The Last Day (15 page)

“Nigel,” he shouted in Sullivan's ear, “keep the rotors close to lift-off speed. Meanwhile, let me go out and talk with them while Hunter takes some footage, just in case.”

Sullivan hadn't a better idea, so they popped open the door and Feldman staggered across the neutral zone like a man in a hurricane. He was hopeful that his newfound celebrity status might gain him an entrée here, and he did detect a note of recognition in the eyes of at least one guard, whom he approached.

“Jon Feldman, WNN News,” he bellowed in the wind and flashed his media credentials. “I'm here to meet with Richard Fischer.” This was a gamble. For all Feldman knew, Fischer wasn't even here.

“Nobuddy's allowed in here,” the big man countered in a thick, American Dixieland drawl. “Nobuddy. We waved all the other choppers off, but y'all set down anyways.”

“Well, I talked with Reverend Fischer by cellular phone patch not fifteen minutes ago,” Feldman lied, “and he said he'd see me if I could get here right away.” Turning back to the helicopter, Feldman signaled for the pilot to cut the engine, pointed to Hunter and waved for him to come over.

The guard blinked and looked at a fellow guard, who was no help.

“Y'all stay right here and I'll go ask Mr. Fischer,” he decided and started off.

Feldman quickly grabbed Hunter, directed his camera on the second guard, and in his most pronounced stage voice shouted, “Okay, we're here live at the Mount of the Beatitudes broadcasting worldwide with an interview of the official Samaritan security detail. Take it, Breck Hunter!”

The video camera and prospects of worldwide exposure momentarily froze the guards. Hunter picked up immediately on the ruse and launched into a barrage of flattering, personal questions as Feldman slipped off, tailing guard number one under the enormous stage.

There was a labyrinth of framework and modular scaffolding under the twelve-foot-high platform above them. Within the maze were a number of mobile trailer units, one of which, Feldman presumed, held the reclusive Messiah.

Feldman caught up with the guard just as the panting man arrived at a trailer and rapped at the door. “First Rev'rend Fischer,” he called out, “I think we got us a problem!”

The door opened and Richard Fischer's portly shadow filled the entranceway. “What is it, Mr. Granger? We're busy.”

‘I'll represent myself, thank you, Mr. Granger,” Feldman asserted, and moved out into view.

“What are you doing here, Mr. Feldman?” Fischer frowned in surprise. “No media's allowed behind the fence!”

“I need to talk with you, Reverend, it's important!”

Fischer nodded to Granger, who stepped aside, but Fischer neither left his post at the door nor invited Feldman in. “Make it quick, Mr. Feldman, I've only got a few minutes.”

“We want to video the appearance, Reverend Fischer. This is an event of international importance and it deserves a better representation than images taken fifty feet away through a chain-link fence!”

“We've already made arrangements for complete, professional video, Mr. Feldman. We hired our own private production crew. This time, if you want a good look at our Messiah, you'll have to acquire it from me and not some amateur. Our costs will be reasonable, of course.”

“If it's compensation we're talking about here, sir, be assured, we'll not only pay for the footage we shoot, we'll make complete copies available to you for your unlimited use. Besides, I didn't see any video crew outside. What if they don't show, or what if their work doesn't turn out? At the very least, wouldn't it be wise to have professional backup?”

Fischer had perked up at the mention of compensation. “How much of a contribution are you suggesting, Mr. Feldman?”

“I'd need to get authorization, but I think I could speak for maybe, uh, ten grand?” Feldman was fishing.

“This is the Messiah we're talking about here, Mr. Feldman!” Fischer barked, insulted. “No less than three hundred grand! And I want exclusive rights on all footage after your first telecast. Take it or leave it.”

Feldman scratched the back of his head and made a desperation decision. “I tell you what, I'll take your deal on the three hundred grand, but give us a break on the video rights. If we can't have full use of the tapes, they're worthless to us.”

Fischer looked at his watch. “Okay,” he decided. “But I want a written contract to that effect before you shoot a single frame. Deliver it to Mr. Smead in trailer number seven. And keep your people out of the way. No closer than fifteen feet to the Messiah. And absolutely no questions or conversation! Understood?”

“Perfectly.” Feldman shook Fischer's hand.

“Granger,” Fischer instructed his guard, “you go with Mr. Feldman and mind that he does
exactly
as we agreed. Any slipups and you take his camera and videotapes and eject him and his crew!”

“Yessir, Mr. Fischer.” Granger gave Feldman a hard look, and Feldman quickly jogged back to the helicopter.

Granger followed close behind, out of bream and red-faced, to assume watch over the WNN operation. He ordered his men back to their posts, charging them to use their handguns, if necessary, to ward off any other landings.

Feldman trotted up to where Sullivan and Bollinger were anxiously waiting.

“
I
hope I didn't overstep my bounds,” Feldman explained, “but I committed us to a buyout exclusive of this event for three hundred grand.”

Bollinger gasped. “You did
what?”

Sullivan waved him off. “You did fine, Jon. It's worth ten times that amount to us. The closest any competitor is going to get is the fence!”

However, for the other unfortunate media on hand today, even that second-class vantage point was unattainable. The steadily massing, elbow-to-elbow crowd was packed right up against the yellow warning barricades to within a few feet of the electrified chain link, jealously guarding their space. WNN's frustrated competitors were relegated to hovering helicopters or the rooftops of distant cars.

Behind him, Feldman noticed a rosy pallor creeping along the eastern edge of the mountain range. Dawn was only minutes away now. He took up his position on the stage just below the altar.

There were metal stairs starting at the very back of the stage, at ground level, and rising steeply in the direction of the audience. Passing through the center of the main platform, the flight extended all the way up to the elevated altar. At this time, a dozen individuals began filing up the steps toward the seating section on Feldman's level. These officiants comprised the Samaritan Leadership Council hierarchy, including a beaming Richard Fischer, who nodded airily to Feldman as he passed. The Messiah was not among them.

From loudspeakers, music began to play. Softly at first, then louder. A heavenly, glorious aria from some obscure opera Feldman had heard before but couldn't identify. While he realized this precisely timed and elaborately orchestrated performance was a contrived effort to instill awe and wonder, he nevertheless had to acknowledge its effectiveness. The entire atmosphere was charged and eminently supernatural.

Hunter assumed his primary camera position on the ground, head-on with the stage, capturing the altar in silhouette against the increasing dawn. Bollinger gave Feldman the high sign and the reporter called down over his headset, “Okay, let's go live and set the scene.”

Hardly had he begun his intro, however, than the huge halogen floodlights illuminating the hillside were abruptly switched off and the volume of the music increased. The crowd became hushed as the sun suddenly broke the jagged crest of a distant mountaintop behind the stage, casting a single, golden beam directly upon the back of the altar.

As if ascending into a tunnel of light, a small, slender figure rose steadily up the center stairway, continuing all the way to the top where it halted and stood motionless behind the altar.

Feldman held his breath.

The Lord is come!

31

Mount of the Beatitudes, Israel 6:21
A.M
., Thursday, January 6, 2000

T
he massive audience was absolutely immobilized by the ethereal scene, and remained so for a full sixty seconds while the celestial music crescendoed to its finale.

The slender Messiah was dressed in a loose, hooded, full-length white robe, trimmed with red and purple piping. The head was bowed, the face completely shadowed by the hood in the dawning sunlight behind.

Feldman, the TV crew, and the millions of breathless spectators watched, spellbound, as the mysterious form appeared to slowly unfurl itself. The head tilted back. The slim arms rose steadily from its side, upward to the sky. The sleeves slid gracefully down to unveil thin, opalescent arms. Arms that extended to small, clenched fists which petaled open to display fine, outstretched, alabaster fingers.

And at last the hood dropped away, revealing an unearthly, radiant, alluring, upturned face of an angel. Innocent, unpretentious, childlike and beautiful. Yet purposeful and wise. The eyes were closed and the mouth opened wide, exposing straight and perfectly white teeth.

Feldman was taken aback, then charmed to realize that this transfixing, commanding display had been, in actuality, nothing more than an early morning stretch and yawn. Although, because of the contrast of sunlight and shadows, and the distance of the crowd, Feldman doubted anyone but he could tell.

While this was most certainly the same arresting face Feldman had seen in the crude Millennium Eve video, its impact on him now was entirely different There was no semblance of the pain, rage or anguish that had exuded from the dark TV monitor. Perhaps it was the inexactness of the computer enhancement, but this face had none of the intensity. It even appeared less angular now. Softened. Sweetened.

Yet, it had lost none of the otherworldliness that gave it its divinity. This was an amazing creature. The skin was so completely smooth, unblemished and literally vibrant in its pure, radiant whiteness. The face was perfect in its symmetry, with large, wide-set dark eyes rimmed with long black lashes. The jawline was chiseled, firm. The nose prominent Roman-godly. Entirely appropriate.

The only physical imperfection to mar this compelling, flawless visage was the appearance of odd red welts that were visible in small, scalped patches in the Messiah's unruly, raven hair. A very bad haircut.

But if this were indeed the face of a Messiah, God had played a cruel joke on His anointed one. This strange and surreal appearance wasn't that of a boy, but of a young woman. And when Feldman heard her speak, he was certain of it.

Looking over the crowd, the Messiah called out in a clear, engrossing, authoritative, but entirely feminine voice:

“Vasheim aboteinu tovu lisanecha,”
she announced in perfect Hebrew, which Feldman did not comprehend.

“Bism Elah atty laka,”
she intoned in perfect Arabic, which was also lost on the reporter.

“In the Name of the Father, I come to you,” she said in perfect English, and Feldman realized the Messiah was repeating the same phrases in a variety of languages.

“Au Nom de Dieu notre Père, je viens à vous,”
she continued in French.

She repeated the process in German, Spanish, Russian, Chinese, Italian and Japanese, picking up the pace in a rhythmic chant that physically moved the crowd. Ten separate languages in all, recorded on tape, and her accent, in each instance, was perfect. Finishing one circuit, the Messiah began a new phrase, starting the rhythmic translation process all over again. She punctuated her oration with decisive movements of her arms and body.

The world received its first sermon from the new prophetess. A short speech that came to be known as the New Beatitudes:

In the name of the Father, I come to you.

In the name of Truth, I come to you.

In the name of Revelation, I come to you.

Blessed are you who listen, for you shall understand.

Blessed are you who see, for the New Light shall shine upon you.

Blessed are you who resist convention for the sake of righteousness, for you shall be vindicated.

Blessed are you who seek the Answer within you, for you shall know the mind of God.

Blessed are you who defy the powerful in My name, for you shall be called courageous.

Blessed are you who are selfless, for your compensation shall be immeasurable.

Blessed are you who are tolerant, for you shall attain Unity.

Blessed are you who safeguard the defenseless, for you shall gain life everlasting.

Blessed are the secure of heart, for you shall find comfort in yourself.

Rejoice and exult, because your reward is great in heaven; for so did they persecute the prophets who came before. (Apotheosis 4:6-19)

There was one point near the end where the Messiah, in her sweeping scope of the crowd, brought her eyes to rest on Feldman's. Only for an instant, only in passing, but there
was
a connect. And even in the briefest of glances, her dark, serene, multihued blue eyes penetrated him unnervingly.

He felt simultaneously dizzy, confused and invaded. But he had no opportunity to reflect on the experience. The Messiah's hands rose to the heavens as if bestowing a blessing upon the crowd. And then the slender figure turned abruptly, arms dropping, and calmly descended the steps as the crowd erupted.

The massive audience was in ecstasy. Laughing, crying, praying, fully sated and taken with the rapture of this religious moment. Feldman was fearful that at any second the insensate, joyous mob would surge forward and shock divine sense into some of the more unfortunate faithful near the electric fence, providing Hunter with a little anecdotal footage. But the assembly remained respectful of itself and there was never any danger.

Feldman believed that most of the crowd had been prepared from the onset to accept this Messiah figure as their Savior, regardless of her newly revealed sex. That she did such an effective job surpassing expectations, however, was what sent her audience into this prolonged state of euphoria.