The Last Day (34 page)

68

Salt Lake City, Utah 8:00
A.M
., Saturday, March 4, 2000

C
ardinal Litti was up early this morning in anticipation of yet another full day at the second convocation. He sat on the sofa in his hotel room, sipping tea and praying.

But in the middle of his thoughts, the cardinal was interrupted by a knock. Assuming it to be maid service, he quickly unlatched the lock and opened the door wide. But it was not the chambermaid.

“Hello, Alphonse,” a familiar but unwelcome voice intruded. “May we come in?”

“Di Concerci! Santorini!” Litti gasped. “What are you doing here?”

The two cardinals entered the room, despite lacking an invitation.

“You're looking well, Cardinal Litti,” Silvio Santorini greeted his errant colleague.

“ ‘Cardinal?’” Litti questioned. “Do I still hold that title?”

“Of course,” di Concerci reassured him.

Litti asked the impossible. “Can it be that you're here because Nicholas has reevaluated my report?”

“No, Cardinal,” di Concerci said. “We're here to observe the convocation, and also to talk with you about returning to the Curia. Perhaps we were too abrupt with you. Perhaps you should have been allowed to discuss your— interesting theories. If you'd be willing to come back with us at the end of the convocation, we assure you, you will have an opportunity to present your thinking. Come, let us go to breakfast together and we'll discuss all this further.”

Litti was not won over so easily and emitted a short, contemptuous laugh. “Please spare me the patronization. The Congregation's encyclical on the New Messiah is written and disseminated. It's too late for my words to matter.”

“It's never too late, Alphonse,” Santorini promised. “Please, reconsider.”

“Do you think I make my choices casually, Silvio?” Litti's face reddened with emotion. ‘That I so simply give up fifty years of devoted service to my Church. Abandon my security, the only life I have ever known, to pursue—” Litti fought back the tears that welled in his pained, sad eyes.

Knowing he was wasting his efforts, Litti calmed himself and changed the subject. “You're here for the duration of the assembly? You'll stay to hear the Messiah speak?”

“We are here for the duration, Alphonse,” di Concerci pledged. “I'll be representing the Vatican on the dignitary panel.”

“What!” Litti shouted, in disbelief. “You try to prevent
my
coming, and then you steal the panel seat I want!” He turned and retreated to a window, needing to put distance between himself and these interlopers. In the distance, the snow-capped mountain peaks stood serene and eternal against the azure heavens.

“Antonio did not steal your place, Alphonse,” Santorini attempted to reassure the wayward cardinal. “The convocation made a formal request of the Vatican for an official representation on the panel. Nicholas was considering you when you forsook your position on the Congregation. You were in absentia. We didn't even know for sure that you were here until after we arrived last night.”

“I don't believe you!” Litti challenged. “Nicholas denied my request to come here. Why would he reconsider?”

“Irrespective, Alphonse”—di Concerci sidestepped this—“we're here to observe and evaluate this alleged Messiah, which is precisely what you wished of us all along.”

Litti turned to face his old adversary once more. “Cardinal di Concerci, I caution you that you cannot possibly understand her message unless you adjust your perspective. You must listen with a virgin ear, feel with a pure heart, think with an unadulterated mind.

“Regretfully, in knowing you, Prefect, I must say that I have little hope for you in that regard. But if, after hearing the New Messiah, either of you find yourselves persuaded to my position by even a small degree, seek me out again and I will speak with you further. Beyond that, we have nothing more to say.”

With that, the two Vatican emissaries departed. Litti attempted to return to his prayer but was too upset.

In the elevator down to the lobby, Silvio Santorini rolled his eyes and shook his head at his colleague. “He's exactly as you described him. Not at all himself. It's very sad. And potentially very embarrassing for us should he express his views to any of the media who hover constantly around us here. Perhaps, under the circumstances, it was not wise to allow Alphonse to retain his cardinalship. Should he speak out in public, he may be presumed to be representing an opinion of the Curia. Or at best intimating a division in our ranks. It's dangerous.”

“I agree, my friend,” the prefect replied, “but the pontiff wouldn't hear of it At least, not yet Nicholas and Alphonse were once very close. Nicholas still holds out hope that our fractious cardinal will come to his senses. Personally, I've
never
found him to be sensible.”

Santorini nodded “Did you bring your virgin ears?”

“None that I would allow the words of this false prophetess to penetrate, I can assure you,” di Concerci quipped. And both men indulged in a brief laugh as they left the elevator and exited the hotel into the brisk morning air.

69

Dulles International Airport, Washington, D.C. 2:15
P.M
., Saturday, March 4, 2000

I
t was a bright and beautiful winter afternoon. Right on schedule, WNN's charter flight touched down on the outskirts of the U.S. capital. The sight that greeted the deplaning party was spectacular—hundreds of thousands of screaming, near-hysterical people with flowers and signs and flashing cameras, amassed as far as the eye could see around the protected perimeters of the huge airport.

It would have been impossible to motorcade through this congestion and, as planned, the Moore administration had one of its presidential helicopters waiting close by to whisk the four of them immediately off to the White House. All the immense crowd got for its long patience was a few glimpses of the petite Messiah as she intermittently appeared among the moving wall of Secret Service agents.

But there was no mistaking her. Her radiance set her dramatically apart from everyone else around her. Disappointing to Feldman, Jeza had returned to the security of her old linen robe and tired, worn sandals. Her hair, however, looking considerably less unruly than Feldman was accustomed to seeing it, gleamed and bounced in the morning sun as she and her party moved rapidly across the tarmac, into the idling chopper, up and off to the South Lawn.

The welcome at the White House was even more ebullient. The crowds were larger still Stretching all along Pennsylvania Avenue and its surrounding blocks were throngs of well-wishers, followers, the hopeful afflicted, the curious—as well as a few isolated groups of protesters who held absolutely no sway over this generally adoring crowd.

Throughout the cheering multitudes, colorful signs and placards abounded, praising Jeza as Lord, citing scripture, predicting the end of the world. And one banner that was particularly popular on all three major network evening newscasts: “Moore needs a miracle!”

Stepping out of the helicopter, Feldman took Jeza by the arm, assisted her down to the pad and along a lengthy red carpet past a full-dress color guard, a gauntlet of ramrod-straight Marines with drawn swords, a brass band and saluting Boy Scouts. The band, Feldman noticed, was playing a familiar tune. He had to smile. It was the same Sousa march Anne Leveque had hummed to him in recounting her story of the dancing lamb.

Unfortunately, Hunter and Cissy wouldn't be able to stop and take in much of this pomp and ceremony. Their responsibilities would be to help orchestrate the WNN camera crews deployed in and around the White House. And, with access to Feldman and the prophetess, Hunter and Cissy hoped to provide a personal, more intimate coverage of this historic event.

At the end of the military tunnel stood the president and first lady, the vice president and his wife, and countless senators, congressmen, assorted VIPs, socialites, foreign dignitaries and high-ranking bureaucratic officials. Everyone was smiling profusely. Feldman looked over at his small companion and was impressed with the confidence and poise she exhibited. None of this pageantry affected her in the slightest. She seemed neither impressed nor intimidated. Merely curious.

Feldman took the outstretched hands of President and Mrs. Moore, and then those of the vice president and his wife. Exchanging quick greetings, Feldman immediately introduced them to the woman of the hour. Jeza stopped, standing somewhat aback, and looked quizzically at each of them.

Astounded at his stupidity, Feldman realized what was about to happen and went into a sudden panic. He was too late. There was nothing he could do now. Swooning, the presidential and vice presidential couples fell victim to Jeza's scrutiny.

Feldman rushed to the first lady, who was close to falling. Secret Service agents materialized spontaneously from nowhere, reacting in alarmed, unfocused confusion, without direction or clue. The odd event was captured live from every camera angle.

Fortunately, the presidential party recovered quickly. After a few moments’ composure and good-natured laughter, the president greeted his special guest and the introductions moved forward. As they proceeded next toward the presidential mansion, Feldman leaned down and whispered in the Messiah's ear. “Jeza, you may not realize what you're doing, but when you stare hard at people, you make them feel very uncomfortable. Can you control that at all?”

Jeza looked up at him questioningly, said nothing, and continued along with the party. Moore was still shaking his head and mentioned something to his wife about helicopter fumes.

Moving into the main entranceway, the group took up position near the center of the long corridor, with Feldman and Jeza situated between the first and second families. A receiving line developed and for the next several hours, Feldman and Jeza were occupied shaking hands and exchanging comments with an endless parade of the gawking privileged. Feldman noted with some relief that, while people meeting Jeza were still affected by her eyes, the consequences now seemed less severe, and shorter in duration.

Feldman was not sure how the Messiah would take this extended imposition. He had never really explained to her the specifics of his arrangements with the White House. Just that she'd be meeting people, having dinner and spending the night there.

During the lengthy reception, Feldman noticed that Jeza seldom smiled, although she didn't appear seriously put off, either. With the steady procession of people, Feldman had no opportunity to inquire as to her physical or mental state. But he could catch snippets of her conversations.

At one point, the president asked Jeza her opinion of politics, and she responded, “God and government are much alike: there is no peace for either because society continually fails to follow the laws set for it.”

Feldman was impressed to hear her speaking with foreign dignitaries in their native tongues. After hearing only a word or two of accented English, Jeza instantly grasped the correct language and, to the endless delight of the beneficiaries, responded in precisely the correct dialect. All was carefully captured on videotape by the ever-vigilant Hunter and WNN camera crews.

One exchange proved particularly amusing. A rather prominent Washington defense attorney, whom Feldman recognized from the national news, stepped up to Jeza with an attractive young thing on the arm of his expensive suit “Miss Jeza,” he greeted the Messiah, “I believe you and I have something rather significant in common with one another.”

Jeza stared at him without comment and he was momentarily staggered, grappling to hold his train of thought. “You see,” he recovered, “we, uh, we're both in the same business, you and I—the business of saving people.”

Jeza regarded him critically for a moment and then bluntly replied, “Yes, but my means of salvation do not render people penniless!”

Significant laughter erupted from all within earshot, and the miffed barrister quickly slunk away.

There was yet one more of these strange interludes that Feldman took note of, the possible explanation for which he would not have until weeks later. One of the last people in line to greet Jeza was a very elderly, frail-looking, tiny little nun, even smaller than Jeza herself. Feldman recognized the lined and saintly face of Mother Bernadette, the world-famous “Sister of the Silent Sufferers,” renowned for her life of selfless, charitable work on behalf of the sick and destitute of Africa.

Looking hesitant, but compelled, the trembling little nun took the Messiah's outstretched hand and kissed it, staring shyly up at Jeza with imploring eyes. “Sweet Lady,” she addressed the prophetess in a voice as small and ancient as she, “I come to ask your prayers, not for myself, but for my poor, forgotten little babies who are ill and starving in a faraway land.”

Feldman watched Jeza's face turn troubled and her eyes tear as she gazed into the little woman. Then, grasping Mother Bernadette by her thin shoulders, Jeza leaned forward and whispered something into her ear. The nun's eyes grew large and a smile began to spread through the lines of her face like a wind rippling across the waters of a sea.

Jeza drew back and the nun asked excitedly, “Today?”

The Messiah smiled and nodded.

Mother Bernadette could hardly contain herself. “Right now?”

Jeza's smile grew larger and she nodded once more.

The nun made an awkward, half genuflection and the sign of the cross. Repeatedly bowing and thanking the prophetess, alternating between smiles and wide-eyed expressions of excitement and disbelief, the little nun backed away and quickly shuffled off toward the White House front door.

Feldman gave Jeza a scrunched, questioning look, which Jeza dismissed with a slight smile and a roll of her eyes, turning to greet her next visitor.

After the reception, Jeza and Feldman were escorted into the White House dining room as guests of honor in a two-hundred-seat dinner. Asked to render grace, Jeza raised her eyes, extended her hands to shoulder height in supplication and simply said, “O Heavenly Father, Which created the sun, the rain and the earth to bring forth great bounty, bless this nourishment for our bodies, that we may also nourish our minds and our spirit.” There was a round of applause and appreciation which, in Feldman's scrutiny, appeared to leave the Messiah uncomfortable.