You Have Been Murdered!
Romans VII XI
Michael Scopus
You Have Been Murdered!
Romans VII XI
Copyright © 2019 Michael Scopus. All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations in critical publications or reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without prior written permission from the publisher. Write: Permissions, Wipf and Stock Publishers, 199 W. 8th Ave., Suite 3, Eugene, OR 97401.
Resource Publications
An Imprint of Wipf and Stock Publishers
199 W. 8th Ave., Suite 3
Eugene, OR 97401
www.wipfandstock.com
paperback isbn: 978-1-7252-5143-4
hardcover isbn: 978-1-7252-5144-1
ebook isbn: 978-1-7252-5145-8
Although certain historical characters and facts are presented in this book, the story itself is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is coincidental.
All Bible verses taken from the King James Bible.
Visit the dedicated website: www.youhavebeenmurdered.wordpress.com
Manufactured in the U.S.A. 11/15/19
Preface
This book, although ostensibly a work of fiction, is a modern parable containing thoroughly researched biblical and historical truths. It explains to non-Christians what True Christianity is and elaborates to Christians who the God of Creation is. It also importantly explains to all who the devil is, what he has done, and how he works in our world today.
The main reason for writing this book is to confront the dominant modern atheistic paradigm and to present faith in God not as the reverse of logic, but logic itself. The book sets out to challenge in a ‘real-world’ setting some of the strongest arguments for not believing. And it challenges Christians to examine themselves to see if they are in the faith, whether they are following Christ or doctrines of men and Church traditions. The book also summarizes all of human history and warns of the eternal consequences of rejecting Jesus Christ as the Son of God.
For sin, taking occasion by the commandment,
deceived me, and by it slew me.
—Romans VII XI
Prologue
Inverness, Scotland
The city is quiet. It is nearly 9:00 am on Boxing day morning but Inverness is still bathed in twilight as the sun has not yet risen. Suddenly the still of the morning is broken as a small white van appears, racing over Culloden Bridge with its engine roaring. David brakes hard and turns into the first street on the left. A few seconds later Reggie’s gold Mercedes comes roaring over the bridge at seventy miles an hour. Sid notices the cul-de-sac sign at the end of the street where David turned into.
“We got him now, Boss—that’s a dead-end street!” said Sid pointing out the road sign.
Jack screeches the Mercedes around the corner into the side street after the van.
The van screeches to a halt in an open car park less than fifty yards from an old stone-built church, the van driver’s door flies open, and David sprints across the car park and jumps over the low wall in front of him.
Jack screeches up behind the van blocking its escape as all the Mercedes’ doors fly open at once and Reggie and the gang spill out into the car park.
As the four men start to take off after David, Reggie grabs Jack by the arm.
“Jack, you stay with the motor!” Reggie barks, before taking off after the others.
In the yard on the other side of the wall, David squeezes through a gap in the fence and into an overgrown garden on the other side of the yard, as first Sid then Rick and then Reggie jump over the wall and into the yard.
Meanwhile, David lifts up a piece of old plywood lying in the garden and takes a shiny crowbar from underneath before running up the steps to the rear entrance of the old church. The door is padlocked with a chain and David uses the crowbar and levers the lock and chain free of the door. David quickly glances back and sees that the gang are close behind. He pulls the door open and rushes into the building as the door swings shut behind him.
Inside the old church, it is dark. The electricity supply has still not been reconnected. Jamal, Mustafa, and Yousef are unpacking the weapons which they had concealed under a tarpaulin that they will use in the attack at the shopping mall later that day. They are all dressed in Shalwar Kameez1 and as they work, their flashlights create shadows on the stained-glass windows. They stop as they hear the sound of someone bursting in the backdoor and running into the building.
“What was that?” Whispers Mustafa as they all look nervously at each other with the weapons in their hands.
“Maybe it is Afzal?” whispers Yousef weakly.
Jamal does not look convinced and silently cocks his AK47. The others copy him. Jamal puts his finger to his lips and motions for them to follow him.
Meanwhile, Reggie and his gang follow David through the back door of the old church, pulling out their pistols. David reaches the main entrance of the old church and pulls on the old oak door.
“Oh no you don’t!” Reggie bellows as he raises his pistol, silencer attached, aims at David, and fires.
1. The Shalwar Kameez is a traditional dress worn by men and women in South and Central Asia. The Shalwars are loose pajama-like trousers while the Kameez is a long shirt or tunic.
In the Beginning
Inverness, Scotland
The radio announcer was reading the news in a broad Scots accent: “According to a statement released today by Detective Inspector Morrison of Police Scotland, police have identified up to one hundred ‘ISIS’, so-called Islamic State, supporters in Scotland since the terror group rose to prominence.”
The announcer then modified his voice to a lighter tone and continued: “And in local news, traffic on the A9 approaching the south side of the city has come to a standstill as a lorry has jack-knifed shedding its load.”
David switched off the radio. The rain was falling gently on an overcast day in Inverness, Scotland as David drives the small white courier van over Ness Bridge crossing the River Ness and into the city center. He admired, as always, the hue of the red sandstone of the magnificent Inverness Castle peering over the tops of the trees in front of him. It appeared as if the low, gray clouds were almost touching the castle turrets. He revved the engine and geared down, speeding up to enable him to just pass the traffic lights at the end of the bridge before they changed to red. Entering into Bridge Street, he notices a place to stop on the left-hand side at the end of the High Street and parks his van on double yellow no-parking lines. He glances around to ensure there are no traffic wardens in sight and then presses the red hazard lights button on the dashboard of the van. Placing his Tottenham Hotspur’s football club cap firmly on his head he pauses to check himself in the rear-view mirror before stepping out of the van wearing his company issue yellow Hi-Vis vest over his jacket. Taking a parcel from the back of the van he strides off up the High Street on the pastel-colored paving bricks of the pedestrian walkway with the parcel safely tucked under his arm. Nimbly weaving his way through the crowds of shoppers without breaking his stride, he rounds the corner