The Last Day (33 page)

“I guess I'm getting cold feet,” Newcomb confessed, rubbing his face. “Let's just make sure we keep Jon Feldman close. At least he seems to be able to exercise some control over her.”

“Yeah. He's a good man. Gave us everything we asked for.”

“Not that he had much choice, now did he?” Newcomb added, laughing.

Guenther laughed with him. “The power of the presidency!”

“But I hear he did make one demand on us,” Newcomb mentioned.

“Oh yeah? What was that?”

“He made us promise we wouldn't put her on the spot or try to get her to perform any miracles.”

“Damn!” Guenther feigned disappointment “I was gonna have her take off twenty pounds around my middle and give me another four inches on the ol’ sausage!”

They both laughed heartily.

67

The skies over the Atlantic 10:10
A.M
., Saturday, March 4, 2000

T
he large four-engined jet that WNN had specially chartered for this journey was the private property of a Saudi oil sheik. In addition to offering plush, oversized leather seating, the jet had been converted to house a large forward stateroom with king-size bed, elegant dining room, and all the accoutrements of the incalculably wealthy. Feldman had been curious about how Jeza might react to all this indulgent extravagance, and saw the flight as a special opportunity to gain important insights into her nature. He was not disappointed. But he was surprised.

From the onset of the trip, Feldman had been kept off-balance by Jeza's inexplicable awareness and understanding of her surroundings. Intending to assist her with her seat belt as they had prepared for takeoff, for example, he found she needed no instruction. The same held true with adjusting her electronic seat controls, regulating her air conditioning, turning on her overhead light, or manipulating the armrest dials to listen to music on her headset. She had handled all these things easily and perfunctorily, requiring no assistance.

Relatively early in the flight Feldman had also discovered, in attempting to point out some of the more notable sites and cities over which they passed, that Jeza was well up on her geography, too. After waxing professorial to her about various regions of the Mediterranean, he'd mistakenly identified the island of Sardinia as Sicily. She had casually corrected him, and he was suddenly aware, to his great chagrin, that all this time she'd been politely tolerating his amateurish stint as tour guide. Once again, he'd seriously underestimated this fathomless woman.

Ever mindful of his duty to WNN, and with the world desperate to know more about the mysterious Messiah, Feldman turned his efforts toward drawing Jeza into revealing discussions. With mixed results. At first, she answered most of his questions with a simple yes or no, and seemed preoccupied, uncommunicative. Given that there would be plenty of time and opportunity for Feldman to attempt further conversation, he felt it best not to press, and finally allowed her some peace.

During this time period, Hunter and Cissy dutifully kept their distance at the front seating section, allowing Jeza and Feldman privacy. Occasionally, and discreetly, Hunter would turn around and shoot a little footage of the prophetess with a zoom lens. While Jeza could not have avoided noticing some of these occurrences, she tolerated them.

It wasn't until almost five hours of flight time had elapsed that a clumsy, but fortunate accident eventually opened the door to an anecdotal insight into the Messiah.

Well out over the Atlantic now, Jeza and Feldman were dozing in their seats next to each other. Cissy was curled up with a pillow and blanket beside Hunter, who'd been staring vapidly out the window, bored.

Deciding this was a perfect opportunity for some candid close-ups of the prophetess, Hunter slipped past Cissy and crept out into the aisle, stealing slowly toward the back of the plane. This was the nearest to the Messiah he'd yet dared since first being introduced to her.

Although Hunter was absolutely silent in his approach, Jeza, like a cat, sensed him and shifted upright in a flash, freezing him with her ice-blue eyes. Feldman was jarred from his nap. He knew instantly what had happened, but had no idea how the Messiah would react to this rude intrusion on her valued privacy.

Before Feldman could decide what to say or do, Hunter recovered from her gaze, and searching to ad-lib his way through the incident, clumsily blurted out, “Miss Jeza, I was just wondering, uh, if you wouldn't mind, uh— showing me how you make yourself disappear in the middle of a crowd the way you do. I, uh, I won't tell anyone, I swear to God.” He winced at his profanity.

The panicked look on Hunter's face was so pitiful, Feldman cycled uncontrollably through flashes of embarrassment, fear and amusement.

From her seat down the aisle, Cissy McFarland was more certain in her emotions. She'd been watching all this develop with nervous curiosity, and now she buried her face in her pillow, mortified.

Through all of this, Jeza sat stone-still. Slightly frowning, her lips pursed, her emotions undiscemible.

At length she leaned forward in her seat and deliberately, slowly, drew an arm up in front of her until the full, hanging sleeve of her robe completely obscured her face, like a magician drawing a scarf over an object that was about to be vanished.

Hunter shrank back, apprehensively.

Suddenly she dropped her arm to reveal her head completely covered in a traditional black Islamic veil.

A childishly simple but effective little trick. To disappear in a crowd, all the Messiah ever had to do was to duck down, flip on her veil, and instantly render herself indistinguishable from the myriad of other similarly attired women around her. No one would be the wiser. And even if suspicious, no self-respecting Middle Easterner would ever consider defiling the confidence and modesty of the veil.

Hunter quickly nodded his understanding, thanked the Messiah effusively and then hastened off to the rear of the plane to lie low for a while.

As Hunter fled, Jeza slipped off her veil, exposing a slight smile. Feldman was relieved and pleased to see that the Messiah did, indeed, have a sense of humor. He turned to her, grinning.

“You know, it's only natural that people are curious about you, Jeza,” he opened. “You're a very important person, and so little is known about you.”

“I am not important,” she said with a sigh. “It is the Word that is important.”

“But you
are
important! If people are to believe your message, they must believe in
you.
That can only come from getting to know you.”

“The Word stands on its own,” she returned flatly. “Little is known about the writers of the four Gospels, yet their words are immortal.”

Feldman leaned toward her and looked into the abyss of her eyes. “Well,
I
would certainly like to know more about you, Jeza.”

She was inside his mind again. His soul. He felt suspended out in front of her, as weightless as a ghost. She sighed again, sounding disappointed. “You have seen more than any other, nevertheless you must see more. Blessed are those who do not see, yet believe.”

Deflated and confused, Feldman sunk slowly back in his seat.

Jeza closed her eyes to return to her sleep and softly murmured something that sounded to Feldman like, “… in your dreams.” Although he was certain he misunderstood.

About half an hour later, a flight attendant appeared before them to announce dinner, and to invite Jeza and Feldman to freshen up before convening in the dining room.

Hunter, returning to his seat from his self-imposed exile, spied Jeza coming his way as she headed for her stateroom. He withdrew into a corner, giving her a wide berth. But noticing this, Jeza walked over to him and asked if he and his companion would join her and Feldman for supper.

Feeling reclaimed, Hunter readily accepted.

From their first two meals on the plane, Feldman had learned that Jeza followed a very meager and strict diet. When a flight attendant had brought them breakfast menus, Jeza had passed altogether and taken only water. At lunchtime, she had ignored the meat and poultry dishes to settle for a salad.

For her dinner, she had a raw vegetable plate and hard rolls, unbuttered. Which made it a little difficult for the others, who were tempted by, and ultimately succumbed to, gourmet appetizers, entrées and desserts. When asked if she objected to anyone having wine, she offhandedly replied, “Christ Himself enjoyed wine,” but took none herself.

Not having had any personal contact with Jeza before, but with a long list of burning questions, Cissy cautiously attempted a query of her own.

“Excuse me, Jeza, I hope you don't mind me asking, but there's an issue you've raised several times, a point about which there's still much anxiety and concern in the world. Does your coming really mean that the Last Day is imminent?”

Raising a glass of water to her lips, Jeza paused and returned it to the table. She was quiet for a moment before responding. “That there is at long last concern in the world over the will of the Father, I submit, is good. The purpose of my coming is to deliver the Word of God and to reveal God's plan for all mankind. I say to you that the destruction of the world can take many forms, and that mankind has brought upon himself God's judgment. A great trial is coming. And all will be revealed soon, at the appropriate time, and not before.”

This disclosure had a sobering effect on the gathering. A prolonged silence ensued and Cissy's remaining questions had suddenly lost their fire.

Finally, in an attempt to dispel the gloom and rekindle the conversation, Cissy asked, “Jeza, you seem to lead such a hard life. No home, no possessions, no close friends. How do you manage?”

“You say I have no friends?” she responded, looking genuinely surprised. “But everywhere I am, people open their hearts to me. I am generously offered shelter, food, clothing. And when I leave, I leave with friendship. I lack for nothing,” she said with complete sincerity. “How is my life hard?”

“But don't you ever get lonely?” Cissy persisted. “Don't you ever long for companionship, a family, a normal life apart from all the turmoil and crowds?”

“I find peace in my meditation,” she responded. “My mission is not to seek earthly gratifications. Each of us is here for a purpose. And in fulfilling that purpose, so do we achieve personal happiness.”

Feldman opened his mouth to ask an intentionally loaded question. A difficult, dangerous question he knew he must ultimately ask of this New Messiah. And then he reconsidered. Although sorely tempted, he dared not risk it now. Perhaps on the return flight, if and when they'd cleared all that lay ahead.

After dinner, Cissy offered to show Jeza some of the extensive wardrobe of beautiful clothes, shoes and accessories they'd assembled for her. She wasn't interested. “I will wash my robe tonight and it will be clean and dry for the morning,” she decided.

“But what about shoes?” Hunter wondered. “It's winter and cold in Washington!”

Jeza looked down at her worn leather sandals and appeared perfectly satisfied.

“Well,” Cissy enticed her, “at least let me show you some of the nice new robes we have. You'll be meeting a lot of important people at the White House and you'll want to look fresh.”

Hesitantly, Jeza accompanied Cissy to her stateroom and they closed the door behind them.

“How about a round or two of HyperWar? Hunter challenged his fellow newsman to a video game on the big-screen TV in the lounge. “They've got a great setup in here.”

While Cissy and Jeza were occupied, Feldman and Hunter did 3-D battle in outer space. They became so engrossed, it wasn't until Hunter whirled around in celebration after destroying one of Feldman's Stellar Interceptors, that the men noticed the vision standing behind them. Hunter stopped and whistled. A beaming Cissy extended her hand to proudly display an uneasy, uncertain Jeza.

The New Messiah was clad in another simple, full-length white robe. But rather than coarse linen, this one was of soft, elegant fabric, far more stylish and attractive. Cinched at her waist with a simple gold cord, it was a well-tailored garment with a modest square-cut collar. Upon her tiny white feet were two new sandals with pretty gold side buckles.

But most noticeably, her thick, formerly untamed hair had been washed, trimmed slightly and brushed smooth. It slipped like black, shiny silk down the sides of her face across her magnificent jawline.

“She wouldn't allow any makeup,” Cissy complained.

She needed none. Her long black lashes radiated away from those stratospheric blue eyes. Her finely sculpted lips contrasted deep crimson against her flawless, fluorescent white complexion.

Jeza had obviously been pushed into all this, and showed increasing discomfort at the appreciative stares and comments. “I prefer my own robe,” she declared finally, starting to back away, but Feldman rushed to the defense.

“Please don't change,” he asked disarmingly. “You look so fresh and revitalized! Once you see what the women wear in Washington, you'll be thankful!”

Jeza appeared unconvinced, but Hunter, attempting to lighten the situation, interrupted with another of his soaring non sequiturs.

“Hey, Jeza, I bet you've never tried this before,” he chirped. “It's called a video game. Give it a shot, it's fun! I just disintegrated five of Jon's spaceships, no contest!” He turned and with a quick flip of his handheld control, sent another of Feldman's armada into oblivion.

Jeza again stared at Hunter with that incredulous, slightly frowning gaze he seemed to invite. Then, almost as an afterthought, she took the control from Feldman's outstretched hand, turned and in one fell swoop, faster than the eye could follow, executed the complex maneuvers necessary to annihilate Hunter's entire space fleet. She immediately handed the control back to the astonished Feldman, pivoted quickly, and with a slight, bemused smile on her face, retired to her room.

Hunter could only stare at the screen, mouth agape.

Jeza spent the remaining few hours before their arrival in her room, alone, meditating.