The Last Day (57 page)

“Regardless.” Zerim's anxieties were not allayed. “Our plan to put an end to Tamin and his accursed Negev experiment has misfired on us. If anything, Israel is worse off than before. Although Tamin may be physically out of the picture while the Knesset investigates him, he still exerts control of the IDF through Goene—and I fear that madman more than I do Tamin.

“David, we faded in our efforts to neutralize this damnable Jeza threat. Instead of discrediting her with the Leveque diary, we only served to create more worldwide division. Now millions of fanatics are descending on Jerusalem to engage each other in the battle of Armageddon.”

“Yes, my friend,” Lazzlo reluctantly agreed. “And now it's become my responsibility to try and stop them. God is poetic in His justice, isn't He? I'm about to reap the consequences of my involvement in all of this.”

100

WNN regional headquarters, Cairo, Egypt 8:00
A.M
., Monday, April 10, 2000

T
he office operator sent a phone call through to Feldman's desk and the newsman took it expectantly.

“Good morning, Cardinal.”

“Hello, Jon, how are you?”

“Fine.” Feldman spared him his true feelings. “I think we've got things squared away for you.”

“Excellent, bless you!” Litti sounded relieved and grateful. “What's your plan?”

“Well, I've got us a car and a dependable, professional driver. Cardinal, you're going in undercover as an Egyptian diplomat
en route
to the Palestinian peace talks in Hebron. Jeza will pose as your daughter. You'll wear a turban and Jeza must keep a full veil on at all times. We have papers and credentials and everything you'll need. It should work fine if you leave the talking to the driver and stick to the few Arabic phrases we'll give you. Once we make it safely across the border, we should be able to make our way to Jerusalem without a problem.”

“Okay. Excellent.”

“And one other thing…”

“Yes?”

“Breck and I are traveling with you as your attachés.”

“Do you think that wise, given your troubles with the Israelis?” Litti said, concern in his voice.

Feldman tried to sound reassuring. “We'll be disguised, too, Cardinal. Don't worry, no one's going to recognize us. Besides, Egyptian officials don't travel without their attachés, and I don't trust anyone else to handle this. Even our driver won't know who you and Jeza are.”

Litti was hesitant, but coming around. “Well, all right, if you think that will work…”

“When do we leave?” Feldman asked, looking forward to seeing the Messiah again.

“Saturday morning, I think,” Litti said. “I'll call and let you know as soon as I can determine exactly when and where.”

101

Ali'im Projects, West Cairo, Egypt 6:00
A.M
., Saturday, April 15, 2000

A
t the appointed time and location, the reporters arrived in a long, dark stretch limo, complete with tinted windows, Egyptian government seals on its side and a burly, no-nonsense Arab chauffeur.

As they turned down the last row of modest white-adobe houses, they encountered the cardinal pacing the dirt road, anxiously awaiting them. Feldman was about to scold him for parading around undisguised, when he noticed the distraught look on the cardinal's flushed face.

“She's gone!” Litti yelled, rushing up to the slowing car.

Feldman was aghast. “Gone? When? Where?”

Litti held his hand over his heart, short of breath. “When I awoke, our hosts told me that Jeza had disappeared last night after I retired for the evening. She gave instructions that I not be awakened, and She just left! No one will say where, but I'm certain She's headed for Jerusalem. This is so reckless of Her!”

“Goddammit!” Hunter blurted out his disappointment. “I say we make a run for Jerusalem anyway. If she's headed there, maybe we can catch up with her on the way. It's worth a try, ‘cause if she's left Cairo, our work here is shit-canned anyway.”

It crossed Feldman's mind that this was no way to speak in front of a Catholic cardinal of the Holy See, but the reporter was too dispirited to raise the issue. “You're right,” Feldman agreed, taking a last look around the sleepy development. “Let's do it.”

Litti climbed inside and the limo sped off down the dirt road toward the Israeli border.

“Can you tell me how you found Jeza, and what's been happening with her since I last saw you?” Feldman asked as they began getting into their disguises.

Litti nodded. “You know, when I returned to my hotel after our trip to the Vatican, I thought I'd never see Jeza again. Three days of prayer passed and I heard nothing. Then, on the fourth morning, I was sitting in my room meditating and I felt this overwhelming compulsion to go to the window. I looked down on the street and was suddenly seized with vertigo. When I regained my balance, lo and behold, there was Jeza, four floors below, standing on the sidewalk, staring up at me.

“I went immediately down and, without saying a word, She led me through the streets to the outskirts of Cairo and a small encampment of Bedouins. That's who She stays with in the desert. She moves around with them and their herds, living in tents and teaching.”

“Do they even know who she is?” Feldman wondered.

“Oh my, yes,” Litti confirmed. “They have portable TVs and radios they take with them everywhere they go. They're totally devoted to Her. She's cured several of them of serious illnesses.”

Feldman nodded his understanding. After all, it was Bedouins who first discovered Jeza in the desert after her escape from the Negev disaster. In a sense, they were her first family.

“So,” Litti went on, “Jeza invited me to live and travel with her and the Bedouins, which I've done now ever since. We roam all about this region, visiting different locales where Jeza stays at the home of a local inhabitant, preaches, performs an occasional miracle and then we move on.”

“And you're still convinced that Jeza is the true Messiah?” Feldman questioned.

“Absolutely!” Litti exclaimed without hesitation. “Quite certainly She's a Messiah. Just as Jesus was. She's the only begotten Daughter of God, here on His special mission.”

Adjusting Hunter's turban to hide his blond hair, Feldman gave Litti a sideways glance. “Other than dismantling organized religion and causing untold world turmoil, just what is her mission, exactly?”

The cardinal looked disappointed. “Jon, tell me, after all you've seen, you still do not believe?”

“I don't know what to believe, Cardinal,” Feldman admitted. “I see a lot of strange occurrences with messianic overtones that could have many different explanations. Including satanic, if you're so inclined to interpret the scriptures that way.”

Litti's face saddened. “Jon, other than the last few weeks I've been blessed to know Her, you've spent more time observing Jeza than anyone else. What have you seen? What does your heart tell you?”

Feldman looked chagrined. “It's so confusing, Alphonse. I find her incredible. I love her kindness, her conviction, her strength, her beauty, her courage. These are the godly things I see in her. But then I see all the destruction and pain and suffering that are a result of her coming.”

Litti leaned back, thoughtfully. “Have you ever considered, Jon, that sometimes God's business can't always be love and kindness? God is like the good parent raising a beloved child. He must strike a balance between affection and discipline, applying both, in proper measure, as appropriate. There's as much love in the chastisement as there is in the embrace. To let bad behavior go unpunished is to ruin the child.”

“That's a rather condescending perspective,” Feldman observed.

“In comparison to the perfection of God, man
is
an infant,” Litti maintained. “Nevertheless, Jeza says that it's God's will for mankind to grow and mature and ultimately become independent of God. But that the road we're taking has swerved away from His path and has become circular. She says we're no longer growing. That we're stagnating in the current religious environment.”

“So God means to chastise us by ending the world? That goes a little beyond corrective discipline, wouldn't you say?”

“It's true, She's warned that Armageddon is upon us. But that doesn't mean we're all going to die. Perhaps some will be taken up, body and soul, into heaven and eternal life.”

“The Rapture, huh?” Hunter identified the familiar doctrine.

“Or perhaps”—Litti remained undaunted—”Christ will come again, and together He and Jeza will separate the good from the evil and rule side by side for a thousand years of blissful heaven on earth.”

“But what about Cardinal di Concerci's charges—the signs?” Feldman questioned. “How do you explain the signs? And if Jeza isn't the Antichrist, who is?”

Litti smiled with self-assurance. “Remember Jeza's admonitions about interpreting scripture? These signs are Cardinal di Concerci's perspectives. They do not prove Jeza is the Deceiver. Who's to say what form the Antichrist will take? Or even that it's one person and not an entire group of people? Admittedly, Jeza does not fit the conventional notions of how a Messiah should look or act, but we'll only understand God's purpose once His plan is fully revealed to us, if then.”

“Surely you've asked Jeza what's going to happen?” Feldman asked.

“Yes, I've asked Her. She'll only say that the Dissolution is near and that all She has foretold will soon occur. Indeed, if She does return to Jerusalem, She'll be setting into motion the last prophecies of the Apocalypse. I have an ominous foreboding in that regard. As if we may already be in the Last Days.”

102

Mount of the Ascension, Jerusalem, Israel 9:17
P.M
., Saturday, April 15, 2000

I
t was well after dark when Feldman, Hunter and Cardinal Litti rolled up to the small hillside villa WNN had reserved for them on the western side of the Mount of the Ascension. Crossing the border had actually been less difficult than the trip to Jerusalem. The roads north were choked with pilgrims, militants and military convoys, and there were signs of destruction and outbreaks of violence continually along the way. Once, shots had even been fired at the trio's car when they refused to stop for a group of marauding Gogs.

Upon arrival, they found Jerusalem little changed, yet entirely different. Many of the buildings damaged in the earthquake more than three months ago were still in a state of disrepair. Apparently there had been too much civic disturbance to attend to these details. The famous Golden Gate of the Old City, Feldman noticed, was still partially disassembled, covered with scaffolding, many large stones stacked on pallets around its base.

The millenarian shantytowns, which were now separated into pro-Jeza and anti-Jeza sections in a futile effort to restrain the incessant quarreling, had grown to prodigious proportions outside the walls of the city. Israeli military were everywhere, and the crowded markets were rife with altercations.

The hillside villa Feldman and company would occupy was not too far from where he and his associates had witnessed the night of the millennial transition. It was closer to the bottom of the mount, with a balcony that faced toward Jerusalem this time, offering a splendid view of the Old City.

Concerned about Anke's safety in these uncertain conditions, Feldman attempted to contact her at both her Jerusalem town house and Tel Aviv apartment, getting nothing but voice recorder. He left a contrite message, promising to call again soon, but gave no number, not daring to disclose his whereabouts.

103

Mount of the Ascension, Jerusalem, Israel 8:58
A.M
., Sunday, April 16, 2000

I
n this dream, Feldman was clinging naked to the trunk of a lone, skinny tree at the top of an otherwise barren hill. He was hanging on for dear life, only a wisp above the snarling jaws of a pack of vicious yellow curs. They were hellhounds. Filthy, matted fur. Crimson, crazed eyes. Maws slinging the foam of hydrophobic madness. And Feldman's grip was loosening, his vulnerable, exposed bottom inching ever closer to those snapping fangs. He hiked himself up again and again, but with each enervating effort his fingers cramped a little sooner and the cycles grew shorter.

From somewhere off in the distance, he could hear Hunter's voice calling enthusiastically, “Hey everybody, get a load of this! Where's my camera?”

Feldman came to, panting, safe in his own bed, his fingers still desperately clutching the rungs of his headboard. Hunter's voice rang out again. “Hey, you gotta see this—you won't believe it! Hurry!”

Rolling out of bed stark naked, Feldman staggered to his feet, grappling with glasses and pants. Hunter was still hollering, and Feldman made it a duet when he caught himself with his zipper. Swearing and stumbling from his room into the glaring light of a gorgeous spring morning, the newsman squinted to spy Hunter out on the balcony. Telephoto video camera in hand, Hunter had been joined by the disheveled-looking Cardinal Litti, who was also overcome with excitement.

“Jon!” The cardinal beckoned Feldman with a repetitive, circular motion of his forearm. “Look!”

Shading his eyes with his hand, Feldman leaned over the balcony and peered out toward the bottom of the mount. A caravan of Bedouins on camels and mules was winding its way from the desert around the base of the Mount of Olives along a dirt path into the city. In reception, a crowd was gathering near the Old City walls. From a nearby shantytown, people were scurrying out on foot to meet the arriving travelers.

At the forefront of the caravan, a small, lone figure, mounted on a mule, was being led along by a walking nomad. Even at a distance, it was obvious from the sharp contrast of dark hair and white skin who this celebrated rider was. Feldman fished a pair of binoculars out of a duffel bag and zoomed in on the spectacle.

“I'm an idiot!” Litti declared to himself, smacking his forehead repeatedly with the butt of his hand. “A complete fool!”

Hunter was too absorbed in his camerawork to react. Feldman responded without removing the binoculars from his eyes. “How do you mean?”