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            Cutty had never been blessed with a personal audience with the Prophet.  In his stunned mind, he thought the experience of being in the same space with the holy man was perhaps the equivalent of what Moses had felt when confronted with the presence of God in the burning bush. 

            He dropped to his knees and bowed his head. 

            Although the Prophet sat in a high-backed chair on the other side of the chamber, Cutty felt the man’s aura radiating from him like waves of intense heat, as if some sort of spiritual sun blazed in the man’s soul.  Fat beads of sweat appeared on Cutty’s forehead, and his palms, pressed flat against the cold tile floor, became clammy.

            “I am not worthy of this,” Cutty whispered, trembling.  “Am I in the correct place, your holiness?  I was ordered to meet the Director here.”

            The Prophet answered in the booming voice that had captivated millions across the world.

            “You are in the right place, indeed, Noah Cutty—exactly where God wants you to be.  I informed the Director that I wished to speak with you myself.”

            Words failed Cutty.  Mute, he kept his head lowered to the tiles, drops of sweat coursing off his brow and plopping against the floor.

            But questions stormed through his mind.  Did the Prophet wish to personally rebuke him for his failure to eliminate Thorne?  Was he going to cast him out of the ranks of the Armor of God and relegate him to a lowly role in the Kingdom?  Was he going to condemn him to hell for his ineptitude?

Please, have mercy on my soul, Lord, he prayed, feverishly.  Please ask your prophet to deal gently with me.  

            Cutty heard the Prophet push his chair away from the table, heard the thud of footsteps as the Prophet approached, and caught a hint of the anointed one’s scent—he smelled like divine power made manifest. 

            The Prophet touched Cutty’s shoulder.  Cutty flinched as a sensation like electricity buzzed through his muscles.

            “On your feet, Kingdom servant.  We will speak to each another as men of God.”

            Cutty inclined his head, and stood on wobbly knees. 

            The Prophet was six feet seven inches tall, which gave him nearly a foot and a half height advantage over Cutty.  His awesome aura served to make him seem even larger, impossibly huge, giant-like. 

            Before him, Cutty he felt no bigger than a ground-hugging insect.

            Cutty was dimly aware that they were not the only ones present in the softly-lighted chamber.  A trio of others lurked in the shadows, well-built men clad in white tracksuits, Armor of God agents assigned to the Prophet’s private security detail.  Although they worked in the same division, if Cutty had made a threatening move to draw a weapon or somehow harm the Prophet, they would not have hesitated to chop him down—Cutty understood this without needing to be told, for he would have done the same thing.   

            With a long finger, the Prophet directed Cutty toward a leather chair.  “Sit.”

            One of the agents pulled out the chair for Cutty, and Cutty did as he was told, thankful to relieve his watery knees.  Another agent handled the chair across the table for the Prophet. 

            The Prophet folded his long, slender hands on the polished tabletop and gazed directly at Cutty.  Cutty wanted to look away—looking into the Prophet’s dark eyes was like looking at your own terrible fate if you disobeyed God—but an unseen force held his head still, as if his skull had been placed in a vise.

            “You have been a loyal servant of the kingdom for twelve years,” the Prophet said.  “For the past eight, you have served as a soldier for God, in whatever capacity has been asked of you.   Yes?”

            “Yes.”  His voice was ragged, and he cleared his throat and said in a clearer tone, “Yes.  That is true, your grace.”

            “Faithful servants such as you are the foundation of the Kingdom.  The sturdy stones on which the Kingdom stands.  Without your service, our Kingdom would be doomed to crumble and wash away as readily as a child’s sand castle underneath the breaking waves of the ocean.”

            Listening to the Prophet’s mesmerizing voice, Cutty’s lips parted slightly, and he found himself tilting forward, entranced.

            If the Prophet had ordered him to place his Glock to his own head and pull the trigger, he would have done so without hesitation.  

            “Will you continue to serve our God as you have done thus far?” the Prophet asked. 

            “Absolutely.  Nothing means more to me than serving the Lord.  I’ll do anything required, I’ll die for God, for you.”

            The Prophet smiled.  He leaned back in his chair, slender fingers tented. 

            “God speaks to me daily,” the Prophet said.  “He gives me messages to deliver to the flock, in my sermons, in my books.  Have you read my most recent book?”

            “The Keys to the Kingdom?  Yes, I’ve read it—ten times.”  

            A nod of approval.  “What did you think of it?”

            “You shed light on many things that had sometimes perplexed me.  It was a blessing on my life.”

            “Thank you.  As I was saying, God speaks to me daily, and I share these messages in sermons, in written materials, and in other forms.  But those are messages intended for our global flock.  Occasionally, our Lord will give me a message that I am charged to personally deliver to only one servant.”

            Cutty remembered the stories of the Prophet appearing in a servant’s home, or servants receiving phone calls or e-mails from the Prophet.  Although he had known such things occurred, he had never imagined that he might one day be the recipient of such a communication. 

            The Prophet leveled his gaze on him. 

            “This morning, God gave me a message to deliver to you, Noah Cutty.” 

            “Me?” 

            “Do you wish to receive it?”

            “Yes!” 

            “You are to bring Anthony Thorne Junior here, to the Armory, alive and unharmed.”

            Cutty frowned.  “You want Thorne alive?  But the Director said earlier that I was to eliminate—” 

            The Prophet raised his finger, and Cutty’s words faltered in his throat as he realized the terrible sin he had committed. 

            He bowed his head and clasped his hands together in his lap.  He trembled as if expecting a bolt of lightning to crackle through the ceiling and strike him down where he sat.

            The Prophet said, “When God commanded Abraham to take Isaac, his only son, to a mountain top in the land of Moriah and present him as a burnt offering to the Lord, did Abraham ask God why?”

            “No, your grace,” he said, unable to meet the Prophet’s penetrating gaze.  “Abraham obeyed God without question.  Questioning God’s authority is a sin.  I beg your forgiveness for my trespass.”

            The Prophet rose from his chair and strolled around the table.  He placed his hand on Cutty’s shoulder as if they were brothers.  Cutty’s shoulder tingled from the contact.

            “Do what God commands, Noah Cutty,” he said.  “Serve him, and you will be blessed with the desires of your heart.  There is one servant, Maria Valdez, your partner, for whom your heart longs, yes?”

            Cutty’s lips quivered.  The Prophet knew of his feelings for Valdez?  He’d told no one about his growing affection for her.

            But the Prophet was God’s messenger.  He knew everything.

            “Yes,” Cutty said.  “I’m very fond of her.” 

            The Prophet chuckled softly.  “It is not good for man to be alone.  The man who finds a wife finds a good thing, for a good wife is the crown of her husband.”

            “I will serve God,” Cutty said.  “Please, forgive my doubts—Satan tried to lead me astray.”

            “The Adversary is busy at work, indeed, even within Kingdom walls,” the Prophet said.  “Rise now.”

            When he rose, the Prophet folded him into a warm, brotherly hug. 

            “God and I love you, Noah Cutty,” the Prophet said.  “We forgive you.”

            Cutty held onto him like a child embracing a father.  Warm tears slid down his cheeks.

            This was the most memorable day of his life—the day that God’s Prophet had personally called upon him to serve and bring the Kingdom glory.  If only Father could have seen him then.  He would have been so proud.

            The Prophet gently nudged Cutty away.

            “Go now,” the Prophet said.  “Be the warrior for the Lord that you were born to be.  God and I will be with you.”

            “I will not fail you.”

            Cutty almost ran out of the conference room.