Blaze (15 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

THE OFFICE OF PRESIDENT HADI SAMANI, TEHRAN, IRAN

I
t had taken a bit of time for Hadi to clear the cluttered realm of his mind and heart to focus on his midday prayers. There was much to do lately, and he never seemed to feel quite on top of the ever-increasing workload that he chose to create for himself. His ambition was insatiable and his fervor knew no relent.

Hadi finished the last drop from his cup of tea and forced himself to physically push away from his desk. He would engage in his midday prayers in his office today. His prayer rug was new, and he attributed a great deal of superstitious favor to it as it was a gift from the Ayatollah. He kneeled facing Mecca and began his recitations.

“Oh Allah, I invoke my entire being to Your command. I submit all my resources and faculties to Your control and purposes. I pray that You hasten the emergence of the Promised One, the beloved Imam Al-Mahdi. The deliverer of Islam in this wicked world. The one who will cement the burgeoning Khalifa that You so desire, and have forever promised. I beg of You, Allah, use me in any way You prefer to assist in the quick return of the mighty Twelfth Imam.”

His mind focused for several seconds as he pondered the implications of the prayer he had just uttered. He began to shiver and shutter in eagerness for the coming of the Mahdi. Hadi Samani knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that he was born for the very purpose of being a key instrument in the implementation of global conditions that would quicken the return of the Mahdi, Islam's Messiah.

His work with the Russians and all the allied Islamic nations of the Middle East and North Africa had continued to accelerate towards that end, and he could feel the pleasure of Allah in his heart. As his inner joy intensified and he continued to utter further expressions of devotion to Allah and the Mahdi, an intense heat enveloped him. His eyes opened and felt an intense pain as a bright light pierced them. His head pounded with what felt like a migraine from hell. His heart began pounding maniacally. He became dumbfounded and was full of palpable trepidation. Something supernatural was occurring.

Blinded, Hadi screamed in pain and fear. A voice began to speak with a profound authority, “Hadi Samani, servant of Allah, true follower of Mohammed, faithful devotee, it is I, the Mahdi. I have come to make myself abundantly known to you so that you increase in strength and purpose. I am returning shortly. You will play a pivotal role in the facilitation of my return. Do not stop the good work you have begun. Carry it through. Push harder and stronger with all your plans. I am lurking and am near. The world will soon know the power of Allah by the miracles I will bring. The infidels will meet their just fate and the world will see the natural rise of Islam as Allah has always coveted. The caliphate will be fulfilled, but first, the world will suffer a necessary cleansing that will shake the very foundation of creation.”

Hadi struggled to catch his breath. Even as he was still unable to see, he replied to his Messiah as best he could, “Oh beloved Mahdi, I groan with hunger for your return and your rule over the world. Destroy the infidels and redeem Islam for Allah's joy. Use me to the fullest. Show me the signs of your coming and the marks of your reign.”

The mystical Messiah continued talking. “My return will be as described in the Hadiths. I will return in glory with my chief deputy, Jesus of Nazareth. The infidels of the world will be confronted with the choice to see the precious face of Allah and convert to truth, or resign to their death as enemies of goodness and peace. There is no other way for those who refuse to submit. The nations of the earth will also submit. There will be no leader, no tribe, no country, and no religion that will be spared from submission to Allah and the caliphate. Nations that fail to conform will be collectively sacrificed just as the individual infidels that resist. Jesus of Nazareth will dutifully eliminate the infidels that remain, in wonderful service to Allah and my return. Those who resist and refuse will face the beheadings they deserve and that Allah commands. Jesus of Nazareth will make clear the folly of those who mistook him as deity and he will seek out all Jews who refuse to submit to Allah until only a few are left hiding behind rock and trees.”

Hadi got curious. “Imam Al-Mahdi, subject of my devotion, how long will it take to restore the world to Islam when you return?”

“It will be accomplished within three and one half years. The world will, at that point, be re-ordered to the fullness and complete authentic glory of Islam. No impurity will be permitted. Jews, Christians, and all who have refused to convert will have been eradicated. Sharia will be the law of the entire world with absolute perpetuity. The official, and only, day of rest will be Friday. No longer will Saturday and Sunday be regarded as they have been by infidels. The Islamic calendar will be the only measure of our days, weeks, months, and years. The Gregorian calendar will be banned from use as an irrelevant tool of the infidels.”

“Oh beloved, where shall you set your post and make known your wishes?” asked Hadi with a trembling voice and a shaky posture.

“One of the cornerstones of the caliphate will be rooted in Al-Quds, along with my commanding seat in Kufa, Iraq. The city shall no longer be referred to by the blasphemous name of Jerusalem. This shall be accomplished by the shedding of the blood of our enemies, the enemies of Allah, the stubborn and cold infidels.”

Hadi was able to finally see a slight view of the Mahdi's face. It was glowing with a vibrancy that he would never, ever be able to shake from his mind. It was entirely not of this world. He continued, despite his sense of awe, to ask Mahdi questions. “Mahdi, beloved subject of all my desires and hopes, how will you persuade the world to your truth and Allah's laws?”

“My miracles will be many. From the moment of my emergence on a white horse blessed by the hands of Allah, I will show them Allah's power with my control of the weather and my dominion over the crops of the earth. All will bow to my abilities and to those of my deputy, Jesus of Nazereth. He will also display miracles that will be undeniable and will show any man of a right mind that it is only with Allah that real power and peace can be attained.”

“Oh Mahdi, please tell me more.” Hadi was salivating with the inside knowledge being intimated to him, despite his strong personal grasp on the prophecies detailed in the Hadiths.

“The Jews will first be lured into a peace treaty that we will agree to as a matter of necessity to accomplish the Caliphate. It will be executed with a Levite. It will be a seven-year agreement that we will never abide by. Yet it shall pacify Allah's enemies to the advantage of ultimate peace and satiation of Allah's will. However, the Zionists will strengthen their resolve against my rule when they are aroused by the Dajjal, who will be of Jewish blood, and will fool many with false miracles and deceptive speech. Take heart and press on with strength. I am coming soon, Hadi Samani.”

In a flash of light and smoke, the ghostly vision of the Mahdi disappeared and Hadi Samani collapsed into a pool of sweat on his prayer rug.

His body felt drained as if he had just run a marathon. His muscles burned and twitched. He struggled to catch his breath. He felt exhaustion deep in his bones and elation deep in his spirit. He lay there completely still on the rug for forty minutes basking in the afterglow of his first supernatural encounter with the Mahdi.

The time was near and he could taste the glory of the Messiah's return. It was Samani's duty and passion to prepare the Islamic Republic of Iran to receive its Messiah and lead the world towards the coming Caliphate with blood, confusion, deception and unspeakably horrific chaos of all varieties.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

ARASH JAFARI'S HOME, NATANZ, IRAN

A
rash's wife, Atoosa, had gone to bed. He sat in his comfortable armchair and pondered the state of his marriage. He adored his wife. He looked down at the Quran in his lap. He knew it inside and out, and used to pour through it regularly, but now its only value was to hide the Bible covered underneath—the Bible that he was just now beginning to really understand.

Arash had been staying up late almost every night and feeding on the words of the scriptures. His appetite for learning the Word was voracious. His attention to his wife, was as a result, waning. And he knew it. He was deeply conflicted. His new love was drawing him away from his first love.

His first love—Atoosa—his princess. They had always been a great team. They had always treated each other with immense kindness and love. His passion for her had always persisted. Until now. Now, it wasn't passion he felt for her. Now he felt concern, love, and compassion. He could never tell her. She would never accept his new faith. She would reject him along with it. But Arash wished he could tell her. He wished she would have ears to hear and a heart to understand. But he knew that was unlikely. In his prayers, he felt promptings to continue to hide his faith from Atoosa. Betraying those promptings could jeopardize everything.

Arash meditated on the words of Romans 8:35-39. “Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword?” Arash feared these conditions could soon fall upon him as a result of his faith. He continued his meditations.
“
As it is written: ‘For your sake we face death all day long; we are considered as sheep to be slaughtered.'
No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons,
neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

Arash held these passages close to his heart. He knew that it would be his faith in the reality that nothing could sever him from his Savior that would ultimately sustain him. It was Romans 8:35-39 that Pastor Saeed Abedini held onto for strength when he was tortured in Evin prison. Arash had strongly identified with the story of Pastor Abedini and his courage as a persecuted Christian leader in Iran. He prayed that God would equip him with similar faith, strength and endurance for whatever the future may hold.

Arash prayed he would never suffer for his faith even as he feared he would. He was willing to if it was God's will, but he prayed that he would be spared. Somewhere within him, he knew the prayer was likely futile. He sensed his day of persecution would someday come.

Arash worried that Atoosa would catch him reading the scriptures. He worried how she would react. He was certain that she would turn him in to the mutawwa. Her devotion to Islam and the Mahdi was her greatest commitment. Arash knew this well—he had encouraged her in it! He recalled how close he felt to Atoosa when they really began growing in their knowledge of the Mahdi and their passion to see the return of the Twelfth Imam.

As he thought about the marital harmony he felt before his conversion, he had a twitch of doubt about his current faith in Christ.
Is any of this real? What if I'm wrong? What if the Twelfth Imam is the true Messiah? What if this Jesus is a false messiah? What if my vision of the Nazarene was from the spirit of Dajjal? What if there is no Messiah at all and I've been fooling myself since the beginning and all of this is folly?

His eyes circled back to the passage in Romans. He felt the presence of God fall strong upon him and he doubted his doubts. He began to pray for strength. He also began to pray for Atoosa.

He heard a shuffling from the bedroom. Atoosa began walking into the living room. Arash quickly covered the Bible in his lap with the Quran. Arash sensed her looking at him questioningly as the Quran settled atop the Bible.

“Why don't you go to bed? You're always staying up late. Come lay with me. I miss you. I miss falling asleep with you holding me.” Atoosa was half asleep as she questioned Arash. She looked at him curiously, still confused as to why he insisted on staying up late reading.

“Okay, my dear. Give me a minute and I'll come to bed. I just need to finish up my reading. I won't be long.”

“Okay, but hurry. I don't want to fall asleep without you.”

Arash smiled and began reading the Quran in his lap that covered up his Bible. He read through some passages. He now saw the words of the Quran through a completely different lense. He saw opposite messages of the Bible everywhere, particularly in the description of the Islamic Messiah.

Atoosa walked back to the bedroom. After she left the room, Arash placed his Bible back in the cabinet below his bookcase. He locked the cabinet and placed the key underneath the armchair cushion. As he lifted his head up after placing the cushion back in place, he saw Atoosa staring back at him.

“I'm coming honey. I'll be there in a minute.” He didn't think she saw what he was doing. He prayed he was right.

Atoosa smiled and replied awkwardly, “Okay honey.”

Arash held Atoosa tightly that night. She slept calmly. Arash laid tense—sleepless for hours—his mind and heart swirling with tumult and anxiety. He didn't know how long he could continue this double life.

CHAPTER THIRTY

BELFAST, IRELAND

T
he restaurant was more like a modified home. Its décor and aesthetic exuded the essence of closeness and love that McCardle's now reunited family had for each other. A tremendous waft of goodness filled the air for all to smell long after they had finished their meals. Good food was in abundance. Stews, bangers and mash, pub sandwiches of all types, and the most delicious meatloaf in the entire world were all part of the menu for the evening's festivities.

Everyone was well dressed and in good spirits. And good spirits were also in good supply. The venue was a modest one, but a familiar one. Warm, boisterous, and teeming with the sounds of family and friends. The fire was burning to the right of Pastor Liam McCardle as he smiled wide and endured the mix of praise and admonitions that were pouring out of the mouth of his dear old mum.

Liam did his best to hear every word his mum was saying as he leaned his ear closer towards her and attempted to block out the increasingly loud volume of the music that was filling the establishment. He recognized all the music that had been playing that evening, save some modern Irish rock oriented picks. It was The Dubliners classic “Whiskey In A Jar” that was playing at the moment. Liam sure missed home. He sure missed his family. He missed hearing Irish music in Ireland. And truth be told, he sure missed whiskey—in a jar or otherwise. His heart was forever green, but his liver had been blackening by the day.

“Son, you know your father would be so proud of you. He always bragged about your preaching, your intellect, and that his boy was living in America and doing the good Lord's work, far away from the divisive struggles and strife with the Catholics. There was no shortage of pride in you, had by him, when you were here fighting the IRA either. That said, when you got out of seminary and moved to America, your father, and myself as well, were so relieved to know you were out of harm's way. Far away from the remnants of the Troubles.” Liam's dear mum was full of genuine love and pride as she expressed her heart to her visiting son.

“I know he was proud of me mum, and I always strove to do him proud, as I did for you. I am very happy in America, but I must tell you that it is wonderful to be home and see everyone that I love and care about.” Liam smiled and transmitted a deep feeling of sincere warmth and love to his mum.

“Well, we do miss you. Things haven't been easy since your father passed away, but I'm happy. Your sisters have been helping me and so has your Uncle. We're very blessed.” As Liam's mum smiled, she showed some slight tears. The memories of Liam's late father were rich, strong, and emotional.

His mother, who had the liver of a Viking, pivoted on her chair to grab a shot of whiskey off the tray that a nearby server was balancing. She gulped it down like a sailor who hadn't seen land in forty years. Liam laughed, as this was not an unfamiliar sight. She wiped her chin with the sleeve of her sweater and continued her thoughts.

“Why don't you come home son? Come home and find a church here. Hell, come home and start a church!” She put her arm around her son and looked him straight in the eye. She had the you-better-listen-to-your-mum kind of stare.

“Mum….stop. Please. Really.”

“Don't ‘mum' me. It's a great idea! Think of how happy you would make your sisters and I. You still haven't found a woman since Kathy passed. You know that you need an Irish girl. There are plenty still here for you son. I can see by the look on your face that you think about it.” She gave a persuasive smile.

“Of course I think about it mum, but that doesn't mean its God's will or my preference. I'll lift it up in prayer some more on account of your pushiness on the issue.”

“That's my boy,” she said as she pinched his cheek.

As Liam's mother finished that thought with a big smile, she grabbed yet another shot of whiskey, stood up, pushed her chair in and made her way to the dance floor. That woman did not slow down with age. Now in her early seventies, she could drink and dance like she was still in her twenties—and still be up at the crack of dawn the next day and keep the cleanest house in all of Ireland.

Liam shook his head and chuckled. His mother was full of life and it was an utter joy to see. Suddenly he felt a strong hand pat his back, and a strong voice soon followed.

“Good ole Liam. How the hell are you?”

It was Johnny Leary. He hadn't seen Johnny since his days working with him on the force.

“Johnny Leary! It's great to see you my friend! How's life treating you?”

“Frankly, like a dog treats a fire hydrant, but I won't bore you with the details.”

Both men roared with laughter.

“Your mum told me you'd be home visiting. I heard you're exporting Protestant fire and brimstone to the states these days and lighting up the pulpit. God Bless you Liam. I always thought you were a bit of a wind bag!”

More laughter erupted and the two men continued to catch up and reminisce on old times, old operations, and some of the bad times as well— fallen comrades, deaths in their families, and the lingering political problems that still existed in Ireland. They held a conversation for several minutes until Leary's glass was empty and he pardoned himself to go fetch another pint. McCardle wished him well and walked towards the dance floor.

It didn't take him very long to see her. Erin McNeil was as striking as ever. His heart instantly began pounding and he felt a boyish nervousness he hadn't felt since his teen years.
Maybe mum was right. Where else does a man find an Irish rose but in Ireland?

And what an Irish rose she was… blooming magnificently right before his very awe-struck eyes. She shuffled and swayed and took over the dance floor like no other female in the joint. Her reddish brown hair was radiating with beauty and bounty. She was laughing and giggling with a lust for life that was only a few steps ahead of the lust that Liam was beginning to feel as he gazed upon her like a hopeless voyeur.

His smile began to widen and grow as she glanced his way with a wide smile of her own and a genuine look of surprise and excitement at his presence. Liam felt a burning inside that usually only occurred when he gulped down whiskey too quickly.

Liam had known Erin McNeil presumably since his birth. Their mums used to walk together in the late mornings with Liam and Erin respectively in the strollers side by side. They had been given baths together as toddlers. Play dates with the two of them were frequent long before the term ‘play date' existed. As they progressed into their tween and early teen years, the two had always been close even though they ran in different circles.

As young adults, they had secretly each kept a close ear to the street on the others doings, but had never maintained a tangible relationship to speak of. Under the circumstances, their mutual sights in mind were clearly sparking unbridled, pent-up fondness beyond the pail of normalcy.

Erin managed to gracefully, and playfully, meander over to where Liam was standing so boyishly as he studied her every dance move, suggestive or not.

“Well, well, well…if it isn't the red, white and blue preacher making an appearance back in his home country.” She shook Liam's hand as he bowed to kiss hers.

“Very, very nice to see you Erin. You look wonderful and I've been thoroughly enjoying your exploits on the dance floor.” Liam's eyes locked on Erin's with a magnetic gaze.

“Thank you Liam. You know, I often wonder about you, what became of you, how you're doing, what's life dealt you. Are you doing well? Has happiness nestled inside of you?” She peered inquisitively as she asked.

“My dear, the good Lord has blessed me beyond compare, and I've been given the exquisite privilege of ministering to so many wonderful folks in America—albeit in the rough and tumble urban context of Detroit, Michigan.”

Erin changed the subject. “I heard about Kathy…and your father. My condolences.”

“Thank you Erin. I'm doing well considering and appreciate your concern. How's life been treating you?” He had not gotten as many reports on Erin as she had on him.

“Life's been good…well, it's becoming good…I separated from Patrick a little over a year ago…that was tough. My McKinnis is now eight years old, and she's darling. Taking care of her is a lot of work, particularly when I am all by myself, but she's a true joy. Work is steady, the best that an Irish gal can hope for.”

She had overcome life's obstacles and come out the other side with grace and charm. “Well, it's wonderful to see you. The way life moves so fast, it's a miracle and a pleasure that our paths have even crossed again at all.”

“We could cross some more if you dared to get your ass out on the dance floor…”

And with that, the preacher went head over heels into a long-gone nightlife he had been far removed from up until this evening. He danced with vigor and passion for hours with Erin and engaged in various forms of flirting, both subtle and intense, and both verbal and physical. They ended up back at her place.

His life at the pulpit, his memory of his wife, his gnawing fear of the prospect of Ezekiel 38 and 39 unfolding—all those backdrops—had all submerged into a foggy, grainy background. For the moment the carnal, hopeful, uninhibited drawings of his soul dominated him.

He spent the night with Erin and made love to her in such a way that his entire being felt as if it was transported to an entirely different ethereal realm. His flock in Detroit, his lovely deceased wife, and his concern for the dangerous mission embarked upon by his friend Blaze McIntyre were as far from his mind as the Earth from the Sun. Leave Ireland to the Irish. As they say.