The Last Day (58 page)

“She's fulfilling prophecy again!” Litti exclaimed. “Following in the footsteps of Christ and fulfilling an Old Testament prediction. Do you know what day this is?”

Still unable to take his eyes away, Feldman shook his head, smiling to himself as the prophetess passed among the cheering throngs toward the city.

Litti chirped, “It's Palm Sunday, of course!”

Feldman's smile broke into a broad grin as he reveled in Jeza's triumphant return to the Holy City. The steadily expanding crowd of spectators was jubilant, dancing, singing and shouting, liberated in joyous celebration.

But momentarily, Feldman detected a disruption on the periphery of the crowd. Training his field glasses on the disturbance, his grin abruptly vanished. “Hunter!” he called to his friend, concern edging his voice. “Look to the left.”

Hunter panned his camera and immediately picked up the source of Feldman's alarm. Unquestionably, the initial gathering of well-wishers had been composed of pro-Jeza supporters. It would appear, however, that word had quickly spread to the opposition camps, and a sizable contingent of vigilantes was now converging on the crowd. As yet, there were no Israeli soldiers or police in sight to protect the defenseless caravan. Fighting had broken out, and two cars of armed guerrillas were plowing through the panicking masses, heading in the direction of the Messiah.

Litti emitted a sinking groan and Feldman's grip tightened on his binoculars. From this distance there was nothing they could do. The attackers would reach their quarry in a matter of seconds, long before the three men, unarmed though they were, could have scrambled down the hill to Jeza's defense.

They watched in desperation as the caravan began to scatter. The hysterical crowd pressed against Jeza's mule, forcing it off the path to stumble sideways, clumsily toward the walls of the Old City. Jeza turned to see the approaching vehicles, which apparently had also spotted her. A passenger in one of the cars rose up through an open sun roof and rested a rifle on the top of the jostling vehicle.

Feldman's heart was racing. Jeza was trapped against the walls and the scattering throngs were yielding to the oncoming vehicles. Pressed back toward the Golden Gate, the desperate Bedouins hurried Jeza toward the pallets of stone stacked under the construction scaffolding. But this limited cover had already been claimed by scores of frantic people. With nowhere else to go, Jeza slipped off her mount and stood to face her adversaries. The car was well within rifle range now and the sharpshooter leaned forward, taking aim.

Calmly, Jeza turned in Feldman's direction. Through his binoculars, it appeared as if she were staring directly into his eyes. He could not watch this, and he buried his face against his shoulder.

The sound of repeated rifle fire popped in the distance.

“Oh my God!” Hunter cried, and Feldman clenched his fists in bitter anger. “Son of a bitch!” Hunter shouted and Feldman slumped to his knees.

“She disappeared!” Hunter bellowed in glee. “She escaped!”

This failed to register on either Feldman or Litti.

“Hey guys.” Hunter wouldn't spare them a glance, but he gropingly thumped the cardinal on the top of his head. “It's okay. Get up. Look!”

Unbelieving, Feldman and Litti rose slowly and peered out over the edge of the balcony. They saw that the attacking car had pulled up near the pallets of wall stone and the occupants were out investigating the rubble under the scaffolding.

“What happened?” Feldman gasped, his voice barely audible.

“She squeezed in through a gap in the wall they're repairing,” Hunter explained in wonderment. “She's so small, she just slipped through a tiny opening there and left them all sucking air.”

“I'll be damned,” Feldman exhaled.

“Another miracle, more or less,” Hunter decided.

104

Mount of the Ascension, Jerusalem, Israel 8:18
P.M
., Monday, April 17, 2000

H
unter's riveting footage of Jeza's escape through the Golden Gate was delivered out of Jerusalem by special courier that morning. By evening, WNN had yet another ratings triumph.

Worldwide, the repercussions of the report were devastating. Pro-Jeza forces, outraged at the brutish attack on their defenseless Messiah, railed against their opposition through a long and bloody night.

In Jerusalem, however, the situation was quickly contained by the IDF, which had mounted a tight security ring around the Old City. The Ben-Miriam government, despite adamant IDF opposition, had allowed Jeza sanctuary inside the walls. Although the administration would have preferred Jeza not reenter the country at all, she was, arguably, an Israeli citizen. Indeed, despite the shocking revelations of the Leveque diary, many Israeli Jews, particularly the Lubavitchers and Orthodox sects, and even some members of the Knesset, still supported Jeza as a holy person, if not the promised Messiah.

The new head of the Jerusalem IDF, Commander David Lazzlo, had implemented a successful policy to lessen tensions. He had ordered that all perpetrators of violence in Jerusalem be arrested and transported to the city of Afula, approximately one hundred kilometers to the north. Two large, internationally funded U.N. holding centers had been established there—a separate internment camp for each of the two opposing factions. The effort had been helpful in removing some of the most aggressive and dangerous militants.

Feldman and Hunter had box seats to the entire operation. Nevertheless, without their visas, not secure seats. Before Alphonse Litti had left them Palm Sunday morning to seek out his Messiah in the Old City, the good cardinal had pledged not to abandon his reporter friends. Good as his word, he'd dropped by briefly Monday afternoon with the welcome word that he'd reunited once again with Jeza. She was safe, well hidden within the city, protected around the clock by legions of staunch supporters.

After the cardinal left, with evening drawing near, Feldman joined Hunter out on the balcony in the spring twilight. Below them, the effects of their Palm Sunday video could be seen in the unbroken streams of pilgrims migrating into the area. The numbers had easily doubled.

“Jesus, there must be millions of them!” Feldman marveled to Hunter, who'd been studying the crowds with binoculars. “I thought the IDF would've had better success sealing the borders.”

“Even with the U.N. helping now,” Hunter contended, giving his field glasses a rest, “the Israelis don't have the manpower to deal with this. When you believe you're about to face your maker, like all these poor bastards do,” he inclined his head toward the endless droves, “it's gonna take a hell of a lot more than a few roadblocks to stop you.”

They leaned together against the rail for a while, observing in silence the mass procession. “Just think,” Hunter reflected, “all that fanaticism converging from all over the globe, funneling into this one, sorry little spot. Yep, we're headin’ for one hell of a confrontation. And once again, you and me got a bird's-eye view.” He turned to go inside. “Too bad we don't have a program of events. I get tired just sittin’ around, waitin’ for something to happen.”

“Maybe we do have a program,” Feldman ventured.

The cameraman paused. “How do you mean?”

“Remember what Alphonse said about Jeza fulfilling biblical prophecies?”

“Yeah?”

“Maybe there's another way to look at that. What if she's
emulating
Christ?”

“Well, we all want to be more Christ-like, now don't we?” Hunter responded sarcastically, his curiosity abating.

“No.” Feldman screwed up his face. “I mean, what if she's
copying
what Christ did? You know, paralleling his life. Like her Palm Sunday entrance into Jerusalem yesterday. Like her Sermon on the Mount. Her miracles. Her flight into Egypt. Her parables. The whole shtick! I mean, it isn't identical exactly, but it does follow the general pattern.”

“The only real pattern I see,” Hunter pointed out, “is that she seems to pick her appearances to occur at the worst possible places at the worst possible times to create the most possible havoc!”

“Stay with me on this for a minute,” Feldman appealed. “Let's just assume that the Samaritans convinced Jeza that she's a New Christ, right? So that's who she's modeled herself after. And she's got this incredible microchip communications technology in her head that gives her instant access to all the scriptures and prophecies. So she studies the Bible and when she needs direction she simply refers to the life of Christ like a road map.”

“Okay, your point?”

“The point is, if she's using scripture for direction, what's her next move?”

“I don't know, I missed Bible school.”

“Look at the calendar, Breck. What's April 21?”

“I give up.”

“Good Friday, man! You know, the Crucifixion?”

This stopped Hunter cold and he gaped at his friend. “They're gonna nail her to a cross?”

Feldman shook his head rapidly. “No, no, not literally.” But then, in a spasm of alarm, he caught himself. “Hell, I don't know!”

Hunter began to formulate the logic. “So that's what's bugging Litti now. He knows what she's up to. She's biding her time until Friday to turn herself over to the Gogs to be crucified. Self-martyrdom so she can fulfill her destiny. Sick, man.”

Feldman's head was reeling with abhorrent images. “The Gogs may be fanatical enough to execute Jeza, but they wouldn't dare cruci—” He couldn't bring himself to say it. “They're too smart for that!” he insisted. “That would be playing right into her hands—the final validation of all these Christ parallels. It's self-defeating.”

“Unless,” Hunter countered, “they're really convinced she's the Antichrist. Then a crucifixion is poetic justice. Payback for the cruel way Christ was executed. Retribution. I mean, there are certainly enough crazies out there, I wouldn't put anything past ’em.”

Unwillingly, Feldman had to accept this reasoning. “Holy shit,” he whispered, and both men deflated slowly to sitting positions side by side on the rail. Feldman put his hand to his brow, thinking. “We've got to get into the Old City, Breck. We've got to get Jeza out of there.”

Hunter was wagging his head. “No way, man, the Israelis have it sealed up tight. The only way you can get in now is with a residency photo. And they'll only issue ‘em to people like Litti who were already inside the walls before the crackdown.”

“It's going to take a helicopter, then,” Feldman concluded.

“Nope.” Hunter shook his head again. “Restricted air space. The Israelis would shoot down any unauthorized aircraft before you could even get close. Look”—he offered Feldman his field glasses—”they've got artillery and troops stationed everywhere now. They're prepared for Armageddon.”

Feldman rejected the binoculars. “Dammit, then we've got to get the Israelis’ cooperation. We've got to get our visas restored!”

“Agreed.”

“I'm calling Sullivan to see if he's made any progress. Maybe our concerns about Friday will give him a little more incentive. And let's hope we get a visit from Litti tomorrow. We're going to need him.”

Hunter nodded, started to rise, then had a last misgiving. “But what if Jeza refuses to leave?”

Feldman bit his hp at this oversight.

And then a wry grin played across Hunter's lips. “On second thought—three big, grown men; one little girl. I think we've got all the persuasive tools we need.”

Feldman looked thoughtfully at his friend. “You may want to reconsider that approach, old pal. Let's not forget what she did to that altar stone!”

105

Mount of the Ascension, Jerusalem, Israel 10:11 A.M., Tuesday, April 18, 2000

A
rriving as promised for his morning visit, a troubled Cardinal Litti could not contain his anxieties.

“Something's in the air, my friends,” he began, his voice heavy with concern. “The Messiah sent me to the Israelis with a special request. She wants permission to broadcast a public speech at the courtyard of the Wailing Wall this Friday afternoon.”

Feldman and Hunter exchanged confirming glances.

“What did the Israelis say?” Feldman wanted to know.

“I met with a Commander David Lazzlo,” Litti explained. “He said he'd get back with me later today, but he indicated the IDF might allow us to hold the assembly as long as we agree to a quid pro quo. Jeza would have to require our followers to lay down their weapons and forgo any further violence. But that's a nonissue since she's been appealing for that all along, anyway.”

Feldman looked perplexed. “I don't get it. Letting Jeza make a public appearance in the middle of this powder keg is insane. It'll only lead to bloodshed. Why would the Israelis risk it?”

“Jeza is safe as long as she remains behind the walls of the Old City,” Litti pointed out. “Her support is solid inside. Outside, the IDF has completely secured the walls. And, thankfully, most of the truly militant extremists have been removed to internment camps in Afula now.”

“So what's the purpose of the speech, anyway?” Feldman asked.

“Jeza Won't say.” Litti sighed. “Just that, once again, She has Her Father's unfinished business to attend to.”

Feldman considered this for a moment “Alphonse, I don't have to tell you what day Friday is.”

Litti's furtive eyes answered for him.

Feldman gripped the cardinal's forearm. “We're concerned about her safety, too. And we have an idea. A plan to rescue her.”

Litti looked up at Feldman questioningly.

Grinning, Hunter stole Feldman's news. “WNN is talking with the Israelis right now about a plan to get the both of you out of here. The Israelis would like nothing better than to defuse this time bomb. And with your help, maybe we can pluck the two of you off to someplace where it's a little more stable.”

The cardinal wagged his head at them. “You don't understand: There
is
no hiding from what's coming. It's not just Jeza's safety I'm concerned about.”

Feldman and Hunter's excitement abated.

“Do you remember”—Litti alternated back and forth between the two newsmen—”how Jeza escaped Her attackers Palm Sunday morning?”