The Last Day (31 page)

Litti knew his report would not be among its pages. Four days ago he had received a courier-delivered epistle from Nicholas in response to Litti's persistent requests for an audience. In the letter, Nicholas had expressed concern for Litti's health and had commanded a complete physical by the Vatican medical staff, followed by an extended vacation. From the tone, it was obvious Nicholas was aware of Litti's report. And had rejected it.

Neither would the pope grant an audience, nor give his cardinal permission to attend the Mormons’ second convocation, coming up in two weeks.

There was nothing in the formal
inquirendum
that would have surprised Cardinal Litti anyway. As the preliminary report had hinted, the Congregation's final determination was to discredit Jeza as a legitimate prophetess, much less a Messiah. Falling short of labeling her an outright fraud, the Congregation, in rendering the solemn judgment of Holy Mother Church, proclaimed Jeza a false witness to God's will. At best misguided, possibly delusional.

The pontiff approved the
inquirendum
document in its entirety, elevated it to encyclical status, and had it dispatched under his papal seal to all the Apostolic Churches for immediate dissemination to their congregations.

From this point forward, the faithful were hereby ordered to discount the teachings and messages of Jeza, and to abstain from further attention to, or acknowledgment of, her words and deeds.

61

WNN regional headquarters, Cairo, Egypt 10:12
A.M
., Saturday, February 19, 2000

T
he news of Feldman's contact with Jeza had the WNN international brass breaking out the champagne and toasting the winsome young man who had single-handedly delivered them at least three “weeks of guaranteed, unchallenged world news leadership.

All the big wheels of WNN were rolled in for this preparation. Now that they understood what Jeza was referring to by “the assembled religions of the world by the great salt lake,” no expense would be spared to ensure her safe passage to the Mormon convocation. Teams of attorneys worked on the legalities of international transportation for the New Messiah, since she had no official country of origin—no passport, no birth certificate, no medical records.

The attorneys would also have to contend with the raft of lawsuits from competing media that would surely ensue once WNN extracted from the Mormons a contract for exclusive coverage of the “Holy Bowl” as Hunter had impiously tagged the event.

Security would be a nightmare of extraordinary proportions. With the millions of people who'd doubtiess descend upon the city, getting Jeza safely into and out of Salt Lake City, much less the convention hall, would be taxing.

And while WNN had hoped to delay disclosure of the event for as long as possible to avoid interference with their arrangements, there was no holding the lid on a story of this magnitude. Word leaked out quickly, and WNN was snowed under with calls, telegrams and messages from all over the world. One communication that did manage to escape the avalanche of messages was a cable from the White House. Presidential campaign manager Edwin Guenther requested a phone call from Jon Feldman.

Absorbed in a heated meeting thousands of miles away, Brian Newcomb, Democratic Presidential Reelection Committee chairman, was vocal in his opposition to the bold plan under discussion.

“Having the president meet with this charlatan is foolhardy,” he snorted across the Oval Office at Guenther. “We know nothing about her. Hell, we don't even know for sure if she
is
a woman!”

Guenther, ever cool in the line of fire, turned patiently to his president. “Al, there are times in a campaign when you look back on a missed opportunity and kick yourself hard in the butt. If we pass up this one, I can guaran-damn-tee you, we'll be kicking ourselves all the way to November. “Look at what's happening right now. We got this upstart McGuire gaining in the polls—”

“Yeah,” Newcomb interrupted, “after you let him get a toehold on us in New Hampshire by keeping us out of the primary for so damn long!”

Guenther ignored the jab. “But look at where his support's coming from—the religious fundamentalists. The
millenarians!
They constitute twenty-seven percent of the vote right now. They're the swing vote, Al, and they're McGuire's bread-and-butter.”

President Allen Moore was noticeably intrigued, to the dismay of his reelection committee chairman.

Guenther continued. “We need something to separate McGuire from his voting bloc, and what better way to do it than with this gorgeous, sexy religious idol. A short meeting, a tasty photo op, front-page banners and TV coverage all over the place. And we fix it so McGuire can't even get close to her.”

“And exactly how do you propose to do that?” Newcomb challenged.

“Easy,” Guenther rejoined with a confident smile spreading across his wide, chunky face. “WNN and the Mormons have to go through a lot of hoops to get their little lady into the country. Now, we can narrow those hoops, or we can eliminate them altogether, depending on how they want to cooperate with us. I've already got a message in to Jon Feldman about this, and I'm just willing to bet he'll find a way to fit us into their schedule.”

It doesn't—” Newcomb began, but the president waved him off.

“No, Brian, I like it,” Moore decided. “We need to reach the millenarians somehow, and I know of no other way to do it. But let's be smart about it A semiprivate meeting. Nothing where the media can draw us into a controversy. Something warm and fuzzy, you know. Maybe in front of the fireplace here. But let's make sure we control things.”

Guenther could see his commander in chief was starting to appreciate the potential here. “How about we bring in a handicapped person,” Guenther mused, “and see what she can do with him? Damn, wouldn't that be incredible if she could really cure somebody right here in the Oval Office, on national TV!”

62

The outskirts of Cairo, Egypt 5:30
A.M
., Thursday, February 24, 2000

F
eldman had driven around for an hour, just to make doubly sure no one was following him. Heeding Jeza's admonition to come alone, neither he nor WNN was about to jeopardize their fabulous opportunity. Parking his Rover about a half mile from the hill where he last saw the little prophetess, Feldman grabbed a travel bag from the back seat and walked the rest of the way at a brisk pace, keeping an eye on the sparse landscape around him.

Checking his watch, he ascended the slope right on time and arrived at the top to find the Messiah sitting cross-legged in her accustomed spot, in deep meditation.

Always appreciative of the opportunity to observe this fascinating woman, Feldman stood by, politely awaiting her attention.

Still engaged in her private thoughts, without looking up, she said in her cool, soothing voice, “Come sit and pray with me.”

Feldman flopped awkwardly next to her on his designated stone and she held out her small hand to him. He swallowed it in his and closed his eyes to accompany her. After about five minutes Feldman grew impatient and risked a peep at his companion.

She remained immobile and placid in her contemplations, eyes still shut, peaceful and calm. However, as if she could detect his glance, she spoke: “Thank you for coming. What news do you bring me?” She opened her eyes now and turned to him with a welcoming smile.

Maybe he was starting to get used to it, but her gaze had less of its usual impact this morning. “Good news, Jeza,” Feldman responded, shaking his head to quickly clear it “How have you been?”

“Very well. You are well also,” she stated.

“Yes, I am,” Feldman agreed, smiling back. “I've made arrangements for our trip, if you'd care to hear about them.”

“Yes.”

“We'll leave here Saturday, March 4, at eight
A.M
. on a specially chartered Boeing 747. The plane's fully equipped with a private room for you. Shower, bed and round-the-clock room service from an onboard galley. We'll fly nonstop to Washington, D.C., for a stay-over.”

He paused here. This was the one bottleneck he was not quite sure how to handle. As was his general solution, however, he resorted to the truth. “Jeza, perhaps you're aware, but because you have no official identification papers, it's very difficult to get clearance for you to travel to other countries. In order to gain your admission to the United States, I was forced to make a small compromise. I hope you don't object.”

She said nothing, looking deep inside him with her unsettling eyes.

“The president of the United States would like to meet you. To have you visit with him, have your pictures taken together, join him and Mrs. Moore for dinner, and stay overnight at the White House. Would that be all right with you?” Feldman held his breath.

“If that is what you wish for me,” she said without a moment's reflection.

Feldman was unprepared for so quick a concession and momentarily lost his train of thought. “Uh, yes, wonderful. Well, that simplifies things so much. Thank you. Uh, then, the next morning we leave early for Salt Lake City and will arrive in time for you to make a noon appearance at the convocation. It's a bit of a hectic pace for you, but does that sound acceptable?”

“Yes. I thank you for your efforts.”

“There are a few other things that will be required of you, also, Jeza. For example, there are certain inoculations and vaccines you must have to ensure your health on your visit This can all be done orally, simply by swallowing some medicines I've brought with me.”

Jeza accepted a handful of sealed pills, capsules and vials of fluids from him without comment, opened and arranged them all on the edge of her stone seat in front of her. She then picked them up and instantly popped them all into her mouth in one sudden, quick motion. Feldman was startled, expecting her to choke, and blinked away his surprise as she turned calmly back to him awaiting his next direction.

He laughed out loud, despite himself, and Jeza smiled back.

“Now I need to take a quick picture of you.” He pulled out a Polaroid camera and snapped off a few shots. “And I need to get you to read and sign a few papers.” He opened a clipboard and placed it in front of her, indicating with an X the lines she was to sign.

She made no attempt to read the documents, but immediately affixed her “signatures,” which, Feldman noticed with interest were perfectly rendered Stars of David.

Returning the papers to Feldman she looked questioningly into his eyes.

“That's about it for now,” he informed her. “Is there anything you wish to ask?”

“No.”

“I've brought some sweet rolls and coffee with me if you'd care to join me for a little breakfast,” he offered, hoping to prolong the visit. He pulled a thermos from his bag and opened the bakery box invitingly.

Jeza shook her head and sprang lithely to her feet “I thank you, but I am fasting and I must return now to the desert to complete my morning prayers.”

“Well then, I guess we'll see each other next Saturday, here, at the same time? Or”—he was fishing again— “perhaps I could pick you up somewhere else?”

“I shall await you here at first light, nine days from this. May I call you by your first name?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” he replied, clumsily attempting to rise without the aid of his hands, which were occupied with coffee and sweet roll. “Please call me Jon.”

“Thank you, Jon,” she said, and recognizing his encumbrance, she dispensed with the customary handshake.

Sitting back down on his rock to enjoy his breakfast, Feldman watched her striding spryly out into the wasteland, her robes and unruly hair flowing freely behind her. As she receded in the distance, he wondered where she went and what she did. The morning rays of sun sent up from the desert floor waves of heated air behind her, creating atmospheric distortions that shortly, he would swear, dissolved her into nothingness.

63

The Papal Quarters, Vatican City, Rome, Italy 11:12
A.M
., Friday, February 25, 2000

N
icholas VI was standing at his study window, peering out over the colonnades of St. Peter's Square. An exquisite view of Rome, yet it brought him no comfort this morning.

Arriving outside the pope's quarters, Antonio Cardinal di Concerci could see his pontiff from the threshold, but halted, announcing his presence respectfully at the open doorway.

“Tony, please”—the pope had been anxiously awaiting him—”what word do you have of Alphonse?”

“Not good, Holiness,” the prefect replied, glumly. “As you know, he's vacated his quarters without word. All his personal effects, and only his personal effects, are gone. Yesterday he emptied his Vatican bank account, and a Swiss guard
at
the piazza saw him leave about seven-thirty this morning in a cab. He took with him three large suitcases and a footlocker. We're checking
all
the city hotels now.”

“I would suggest you try the airport” Nicholas sighed heavily.

“You feel he's left the country?” the prefect asked.

“Yes, Tony. I believe he's pursuing his obsession to follow this false prophetess. You know how badly he wished to attend the forthcoming Mormon convention. Hearing that his Jeza would be making an appearance there, I'm certain, was more temptation than he could resist Espedaily in his current agitated state of mind.” The pontiff looked again out the window, as if searching after his lost cardinal.

Frowning, di Concerci followed Nicholas's eyes with his own. “I fear we will not easily be rid of this seductive impostor,
Papa.”

Nicholas pivoted slowly and looked with troubled eyes at his prefect. “Yes, I'm afraid our encyclical has not been well enough received. The allure of this woman is very compelling to many. We're encountering strong rebellion in the ranks—all over, not just in the United States.

“And it's not only our parishioners, Tony,” the pope elaborated. “We're losing priests, nuns and even a number of our bishops. The media pronounce last rites on us. Can you image what they'll make of Alphonse's defection if it comes to light? To lose a cardinal—a curial cardinal, no less!”