The Last Day (65 page)

Feldman felt ill at ease and his palms began to sweat. They advanced through this room into another corridor that ended in a single, large metal door, very much resembling the entranceway to a bank vault.

Lazzlo paused in front. “Would you care to be alone with her for a few minutes, Mr. Feldman?” he offered graciously.

Feldman looked to Hunter, who nodded solemnly, barely able to meet his friend's gaze.

Lazzlo pulled open the large door and Feldman hesitated, then entered. A cold wall of air met his face, and felt refreshing under the circumstances. The door closed behind him and Feldman needed a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim, indirect lighting.

The room was completely bare save for a lone table at its center and security cameras in opposing corners of the ceiling. The table was completely covered in white drape, under which was the unmistakable form of a small female. A dark stain showed conspicuously above the breast area.

Feldman approached slowly, with the heaviest of hearts. He halted next to the still form and bowed his head in prayer. After a minute, he summoned his courage and nervously, tenderly drew back the sheet.

It was too much for him and the tears flowed freely from his unblinking eyes. He found her every bit as noble and precious as she had been in the full bloom of life. Yet the luster was gone. Her porcelain skin no longer glowed, but now manifested the eternal grandeur of white marble.

He stared at her for the longest time, his mind churning with images and memories. He realized he was overstaying his visit, but he couldn't tear himself away, knowing this would be the last time he would ever be with her again. He ran his hands through her soft hair and then gently replaced the drape.

Lazzlo and Hunter patiently awaited the reporter as he emerged from the room. Feldman had composed himself, but he could tell from the men's expressions that his face bore the evidence of his experience. He was not embarrassed.

Lazzlo gestured to Hunter, “I've already asked Mr. Hunter if he cared to view the remains, and he has declined. Perhaps you'd allow me a few more moments of your time, Mr. Feldman?”

“I also have more questions to ask you,” Feldman replied, solemnly.

“Of course.”

“First, I want to know why you bothered to warn us about Goene's raid on WNN back in January.”

Lazzlo stared at the floor. “While you may find this hard to accept, Mr. Feldman, I was truly attempting to help you. Let me just say that I, and another within the IDF high command, were becoming increasingly concerned about the devastating effects Tamin's Negev experiment was having on our country. Our world!

“We could not oppose Tamin directly. He is a powerful man with many influential friends. We had to work secretly to counter him. His order for your arrest, for example, was simply a personal vendetta. All that the IDF needed to do in response to your
True Origins
broadcast was to eject WNN from Israel. I tried to accomplish what was necessary without putting innocent people behind bars.”

“Again”—Feldman wagged his head—”I don't understand. You resist Tamin and Goene in trying to help us, but you willingly participate in this cowardly murder.”

Feldman was amazed at the rapid deterioration in Lazzlo's demeanor. Like a deflating balloon, he shrunk in both stature and poise. “Please understand, Mr. Feldman, that I do now recognize the full weight of my actions. And while I understand I can never make atonement for what I've done, what there's left for me to do, I am doing.”

The reporter almost felt sorry for the commander.

“Please also understand,” Lazzlo attempted to explain, “that at the time, I truly believed our actions were in the best interests of Israel. I bore Jeza no personal malice. I merely thought her another of the countless deranged fanatics who have plagued this city for four millennia. Only this time, the fanatic happened to have a global following which threatened our nation, and perhaps our world.”

Feldman could no longer withhold his empathy, recognizing that in the past, he himself had harbored precisely the same fears. The newsman placed his good hand on the officer's shoulder. “If it's any consolation to you, Commander, I feel certain Jeza would forgive you. I think I knew her well enough to say that.”

This had a positive effect on Lazzlo, who searched the reporter's face carefully. “That means more to me, Mr. Feldman, than you can possibly know.” His composure returning, he gestured down the hallway. “But come, I have something else to show you that I trust you'll want to make public. Mr. Hunter, you'll need your camera.”

As they exited the room and headed back down the corridor to a side laboratory, Feldman had one last question he had to ask.

“What about those claims that Jeza was controlled by that neurotransmitter chip? Was someone communicating with her? Or exerting some sort of influence over her?”

“I'd like some satisfaction on that one, too,” Hunter added. “The way she sacrificed herself to that gunman yesterday. She walked to the front of that stage and just offered herself up, like she was under someone's sped or in a trance or—”

“I'm about to answer that question for you now,” Lazzlo replied.

They entered a glass-doored room and an elderly gentleman in a white lab coat stood to greet them.

“Gentlemen,” Lazzlo introduced them, “this is the head of forensic medicine here at Hadassah. Dr. Goldberg, could I trouble you please?”

As if he'd performed this duty several times before, the doctor moved spryly to a large screen on the wall, darkened the room and flipped a switch. Hunter turned on his camera to record the demonstration. Illuminated instantly on the screen was a transparent, multicolored image of a full-size human body, laid out horizontally on its side.

Feldman looked at the fascinating image, curious as to its relevance.

“Dr. Goldberg,” Lazzlo asked, “can you explain what we're looking at here?”

“Of course, Commander,” Goldberg responded and moved in front of them to the center of the screen. “Gentlemen, what you're viewing is an Enhanced Positron Emission Tomography of a human body. An E-PET scan, if you will.

“You'll notice that all internal organs of the body are completely visible.”

“We'll have to take your word on that one, Doctor.” Feldman made their lack of medical knowledge understood.

“Now,” the doctor began manipulating controls under the screen, “we're advancing to the cranial area, and I'm magnifying the image and rotating it so that you can see ad angles and aspects of the cerebellum. Can you see?”

Feldman and Hunter nodded dumbly, watching the revolving anatomy.

“Now, tell me,” the doctor said, like a professor leading a student, “what do you notice?”

The two newsmen studied the image for a moment, baffled. “I don't know, Doctor,” Feldman finally admitted. “Am I supposed to see something unusual?”

“No,” the doctor answered. “As a matter of fact, this is a completely normal brain in every way.” The doctor flipped another dial at the bottom of the screen and then stepped away to allow a clearer view.

Magically, the rotating skull started to change, to fill in, to add features, to become whole—a complete human head and face. A full-color, three-dimensional image of a beautiful young woman with tousled black hair and perfect, alabaster skin.

Feldman gasped as the enormous implications began to sweep over him. He said nothing, his eyes orbiting the peaceful, sleeping face. Finally, in the softest voice, he asked, “This—all of this—is Jeza?”

“Yes,” Lazzlo said, “down to the minutest detail. Even to the whorls of her fingerprints. This procedure was undertaken last evening as a preliminary to an autopsy.”

The doctor reversed the image sequence to expose, once again, the internal aspects of the cranium. “As you can see,” the doctor pointed out with a pen, “there are no internal microchips. No wires. No electrodes. No artificial anything. Simply a natural, normal, healthy human brain.”

“No,” Lazzlo corrected him. “Not exactly human.”

Hunter whispered to himself, “I'll be damned!”

Staggered, unable to take his eyes off the fantastic image, Feldman had to sit down.

The doctor continued his demonstration, scanning down the body to reveal the internal organs of the chest cavity. “You'll notice here,” he indicated with his pen, “a single, invasive trauma of the cardiac muscle …”

But Feldman was no longer paying attention. He was trembling inside. Aloud, to himself, he played out his thoughts. “Then Jeza
wasn't
the main test subject of the Negev laboratory after all. She wasn't even an enhanced subject. She was the control. The unaltered daughter. The pure, untouched one. Which means … that all di Concerci's arguments are false. Which means … that none of Jeza's knowledge or abilities came from the infusion process, or telecommunications with computers, or any of that. Which means—”

Feldman's mind reeled and he lapsed into virtual catatonia. He did not begin to recover until Lazzlo, who'd left the room momentarily, returned to thrust a sealed envelope in Feldman's hands.

“Here,” Lazzlo said. “Here's everything you'll need to indict the entire IDF command—Tamin, Goene, me, all of us. These are intelligence documents and internal memos exposing it all—the corruptions, the conspiracies, the cover-ups. And I've also included a full CD disc of the Messiah's E-PET scan for complete authentication of what you've just seen.

“Now I'm afraid it's time for you both to leave. Goene has called on his troops to take this hospital and rid Israel of a traitor. An advance of helicopters from the Negev base is due here any minute, and I can assure you, they'll stop at nothing to acquire Jeza's body.

“But of greater concern,” Lazzlo warned, “even larger numbers of anti-Jeza forces are approaching Jerusalem from the north. They've been met by our northern army division several miles outside the city and a bloody battle is underway as we speak. I don't expect General Zerim can hold than long, and certainly this hospital will be their next target.”

The dazed look in Feldman's eyes changed to one of sympathy for the doomed officer. “What are you going to do now, Commander?”

Lazzlo paused and calmly faced the reporter. “I'm going to stay here, Mr. Feldman,” he said evenly, “and defend my Messiah.”

Hunter placed a hand on the officer's back. “What's the point? That sounds like suicide. Why not evacuate and take Jeza's body with you in the helicopter? We can get asylum for you somewhere, I'm certain.”

“You don't understand,” Lazzlo replied, his face hardening. “You see, I—
I personally
—hold large responsibility for what happened yesterday. The commission of the most deplorable crime in two thousand years. I conspired in the death of my Messiah. The most grievous sin against God. The sin of ad sins.

“With all my heart I must believe that Jeza will rise tomorrow, here in Jerusalem, as scripture foretells. And I must also believe that I will be given the opportunity to kneel before Her and plead personally for Her forgiveness. Protecting the sacred temple of Her body is now the only hope my eternal soul has left.
I cannot leave!”

Feldman inhaled deeply. “I wish you well, then, Commander.” He extended his good hand. “You have my word I'll air this information as quickly as possible.”

“Thank you, Mr. Feldman.” Lazzlo gripped the reporter's hand with both of his. “And you, too, Mr. Hunter,” he repeated the gesture with the videographer.

“Commander—” Feldman paused on his way to the door. “I have to take Cardinal Litti with me.”

“By all means, do,” Lazzlo urged them. “As you've no doubt noticed, we've almost completed the evacuation of the hospital, but the cardinal has refused to leave. Take him, but hurry. You
must
see to it that the information you carry, especially the PET scan, is made public immediately. Perhaps the truth can stop the madness.”

With that, Lazzlo left the reporters to resume his defense preparations. Feldman stashed the precious package of evidence inside his shirt and a guard escorted them to the room where they left Cardinal Litti. They found him on his knees, in prayer, a small snapshot of the Messiah on the chair in front of him.

“Alphonse,” Feldman called to him, “we're leaving.”

The cardinal placed a hand on the chair and rose slowly to his feet. “Will you return at dawn to join me for the Resurrection?” he asked, bestowing a smile of perfect tranquillity.

“No, Alphonse, you don't understand.” Feldman grabbed him by the shoulder,
“We're
going. All of us. You, me, Hunter. Two crazed armies are converging on this place and all hell is about to break loose. Let's go while we can!”

Litti shook his head steadfastly. “No, Jon. It's you who don't understand. There is no safer place to be. I tried to tell Commander Lazzlo that he's wasting his efforts with his defense measures. Do you really think God would let anyone interfere with the culmination of His Great Purpose?”

As if to underscore Feldman's argument, they suddenly heard the alarming report of automatic weapon fire outside, and then the sound of a small explosion. “Alphonse,” Feldman pleaded, leaning close and looking hard into the clergyman's eyes, “I don't know what God's intentions are, but we can't wait any longer. You have to leave with us.
Now!”

The cardinal's response was a look of absolute conviction.

“Gentlemen!” their guard yelled in the doorway. “We must go!”

Hunter grabbed Feldman's biceps. “Come on, man, you're wasting your time. If we don't get out of here now, that package will never see the light of day.”

Saddened and frustrated, Feldman encircled the portly cardinal with his one arm and hugged him tightly. “God protect you,” he said.

“And God protect you, my good friend,” the cardinal replied.

Feldman released him and exited the room, making his way cumbrously down the hall with Hunter's support. By the time they reached the roof, the two newsmen realized they'd missed their window of opportunity. The air was acrid with smoke. Bullets were zinging everywhere around them. Despite this, the helicopter remained at high throttle, its pilot faithfully awaiting his passengers, the unwavering Corporal Lyman crouching alone inside the doorway, fiercely waving them on.