Mark of Evil (32 page)

Salima gently eased the binoculars out of Farrah’s grip. Her sister shuddered and whimpered with grief, and Salima wrapped her arms around her.

“He is with the Lord Jesus now,” Salima whispered. “And our Savior will give him the loving hugs that you cannot. Your husband is in glory now. Iban has peace and joy.”

Farrah wiped her face, her chest still heaving with sobs. She tried to speak, but she choked on the words.

Salima shook her head. “Such evil. We are nearing the end of all things. Come quickly, Lord Jesus . . .”

She glanced in both directions along the highway. No traffic coming. She lifted the binoculars to her eyes and focused on the scene of the torture just fifty yards away. The two Global Alliance guards were still standing at the foot of the cross made out of steel girders. One of them was looking up at the corpse of Dr. Iban Adis that was draped up on the cross.

But the other guard had his own binoculars and he was looking right at Salima’s car.

“We have to go, right now,” Salima called out. “We’re being watched.”

Farrah nodded and wiped her eyes.

“Say good-bye to Iban, your precious, courageous husband,” Salima said.

But as Salima started the car, Farrah shook her head. And she did it so fiercely that it took Salima by surprise.

“No,” Farrah announced with a struggling smile. “I will not say good-bye. It is too late for that. I will wait instead. I will wait to say hello to him myself, and soon, perhaps.”

Salima gunned the car north on the highway toward Karbala,
away from the disgusting city-state of death and corruption called New Babylon.

Farrah looked intently at her sister and sniffled. “And now I know.”

“I am so sorry, dear sister, that you had to see that awful sight, that ugly place of execution for poor Iban,” Salima said.

“Yes,” Farrah added, but suddenly with a strange kind of determination in her voice. “But I know something else.”

“What?”

“I know,” Farrah said calmly, “exactly what I have to do now.”

The Global Alliance guard held his binoculars to his eyes, watching the dusty cloud that was left behind as Salima’s car headed north. Then he brought the binoculars down from his face. “More curious onlookers. These people around here must not have anything better to do.”

But the other guard wasn’t listening. He was still staring at the lifeless form of Dr. Iban Adis up on the metal cross. The heat had blistered and bloated the doctor’s face almost beyond any human recognition. The birds and insects and reptiles of the desert had already begun to feast on his dead body over the last few days.

“Did you hear what I was saying?” the guard with the binoculars asked.

His partner looked away from the corpse of Dr. Adis and addressed him directly. “I was thinking . . .”

“About what?”

“His last words.”

“Really? I don’t give any thought to such things.”

“I do. I think they’re important, when a man is dying. What he believes . . .”

“Ramblings. Insane things, that’s all.”

But the other guard shook his head. “Dr. Adis looked at me. Right at me. And he said, ‘Believe in the Lord Jesus Christ, and you will be saved.’ That was almost the last thing.”

“Almost?”

“A little later he looked up. I don’t even think his eyes were focusing at that point. But he looked up and said, ‘Receive my spirit, Lord.’ ”

His partner scoffed. “You’d better watch yourself. Don’t let people think you’re becoming one of those Jesus Remnant types. They’re crazy.”

The guard seemed to be weighing that. After a moment he tilted his head, glanced back at the corpse of the dead scientist on the cross and at the crucifixion ordered by his Alliance superiors, and then he said to the security partner with the binoculars, “
They’re
crazy?”

PRIME MINISTER’S OFFICE

Jerusalem, Israel

Sol Bensky drummed his fingers on his desk. He could hear a symphonic rendition of one of Wagner’s operas droning at the other end of his desktop Allfone as he waited to be taken off hold to get an answer to his question.

Across from the desk, Joel Harmon and Micah sat quietly with their hands in their laps, watching it all unfold. Micah appreciated the fact that Harmon, the young and very controversial member of the Knesset, had been willing to plead the case of Rabbi ZG. For him to have actually arranged the meeting with PM Bensky was practically a miracle. But that day in Bensky’s office, to see the prime minister’s reaction to the arrest of Rabbi ZG, exceeded Micah’s every expectation.

Sol Bensky had even dispensed with the ordinary diplomatic
protocol and made all of the calls himself. First to the Global Alliance consulate in Jerusalem and then up the chain of command to the Alliance’s special envoy to the Middle East sector in Cairo, and then to the Alliance’s governing regent for the Middle East, and finally, now, to the deputy special assistant to Chancellor Colliquin himself.

Finally a female voice came on the speakerphone. “Mr. Prime Minister?”

“Yes,” Bensky replied in a voice straining for control.

“So sorry to keep you waiting. And your question?”

Bensky’s face flushed scarlet. “My question, twenty minutes ago, was whether I can speak to Chancellor Colliquin, personally, about the arrest and illegal detention of a citizen of Israel, known as Rabbi ZG, whose full name is—”

“Oh yes,” she cut in, “no need to go on. The chancellor is fully aware of this situation. I have been asked to relay his answer to you. Chancellor Colliquin regrets to inform you that he is unable to intercede in this matter. I am sorry, Prime Minister.”

NEGEV DESERT, ISRAEL

Rabbi ZG sat on the concrete floor of the Global Alliance jail that was off-limits to Israeli jurisdiction. He bled from where the guards had yanked chunks of his beard from his face. His nose, having been broken with a club, was black and blue and caked with dried blood. He had spent the last few hours praying and praising God that he was still conscious enough to pray. Thanking God for allowing him to have proclaimed the truth about Jesus the Messiah and the King. He knew His coming was imminent. The time was short. It had to be.

“Have I been faithful, O Lord?” Rabbi ZG asked out loud.

Of course he didn’t want to die, but he was prepared to. How
could he not be? Especially when he considered the words of Paul the apostle:
“To live is Christ and to die is gain.”

But he did wonder, in those moments on the dirty concrete floor of the jail, if it would happen today. So he closed his eyes and he began to pray again. But there came a glimmer of something—a faint light at first, that grew increasingly brighter until even with his eyes shut, he was aware of a burning illumination in the room. He tried to open his eyes to see what it was, but when he did he couldn’t look straight into the light; it was like staring into the sun.

Rabbi ZG shielded his eyes, and when he could eventually make it out, he saw the source of the light. The Two Witnesses were standing in the middle of the light, there in the jail cell with him. Nothing was said for a full minute. Finally, as his eyes began to adjust to the light, he had to speak. “I need to know,” he said to the two men, “your names.”

Two nods came in response.

He continued, in a voice broken with surpassing joy. “In the eleventh chapter of the book of Revelation . . . your coming was foretold? To appear in the end times? During the time of tribulation? You are the two ‘olive trees,’ the ‘two lampstands’ of the Lord . . . ?”

Two nods again.

“I have not dared to ask this before,” he said. “But before my end comes . . .” And then Zechariah Gamaliel turned to the tall, stately, bearded man in the rough, camel hair robe. “May I call you by your true name?”

The tall Witness smiled and nodded. “You may.”

He turned to the shorter, stocky man with the fiery eyes. “And you also?”

“You may.”

Rabbi ZG smiled and exhaled in one long, exhilarated breath. Then he turned to the tall man and he took another breath and closed his eyes. And when he opened them he spoke. “Moses,” he said in a hushed voice.

And he looked to the shorter man, and to him he said, “Elijah.”

The two men reached down and pulled him to his feet.

Rabbi ZG said to them both, “I’m ready to die.”

“The Lord knows,” Elijah replied with the matter-of-fact tone of a man who was absolutely certain of what he knew.

“But the Lord has a question for you,” Moses said quietly.

Rabbi ZG’s eyes widened, and he didn’t dare speak a word. He stopped breathing.

“You are prepared to die?” Moses continued.

The Jewish scholar nodded.

Then Moses spoke again. “Indeed, you are ready to die. But with all of the terrors, and all of the trials that will soon be visited upon the earth, and with all of the aching souls of the lost who still search in their hearts for the Great Shepherd and who need to be told that they can be redeemed . . . In light of that, Zachariah Gamaliel, teacher of Israel, are you prepared also to live?”

FORTY-FOUR

THE WHITE HOUSE

Washington, D.C.

Vlad Malatov sipped coffee at the lunchroom table in Room W16, the space used by the Secret Service for their downtime. It was located directly under the Oval Office. Agent Decker had told him to wait there, that another agent would soon connect with him and begin to walk him through the White House drill, and then Decker had disappeared.

Ten minutes later Secret Service agent Kevin Arnold strolled into the room carrying a small case. One other agent was there in the room, finishing his sandwich, but as Agent Arnold walked to Vlad, the other agent wiped his hands with a paper towel, tossed his paper plate and paper napkin in the trash, and left the room to report for his detail.

Agent Arnold gave one quick glance around the room, checking for company, then sat down next to Malatov. As he did, he laid the little case on the table in front of him. He reached his hand out to Malatov and they shook hands.

“Agent Theodore Booth, I’m Agent Kevin Arnold.”

Malatov smiled and nodded.

“I work very closely with the president,” Arnold continued. “More than most. I’m here to walk you through some preliminaries.”

“Thank you,” Malatov said with a polite tone.

Arnold unzipped the case and opened it. He pulled out a standard-issue, silver SIG Sauer P229 pistol and displayed it to Malatov.

“This is your weapon. You keep the case. Your shoulder holster is in there too. There are only two rounds in the clip for now. Later I’ll explain the paperwork you’ll need to sign for additional ammo, including target rounds. And of course I’ll be explaining the process for target practice and drills.”

Arnold laid the pistol back in the case and shoved it over to Malatov. “Use it in good health,” he said.

“About my schedule and the detail I’ll be assigned to . . . ,” Malatov began.

“I’ll cover some of that today. And then more later.”

“Understood.” Malatov smiled and asked, “And the protocol on . . . Well, a rather embarrassing question about protocol with the president.”