mills, his department head. Mills was standing next to a breathtakingly beautiful woman with golden hair and a brilliant smile. “Great lecture, Reese. Welcome aboard.” Mills was extending his hand, which Reese took in a firm handshake.

  “You say that now. Wait until it hits the fan tonight on the TV news.”

  “There wasn’t a thing you said that the University can have a problem with.”

  Chuckling ruefully, Reese replied, “Oh, it won’t be what I said. It’ll be what they thought I said. It’ll be how they remember it. I’ve been through this, remember?”

  “That’s why I was here, to hear it myself. That’s why we taped it,” Mills said, pointing to the video crew.

  “Okay…let’s hope. So, you liked it?”

  “Liked it? I loved it.” He leaned forward and said in a mock whisper, “And so did Freddy.” Freddy was the “not in his presence,” informal name for the president of the University.

  “He was here?”

  “Back row. Called me on my cell, just before I walked over, to tell me I was right and you were a good choice.”

  Reese relaxed. It was good to know, at least so far, he had the support and even praise from the administration. It would be important in the weeks ahead as the other faculty ganged up.

  “Well, I just hope it lasts.”

  “It will, my friend. I’d like to introduce you to my wife, Nicole. Nicole, this is Reese Johnson.”

  She extended her hand. “A pleasure, Reese. Dexter has told me so much about you.”

  Reese could not help but notice her flawless complexion, accented by the subtle application of obviously expensive makeup. Her grip was gentle and soft. She was the type of woman who would cause Reese’s wife, if she were present, to insert herself between Reese and Nicole immediately.

  “The pleasure is mine.”

  Nicole began to respond, when Stu appeared next to them. “Professor Johnson, there are two gentlemen here to see you. They say it’s important.”

  “Stu, please, not now. Set an appointment for them.”

  Sheepishly, Stu said, “No. I think you should take a look at who they are before we try that,” handing Reese two business cards. His eyes went straight to the FBI logo, scanning next to the title. One of the two waiting was the bureau chief from Phoenix.

  “What’s up?” Mills asked. Reese handed Dexter the cards and told Stu to bring them over.

  “FBI? What the heck is this about?”

  “I have no clue, my friend. No clue at all.”

  Reese looked over as the two men walked toward him. He could not help but think of the movie Men in Black. The older one, who walked with a limp, was probably the bureau chief. He had the old-fashioned, J. Edgar Hoover FBI look with an expressionless face, neatly trimmed sandy brown hair, a sharp nose, and a well-defined chin. The younger agent, a black man, looked more like Denzel Washington than Will Smith, and actually smiled at Reese as they approached.

  “Professor Johnson, I’m Special Agent Reynolds, this is Agent Powell.”

  “Pleased to meet you. This is Professor Dexter Mills, our department head, and his wife, Nicole.”

  Reynolds nodded to Mills and his wife. “Sir, ma’am. Professor Johnson, may we speak with you in private for a few minutes?”

  “Of course. Dexter, I’m terribly sorry….”

  “No,” Mills said, springing into action a bit too hastily, and pulling out a large set of keys. “Here, I’ll open this office for you.” He turned and unlocked a door to a small office just off the lecture hall.

  “Thank you, Dexter.”

  “No problem. Uh, call me later.”

  “Thank you, Professor Mills,” said the FBI agent.

  The three filed into the room. Agent Powell closed the door behind them. After they were all seated, Reese spoke first. “What is it you need?”

  “Professor Johnson, we’ve been sent by our D.C. office to escort you to a meeting.”

  “Special Agent Reynolds, I’m sure from my past experiences with the FBI that there is no point in my asking you to call me Reese.”

  With no change in inflection, Reynolds answered, “No, sir, there isn’t.”

  “Very well. By ‘escort,’ do you mean I don’t have a choice?”

  “No, sir. Not at all. We have been told to make it perfectly clear to you that you may accompany us or not, at your own choosing.”

  “Can you tell me why I am needed for this meeting?”

  “I’m afraid the
y have told me very little. It is my understanding your particular field of expertise is…I believe the words used were…desperately needed to resolve an extremely sensitive matter.”

  “I’m flattered. My field of expertise is religion; I’m not sure how that would come in handy in the Situation Room.”

  Agent Powell finally spoke. “So, you’re a theologian?”

  Reese caught the quick glance Reynolds gave to Powell, obviously silently chiding him for jumping into the conversation. “No. Actually my degrees are in psychology and anthropology. The combination of the two seemed a natural for the study of religion and its impact on society. But I’m still not clear why you would need someone there with my specialty.”

  “As I said, I haven’t been fully briefed on this. I have been authorized to tell you that this is a meeting you would not want to miss. I can also tell you that you’re needed to help us authenticate a person.”

  “Special Agent Reynolds, I’m sure you read up on me a little before this meeting, so you know I’ve had some rather extensive dealings with your organization. I know for certain that a bureau chief, particularly from a bureau as significant at yours, would not be kept in the dark. I am a patriotic person, as well as an all-around good guy, but I am not going to hop on a jet with the two of you and fly off to Washington, D.C. based upon these vagaries. Who is it I am supposed to authenticate, and why is it so damned important?”

  Reynolds sighed, closing his eyes as he did so, almost as if he were bracing himself for something very unpleasant. “You’re correct, Professor Johnson; I have been briefed. We were attempting to obtain your presence in Washington without answering your question, to avoid jeopardizing your objectivity. If you are telling me you will not come with us without that information, I have been authorized to disclose it.”

  “Yes, Special Agent Reynolds, that is what I am saying.”

  “In that case, your second question as to the reason for its importance will be answered by our answer to your first question. The person, whom you have been asked to authenticate, claims to be…God.”

  Reese stared silently at the agent. It felt absurd to him to ask Reynolds to repeat what he had said. It had been spoken clearly and distinctly. The FBI did not send bureau chiefs out on practical jokes. Reese stood up and walked to the office door, opening it. Leaning out, he saw that Stu was still dealing with the line of students. “Stu, could you join us for a moment?”

  Special Agent Reynolds spoke up. “Professor, I don’t recommend bringing your assistant into this matter.”

  Sounding more curt than he preferred, Reese answered, “That isn’t my intent.”

  Stu Carroll reached the doorway.

  “Stu, I need you to break away from what you’re doing for a couple of minutes. Go to my office and look up the phone number for the FBI bureau office in Phoenix.”

  “I still have his card.”

  “Use the phone book. Call the office and ask to speak to the assistant bureau chief and make sure you obtain his name. When you get him on the phone, ask him for the name of his immediate supervisor. If it’s Special Agent Reynolds, ask him to fax a photograph of Reynolds to us.”

  “Wouldn’t you rather have him e-mail the picture?”

  “No, I would not. At that point, ask him where Special Agent Reynolds is supposed to be right now.”

  Stu looked both intrigued and confused. “How do I know I’ll get the assistant on the phone?”

  “Just identify yourself and tell them you are Professor Reese Johnson’s assistant. If that doesn’t work, hang up, and let me know.”

  Stu nodded and left, obviously consumed with curiosity. Reese walked back to the chair, noticing Reynolds flipping open his cell phone.

  “I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t do that.” Reynolds paused, snapping the phone back into the closed position with a muted click.

  “I was going to make sure….”

  “I know you were going to make sure everything went smoothly. Let’s just say I’ll be more convinced if Stu is able to get your number-two man….”

  “Woman.”

  “Whatever, woman, on the phone without your help.”

  Reynolds smiled for the first time. “The fax is a nice touch.”

  “Internet rerouting and intercepts are a little too easy. People are focusing on playing games with Internet technology. They’ve pretty much left fax machines behind. Anyway, while we have some time, I have a few questions.”

  “I’m sure you do. Unfortunately, what I’ve already told you is, substantially, the extent of my briefing.”

  “Have you met this person?”

  “No. This has been a strictly D.C. operation.”

  “How did you come across him?”

  “He came to us. Walked into the Hoover Building and asked to speak to the Director.”

  “That’s odd. I would have thought that he was someone your people had picked up running some sort of a scam. So, he walked up to the front desk, asked to speak to the Director, and when asked his name, he just said ‘God’?”

  “Not exactly.” A cloud passed over Reynolds’ face for a moment. “This part is a little sketchy. Apparently he asked the front desk to relay a name – I don’t know what name it was – and very politely asked the receptionist to make sure the Director was personally given this name. When she asked the nature of the visit, he asked her to convey that it was personal. Whatever name he gave did the trick.”

  “So they waltzed him right into the Director’s office?”

  “Not exactly. Two agents were sent down to check him for weapons and bombs. He was fingerprinted, with no match on file. Face recognition came up with nothing. We’ve taken a DNA sample, and we’re waiting to see if we get a ‘hit’ on that. In the interim, he has been placed in a VIP interrogation room.”

  “I’ve seen those rooms.”

  “That’s right. The Director did speak with him, as did two others.”

  “Two others?”

  Reynolds was beginning to look uncomfortable. “Again, I’m a little sketchy on this, but I believe the others were from the Bureau.”

  Reese contemplated all of this for a moment. Instead of providing answers, the facts were just creating questions, geometrically. He would obviously not get the answers from Reynolds.

  “Professor, do you mind if I ask you a question?”

  “Not at all, but look, we’re going to try this again. Perhaps with more leverage I can now accomplish it. My name is Reese. If you want me to go with you to D.C., that is what you will call me from this moment forward.”

  Allowing the slight smile again, Special Agent Reynolds answered, “Reese, it is.”

  “And what might be the diminutive of Special Agent Reynolds?”

  Still smiling, he answered, “Nicholas.”

  “Good. We are making excellent progress. And does anyone not in immediate danger of being pistol-whipped ever call you Nick?”

  “Only my stepson,” answered Reynolds, the smile suddenly leaving his face.

  Saddened by this brief glimpse into his personal realm, Reese continued, “Nicholas, it is. Please, your question.”

  “Your lecture really resonated with me.”

  “Thank you.” Reese was surprised. He expected the question to be about the mysterious visitor.

  “In my position, I’ve had the opportunity, actually somewhat a front row seat, to observe a lot of what you were describing. I’ve been with the agency for twenty-eight years and firmly believe things are getting worse, even though the statistics say otherwise. But until today, I’ve never been able to put my finger on exactly what I felt was happening. I remember when I first joined the agency, the old timers talked about the glory days of Capone. There was so much crime, and it was so visible. But it was, for lack of a better word, basic crime. It was greed-motivated crime. And the Bureau improved its techniques to fight that type of crime until our system became almost an art form. Since then we’ve enjoyed a fairly steady reduction in almo
st all of the crime rates we measure. It wasn’t until listening to your lecture that I realized what happened. It wasn’t what we did. That tier in the hierarchy simply became satisfied, didn’t it?”