The Ministry of Lies
“. . . a lying spirit . . .”
1 Kings 22.23
For longer than he cared to remember, Bezel had worked in the Ministry of Lies. It
was a dreary business, sitting at a long ebony desk with his fellow demons, whispering
into a bank of antique horn microphones, and Bezel often wished he could return to
a more active role as a practitioner in the art of human deception.
The lies the Ministry broadcast into the spiritual airwaves were tailored to different
segments of the marketplace. Bezel worked on what was called the Marxist desk. Although
his scripts, dealing with dialectical materialism and quoting endless economic statistics,
were unbearably turgid, they had been influential with the grey-faced leaders in
the Kremlin, who incorporated them almost verbatim into their own party political
speeches and broadcasts.
Bezel had seemed destined to rise to great heights in the Ministry, a fact that had
not endeared him to his colleagues or to his superiors. In truth, he was cordially
detested, and had even been accused of believing his own lies — the grossest insult
that could be levelled at an employee of the Ministry.
“Even you’ve got to admit, Communism has had its day,” said one of his colleagues,
on the Doomsday Cults desk. “You can’t expect people to swallow any lie for ever.”
“Communism will last until Armageddon,” said Bezel dourly.
“Dagor was saying that the way things are going at the moment, with the end of the
Cold War between Russia and America, there won’t be an Armageddon,” his colleague
replied.
Dagor was the Chief Controller of the Ministry of Lies.
“Dagor? He hasn’t got the brains of a toad,” said Bezel. “I tell you, if the Father
knew how incompetent and disloyal Dagor is, he’d prepare a special lake of fire and
drop him into it. Nice and slowly. And I’d be there to watch.”
Bezel’s colleagues enjoyed the diatribe against Dagor and adopted facial expressions
that subtly encouraged Bezel to go on.
But Bezel realised that his talk about the lake of fire had overstepped the mark.
To his dismay, he noticed that the red light over his microphone had been switched
on, indicating his comments had been broadcast into the airwaves. There was no way
of knowing whether or not Dagor had been listening in, but even if he had not heard,
it was all too likely that his comments would be reported back, with embellishments,
to the Chief Controller’s ears.
It was a with sense of foreboding that Bezel found himself summoned, a little later,
to Dagor’s office.
Dagor had never made a secret of his dislike for Bezel, and he wasted no time with
pleasantries.
“As you know, our Father has always taken a special interest in Communism,” he began.
“I regret to say he is deeply concerned about recent developments in the Soviet Union.
Communism has not been the success he hoped it would be. Communism was supposed to
wipe out religion, but the church is still alive and growing stronger.
“Our Father is worried that the collapse of Communism will create a spiritual vacuum.
The danger is that the Soviet people will turn to religion in a big way. The Christian
Church is well aware of this, and is preparing for it.
“In short, our Father is not at all pleased with these developments. He is planning
a comprehensive review of our Ministry’s performance. I need hardly tell you what
this means. There will be punishments — severe punishments — meted out at all levels
in the Ministry.
“You have given long and loyal service to the Ministry on the Marxist desk, Bezel.
I would be sorry to see you singled out for punishment ahead of all your colleagues.
The Claw is a dreadful punishment . . .”
Bezel trembled.
“The Claw? Our Father wouldn’t . . .”
“He feels an example has to be made. He has ordered the Claw to be made ready. The
Clawsman is training a new assistant. There will be a big crowd watching. I regret
being the bearer of bad news, but I feel you should know the truth, so that you can
prepare yourself for it.”
Bezel had turned white with fear. He felt as if an iron band had been clamped around
his chest.
“Please give me a second chance,” Bezel begged. “I’ll take on any assignment you
ask. Anything to regain the favour of our Father!”
Dagor’s face betrayed no emotion. He looked down at a sheet of paper on his desk.
“It so happens there is a way you may redeem yourself, Bezel. Our Father is looking
for someone to undertake a special assignment. Does the name Dr Atherton Grainge
mean anything to you?”
“No, I can’t say it does,” said Bezel.
“This Dr Grainge is a big-shot American preacher,” said Dagor. “He has a lot of influence
in the White House. According to our intelligence reports, Dr Grainge is planning
a fund-raising campaign to flood the Soviet Union with Bibles. I need hardly spell
out how serious this is. It could lead to a religious revival breaking out. Our Father
wants this stopped at all costs.”
“So you want me to terminate Dr Grainge,” said Bezel, thinking rapidly. “How about
an assassination? I could easily convince some psycho to do it. Or an automobile
accident? A plane crash? A fatal disease?”
A deep frown creased Dagor’s forehead, indicating that none of these suggestions
had found favour.
“We can’t touch him that way. Dr Grainge is under the special protection squad. This
is a job for a lying spirit. We need someone down on the ground who can get at him
indirectly.”
“A lying spirit?” said Bezel, scarcely able to believe his good fortune. “I was a
lying spirit before I came to work up here. I know just the way to get at this Dr
Grainge. I’ll orchestrate a sex scandal — put it about that he’s been having an affair
with some woman in his church. The trick is to get the ear of the media — the gossip
columnists. They love to get the dirt on preachers. I’ll also make out that his wife’s
had an affair with a film star or a big-shot politician. Even if the media just sow
the seeds of doubt in the public mind, the donations will dry up. No money, no Bibles
for Russia, no religious revivals!”
“That sounds exactly what our Father would want,” said Dagor. “I knew you’d be the
right person for this job.”
“It will be an honour to serve our Father,” said Bezel.
“If you succeed, our Father will see that you are richly rewarded,” said Dagor. “There’s
no need to go back to your desk. I suggest you leave straight away. Good luck!”
Relaxing later at the Hell Fire Club, Dagor got into conversation with a former colleague
and friend, Screwtape.
“How’s that fellow in your Ministry called Bezel?” asked Screwtape. “I’ve heard our
Father is very pleased with the job he did at the Marxist desk. He says it was a
remarkable achievement to have the Communist lie believed by so many for so long.
In fact, I’ve heard that Bezel’s in line for your job.”
“Bezel? He doesn’t work for the Ministry any more,” said Dagor. “He volunteered for
a special assignment as a lying spirit. He went down to target Dr Atherton Grainge.”
Screwtape blanched.
“Dr Grainge? He can spot a lying spirit a mile off. He’ll have Bezel bound and delivered
to the Place . . .”
“. . . of Divine Appointment. Exactly. Before you can say Hell’s Father. No prize
for guessing where Bezel is right now.”
“Bezel had it coming to him, but he’s no fool. Whatever made him volunteer for the
job?” asked Screwtape.
“It wasn’t difficult,” said Dagor.
A rare, mirthless smile crossed his face.
“I lied.”
