The Last Day (48 page)

The entire table was dumbstruck, astounded at the significance of the prefect's revelations. Cardinal di Concerci had but one more correlation to drive home.

“The world has come to accept the name this woman goes by, Jeza, as a derivative of Christ's biblical name, a feminine form of the holy name Jesus. I tell you that while the name Jeza is truly of biblical origin, the world has grossly misinterpreted its source. For you see, the name of this false prophetess is not written J-E-Z-A, as is most commonly seen. It is, in fact, J-E-Z-E. A shortened, disguised form for her true and revealed identity—the name of the most reviled harlot, temptress and deceiver of the Old Testament,
Jezebel!

“Jezebel! The infamous idolatress of the First and Second Book of Kings. The beautiful pagan girl who, for a short, disastrous time, also led the faithful astray in the worship of a false idol, the god Baal. Jezebel, the charlatan who, like her modem namesake, reduced the world to turmoil. Until at last, her evil was recognized and she was destroyed in just anger by her own people in accordance with prophecy.

“This new Jezebel, who now comes before us and brazenly demands that we end the sacred institutions of our Church and our religion, this Jeza woman is no prophetess. She is no New Messiah. No messenger of God. As was revealed to me in my holy vision, this Jeza is the realization of all the most dreaded and despised prophecies of the Book of the Apocalypse. Not the Daughter of God, but the Daughter of Satan. The incarnation of all evil.

“The Antichrist!”

The impact on the assembly was profound as these now suddenly apparent connections fell squarely into place.

“And lastly,” di Concerci announced in triumph, “I will tie together all of this for you with the final quotation marked by the blood of Joan in the Book of Revelation, chapter two, verses twenty through twenty-three. This prophecies clearly show the new Jezebel has been sent from the devil to tempt the modem world astray:

“ ‘But I have against thee that thou sufferest the woman Jezebel, who calls herself a prophetess, to teach, and to seduce my servants, to commit fornication, and to eat of things sacrificed to idols. And I gave her time that she might repent, and she does not want to repent of her immorality. Behold, I will cast her upon a bed, and those who commit adultery with her into great tribulation, unless they repent of their deeds. And her children I will strike with death, and all the churches shall know….’ ”

The prefect closed the Bible and gazed solemnly into the pallid faces of his colleagues. “God has visited upon us our most formidable test of faith in two thousand years. My fellow cardinals, the Judgment is at hand. The long-feared Antichrist, this Jezebel, is finally come. And we dare not falter in our responsibility to expose this evil. For if we fail, we will reap the consequences of the Apocalypse, too horrible to contemplate.”

The prefect turned to personally appeal to his deeply affected pontiff.

“Nicholas. On behalf of our Lord Jesus Christ, on behalf of the Church, on behalf of two thousand years of custodial papacy in the protection of the Sacred Covenant of Christ, I beseech you to initiate an immediate order for the formal defense of the faith. I ask for the issuance of a decree
ex cathedra,
declaring and condemning Jeza as the true, revealed and confirmed Antichrist.”

The hall held absolutely quiet. Di Concerci remained standing, his arms folded, awaiting his answer.

There was a slight tremor to Nicholas's hands, which were clasped in front of him in a prayerful posture. His unseeing eyes were in rapid motion, his brow creased, his lips tightly compressed. At last his eyes ceased their incessant flitting, he blinked several times and took a large breath. Speaking softly and slowly, as if to himself, he replied, “Without exception, this is the most difficult, spiritually disturbing consideration ever borne by a successor of Peter. For months this matter has lain heavily on my soul, and as I pray daily for the great weight to lessen, it only grows more burdensome.

“I have listened carefully to all you've revealed to us this morning, Cardinal, and I must admit that I find it quite compelling. I have little doubt the rest of our Congregation would agree with me.”

There was an immediate murmur of concurrence from the religious advisors around the table.

“However,” the pope continued, “this matter is of the utmost gravity, and I must tell you that I do not see clearly enough to render an
ex cathedra
ruling immediately.”

“Holiness,” di Concerci interjected with some alarm, “only when you speak
ex cathedra
do you invoke the absolute and unquestioned infallibility that the faithful will demand in such a serious matter. You
must
feel the conviction to speak with certainty here or our holy mission cannot succeed. And we simply have no time to delay or I fear all will be lost!”

The pontiff stopped his cardinal with an uplifted hand. “I understand your concerns, Prefect. Nevertheless, before I pronounce an edict
ex cathedra,
a most solemn decision that could well unleash a premature Armageddon, I will retire to my chambers in prayer and meditation. As you have done, Antonio, I, too, will ask God for an unmistakable sign. And by six o'clock tomorrow morning, I will return to this hall and render my decision to the Congregation.”

With great restraint, di Concerci bowed to his pope's judgment. Nicholas rose heavily to his feet and the assembly immediately stood in respect, holding until the pope left the room. After Nicholas had departed, the remaining Curia members followed, offering their congratulations to Cardinal di Concerci as they filed past, their spirits significantly uplifted by the prefect's amazing presentation.

Silvio Santorini remained to accompany di Concerci for the short walk back to their offices.

“Would you allow me to inspect the Bible of Saint Joan, Antonio?” Santorini requested, and di Concerci accommodatingly located in the ancient text the precise chapter and verse.

Santorini received the book reverentially and examined the holy relic with engrossed curiosity. “In all my years with the Church,” he observed, “I have never been so privileged as to experience a personal revelation. You are greatly honored,” he said, bringing the yellowed pages close to his eyes to behold the sainted brown stains that highlighted the passages. “You must have been frightened and deeply moved. What a boon to your faith!”

Di Concerci said nothing, continuing to gather and neatly store his papers in his attaché case.

Obtaining no answer, Santorini asked again, “How did the experience affect you, Antonio?” He looked over at the prefect questioningly.

Impositioned by the stare of his friend's eyes, di Concerci finally ceased his housekeeping and met the gaze. “I tell you this in the utmost confidence, Silvio,” and Santorini nodded his assent, “I felt the need to add a certain drama to my announcement today.”

Santorini's astonishment was evident.

“Do not worry,” di Concerci reassured him, “the bloodstains you see are genuine. And I did indeed meditate in the catacombs and was truly bestowed with the revelation. I merely offered the thunder and lightning as simple embellishments to help augment the message.”

The restored hope Santorini had previously felt was shaken. “And the voice you heard, Antonio?” he asked. “The voice of Peter?”

The prefect grabbed one of the smaller man's thin shoulders and gave it a heartening squeeze. “That, Silvio, I assure you, was very real. I
did
hear the voice of the Fisherman, and the rest is exactly as I explained it.”

Santorini's faith was only partially salvaged.

Di Concerci smiled confidently, patted the side of his associate's shoulder and turned to close his briefcase, advising, “Sometimes God's miracles are better appreciated with a little theatricality. I merely added a harmless garnish, nothing more.”

Detecting a hesitancy, the prefect turned to his colleague again, a stronger tone entering his voice. “The Lord helps those who help themselves, Silvio. And I, for one, do not intend to sit idly by and watch my beloved Church disassembled by this insufferable freak of science. We must rally the troops for the war ahead of us. We must, stay united in our cause and we must attack with deadly force.”

89

Shadow of the Pyramids bar and lounge, Cairo, Egypt 10:17
P.M
., Friday, March 24, 2000

A
ll right, that's it,” Hunter announced to Feldman, rotating on his bar stool to face his friend head-on. “I've been doing a monologue all evening. All I get out of you are yeah's, uh-uh's and maybe's. what's going on, Jon?”

Elbows on the bar, his shoulders stooped, Feldman looked over glumly at his partner. “Sony, Breck, I'm not good company tonight, am I?”

“Hell, Jon, good company? You're not even
here.
You haven't been here all week, for chrissakes. You haven't contributed a thing at a staff meeting since we got back from Rome. It's like you've lost all interest just when things are heatin’ up.”

Feldman said nothing and resumed staring down at his drink.

“Come on, Feldman, for the last time, talk to me!”

The lanky reporter shrugged his shoulders and gave Hunter a sideways glance. Looking back down at his now-warm glass of beer, he mumbled, “I'm in love with two women.”

“What!” Hunter cried, a large, insidious grin spreading across his rugged face. “You're shitting me! You sly dog! Where the hell have you had time to—” He stopped and the grin collapsed.

“Holy shit, Feldman. Jeza?”

Feldman nodded his head.

“Holy shit!” Hunter repeated himself. He paused for a few moments as if he needed to let the outlandish thought sink in. “When did this happen?”

“It's
been
happening. But I guess it really materialized the night we flew in from Rome. I took Jeza back to the desert. We were alone together. I walked her up the hill to the drop-off point, we held hands, and—”

Hunter's brows arched.

“Nothing like that!” Feldman hurriedly clarified, reading Hunter's lascivious expression. “Damn, give me a break, will you!”

Hunter's brows returned to normal. “And now you think you love her,” he said. It wasn't a question. More like a restating of the circumstances in an attempt to absorb them. “I don't know, bubba. Somehow I just can't see you and little Jeza settlin’ down in suburban Cincinnati to raise a family. It just doesn't compute, man.”

“You don't understand,” Feldman attempted to explain, shaking his head. “I don't exactly understand it myself. It's not just a physical attraction that I feel for her. I mean, she's beautiful and all. But it's more than that—”

Hunter rolled his eyes. “She's bewitched you, man. She's got her millenarian hooks deep in you just like all those other raptured suckers out there. Come on, guy, I don't mean to belittle you, but you're a hell of a lot smarter than that!”

Feldman took his glasses off, laid them on the bar and rubbed his eyes with his fingertips. “God, Breck, I don't know. Maybe that's part of it. I really don't know what to make of her on that level. I mean, how do
you
explain what happened at the basilica?”

“You mean, do I believe there's some sort of divine intervention in what went on there? Hell no!”

“Well then how do you explain the altar stone? How in the name of God did Jeza know her way around the archives like that? How the hell did she know exactly where all that data was hidden? Explain that to me. Christ, she even knows things about
me
I never told anyone but my shrink.”

“I don't know about the altar stone, man, but finding her way around a bunch of musty old books is not exactly right up there with walking on water. How do we know Jeza didn't have knowledge about all that archive stuff programmed into her head by Leveque?”

Feldman was unimpressed and Hunter tried a different tack.

“Look, Jon, there are a lot of things about human nature we don't understand. Clairvoyance, mental telepathy. And as far as that altar stone goes, there are things like psychokinesis, telekinesis—moving shit around with your mind, for example. You know, like poltergeist phenomena, where pubescent little girls get all weirded out and mentally crash dishes and crap, and everyone blames it on mischievous ghosts.”

Feldman was still unimpressed.

“So Jeza pulls a few David Copperfields,” Hunter conceded, exasperation in his voice. “That doesn't mean we have to get all Jesus-freaky and emotional and fall on our knees and everything. I mean, Jon, a few thousand years ago people worshiped the sun, for chrissakes. This is the twenty-first century. If we can't explain something right away, we don't have to reach for the God handle.”

Hunter smacked the bar. “Shit, it's time people wised up. Society's been prey to faith healers and con artists ever since superstition was invented. Religion's nothing more than a scam. A way to make money off the gullible. You know it and I know it. It's all a big con. The concept of God is psychological salve for the insecure. Santa Claus for adults.”

Feldman shook his head. “Come on, Breck. All religions aren't scams. There are millions of people out there who're completely sincere in their beliefs and honestly trying to live their faiths.”

Hunter sighed impatiently, set his jaw and frowned at Feldman. “Even if there are, Jon, the truth of the matter is, I just don't give a big ol’ goddamn shit. I don't
like
religion. I find it boring and political and manipulative. I don't like the sanctimoniousness. And most of all, I don't like the goddamn rules.

“I
like
to sin! I like to do all the things they don't want me to do. I like to live the good life, and if that doesn't cut it, then God can just haul my ass off to hell when I die, ‘cause I'm not about to change. Those goddamn millenarians out there are idiots,” he exclaimed, dismissing them all with a grand, sweeping gesture. “A bunch of sheep trotting to the slaughter.”

Neither man said anything for a while. Feldman cleaned his glasses with a cocktail napkin and put them back on. At length, Hunter rested an arm on his friend's shoulder. “What about Anke, Jon. What are you gonna tell her?”