“And so, now, Secretary Wong,” he said, motioning for James Wong to join him on the platform, “it falls to you to receive the honor of being the first person on earth to declare here before this assembly that the Lord Mark Beaulieu is your god, and then to receive on your hand the mark that will, from this day forward, allow you to buy and sell and trade as a citizen of the world. Mr. Secretary, please come forward.”

The crowd cheered and applauded. Joyce Cumberland Wong whispered, “Jimmy, this is wonderful! You are to be the first in the world. Go, Jimmy! Go up and get the honor you’ve been working for all these years!”

James Wong walked forward through the crowd with his head down. As he stepped onto the platform, he lifted his eyes and looked around at the sea of faces.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “Mark Beaulieu is a man. Nothing more. He is not God. He is not divine. He has no power over your souls, and I do not believe that his spirit is inside this statue. I can’t tell you how it works, but I know it’s activated by a computer, and that’s how it’s able to mimic human behavior.”

Surprisingly, Tauriq Haddad did not attempt to stop or interrupt James Wong. His eyes burned like fire, but he simply smiled as the treasury secretary made his statement.

“I am a Christian believer,” James continued. “Jesus Christ is my Lord, and I will not acknowledge any other, even if it should cost me my life.”

There was hushed silence in the hall. Then the features of the statue changed to something hideously evil—it seemed more the head of a serpent than that of a man. Flames shot from its mouth, and both of its massive hands rose into the air: “Kill! Kill!” it roared. “He has condemned himself by his own words. Let him die in torment. Now!”

The men and women in the crowd were terrified but uncertain. What was happening? What had provoked this outrage?

Al Augustus was standing toward the back of the crowd, but he could do nothing now to help his friend. But never, for the rest of his life, would he forget what happened next. The floor beneath James Wong dropped open, and he slid down into a room below the temple floor. Before the floor sprang back into place, the agonizing screams of James Wong rang out across the vast marble hall.

For several chilling minutes, he screamed in pain from whatever tortures he was enduring in the chamber below. Guests stood mute, listening in agony and terror as his cries echoed against the walls of the temple. Then the sounds suddenly ceased with a sickening finality. An ominous silence filled the huge hall.