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mow his lawn or empty his garbage. I’m only baptizing you with water, but when He comes, He’ll baptize you with fire and with the Spirit of God!
    He will look into your hearts and read them. He will separate you, saving the good and throwing the rest into the fire that burns forever!”
    As if on cue, lightning lit up the sky, followed by clapping thunder that echoed through the hills. The wind grew stronger. The storm was arriving. More people turned and gathered their things, preparing to leave.
    “Hey, Connie!”
    Conrad looked down and saw Gerald McFarland, a heavyset, balding man with soft, pudding jowls. He was a news producer/reporter for the Eternal Broadcasting Network, the country’s largest religious network. As usual, he was all grins and good ol’ boy charm.
    Conrad felt relieved to see someone else he recognized.
    They’d both entered the profession at about the same time and, over the years, had become friendly rivals—McFarland reporting with his religious bias and Conrad with his hopefully more objective outlook (though he knew there was no such thing as perfect objectivity in their business). McFarland had always struck Conrad as a strange mixture of grace and ruthless ambition. One moment the man was all care and compassion, like he was your best friend, the next he’d be stealing a story right from under your nose. Conrad knew that the man’s beliefs were sincere. In fact, one teary night at a bar, when Conrad and his first wife were separating, McFarland had almost gotten him to consider God.
    Almost.
    But there was something about McFarland’s “schizophre-nia” that made Conrad nervous. He knew the rules when dealing with other competitors . . . there were none. In TV
    journalism, it was every person for himself and that was okay, because everyone understood it. Everyone but McFarland.
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    soul or your story? No one knew. And, as near as Conrad could tell, sometimes neither did McFarland.
    McFarland shouted up to him. “Don’t tell me . . .” The wind had picked up, whipping and snapping Conrad’s clothes, drowning out some of McFarland’s words. “. . . is of secular interest, too?”
    Conrad yelled. “What?”
    “You here on business or pleasure?” McFarland shouted.
    “Pleasure?” Conrad yelled.
    “Didn’t you see her?”
    “What?”
    “Suzanne’s here . . . thought maybe you came because of Suzanne.”
    Conrad’s heart quickened. He hadn’t seen her in five, maybe six years, not since Julia’s wedding. “Suzanne?” he shouted. “Here?”
    “Yeah, got some nice shots of her being baptized.”
    Conrad blinked. What was she doing here? Sure, she’d always been the religious type, but—
    There was a brilliant flash of lightning, followed by an explosion of thunder.
    “Listen,” McFarland shouted, “I’m no rocket scientist, but I wouldn’t be standing on top of that knoll in this storm!”
    “Yeah.” Conrad nodded. “Thanks!” He slid down the hill to join McFarland. Giant drops of rain began plopping as he zipped up his nylon windbreaker.
    “I’m heading out of Sea-Tac tomorrow morning,” McFarland said. “Any chance of getting together and sharing notes on this guy?”
    Conrad didn’t know how to respond. Tell him he had no idea who the kid was? That he hadn’t the slightest clue where they were or how he got there? No, somehow he suspected that might be a bit more sharing than McFarland had in mind.
    He settled for something a little more vague. “Let me check what Ned has first.”
    McFarland nodded. “Right.” He turned and shouted over his shoulder, “I’m staying at the Plaza.”

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    Conrad nodded. “Got it.”
    The storm had arrived in full force. Now everyone was racing for their cars. Well, almost everyone. When Conrad looked back out to the river, he saw the young man still standing there. He was no longer