bolt. He looked like a football player on his way to the Beaux Arts ball.
He raised his implements into the air as a sign that the services were about to begin. The crowd went wild. Smiling broadly, he handed the trident and the lightning bolt to the woman, who was similarly attired in diaphanous white gauze, which silhouetted her curvaceous body in awesome detail. The woman knelt to receive the props, exposing a scandalous portion of her ample bosom.
"Good Lord," Father McConnell said in spite of himself.
Reverend Artemis posed like a statue as the roar of the crowd subsided. The woman blew Dinah Shore kisses to the troops.
"My children," Artemis intoned, "we are gathered here this evening to praise the holy name of the one true God."
"Praise God!" the recruits shouted.
"And to condemn the evildoers who worship falsely."
"Death to the false gods!" the recruits screamed.
"For our nation is plagued with the evil spread by the false gods and their demented followers."
"Death to the followers of the false gods!"
Father McConnell noticed that the recruits were reading their responses from huge cards held by the woman on stage.
"And only through the strength of our military might may we hope to banish evil from our land."
"Praise God!" they shouted. "Hail Artemis!"
Father McConnell could not believe his eyes. That was what it said on the card: "Hail Artemis."
"Haü Artemis!" they yelled. "Hau Artemis!"
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r
"No," McConnell whispered. "Oh, dear God . . ."
He began to back away through the press of bodies toward the exit, but he was restrained by two burly soldiers carrying billy clubs.
"Let me go!" Father McConnell hissed. Instead he felt the cold metal of handcuffs slapping shut over his wrists, and felt his body borne high above the heads of the congregation as the guards carried him forward.
"What have we, o sentries?" Artemis boomed. The crowd was still.
"A heretic, most exalted Lord Artemis, God of Gods." They set McConnell down at the feet of the white-robed pastor.
"What say you?" Artemis boomed, staring at McConnell.
Father McConnell cleared his throat to speak. No sound came out. He tried again. "I am Father Malcolm McConnell of the Roman Catholic faith, chaplain to the Fort Wheeler United States Army Base," he said. His pronouncement was met with boos and Bronx jeers and shouts of "Infidel!"
"Are you come to make amends for your evil existence as a tool of the corporate-military oppressors?" Artemis asked.
"I most certainly am not," McConnell said. "What you are practicing is blasphemy, and it cannot be condoned—"
"Death to the evil messengers of false gods!" someone screamed so loudly that his voice cracked. And then the tent was teeming with enraged soldiers stampeding toward the handcuffed priest.
"Halt!" Artemis said, raising the neon lightning bolt offered by the woman in white. Instantly, si-
40
lence fell over the throng. "Clear the circle. It is time."
A hushed buzz filled the tent. "Time for what?" Father McConnell asked, feeling his sweat pouring from his armpits. "Time for what?" he repeated.
A lone soldier worked his way through the crowd to the edge of the circle surrounding Father McConnell. It was Sergeant Grimes. His hands were in his pockets, and he smiled. "Exorcism," he said softly. "That's what the Sunday evening services are for. I was in charge of getting you here, devil priest."
Father McConnell's eyes widened. "Sergeant Grimes," he whispered.
"Your kind's not long for this world," he said. "Not if we have anything to do about it." A buzz of assent circulated around the sweltering tent.
Artemis raised his hands for silence, and the crowd was still. "Before we cast out the evil in the demon follower of the false god, we will purify ourselves with the taking of the Cup," he intoned. The woman in white scurried behind a curtain and reappeared with an enormous silver chalice filled with red liquid. Artemis took it by its two handles and spoke in a voice of deepest authority.
"You are the soldiers of Artemis, about to take the first step toward destroying the oppressors of this nation," he said. "The flag of America proves its devil worship by bearing thirteen stripes. From the beginning has it been a repository of evil on earth. You did not enter this army to die for the devil-worshipping politicians."
"No," came the thundering response.
"You did not enter this army to march into distant lands to wage war on innocents."
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"No," the men yelled, looking as one thousand-eyed animal at the cup in Artemis's hands.
"You did not enter this army to see your nation's poor and helpless beaten by the corporate-political system."
"No!"
"And now I ask you: Why did you enter this army?"
The recruits looked among themselves, bewildered. "I will tell you," Artemis whispered. The crowd listened raptly. "You joined the army to find the one true way."
Cheers.
"Put your faith in me, o Lambs of Artemis, and I will show you the road to glory."
"Praise Artemis," they shouted.
"I will take you all to a promised land, where you may serve men of greatness. Even as I speak, that land is opening up to you, awaiting your triumphant entry. And that land shall be called Vadassar."
The room buzzed with excitement. "Hail Vadassar!" the men shouted.