End of Days, page 20
Lawrence studied the general, then Alex. He was silent.
‘Well, why are they going to help us?’
‘Because, my dear Alex,’ Lawrence finally said, ‘Jason is not the only one marked for public execution. The High Priest of the Third Temple is being executed first.’
‘Ah,’ said David Weiss. ‘So they will come out of hiding to rescue their High Priest.’
‘Precisely.’
General Mahmoud turned to the young king. ‘The colonel is here.’
‘Escort him in.’
A tanned, handsome young man, his head wrapped in a black and white kaffiyeh, entered, escorted by two Jordanian soldiers. He bowed deeply to King Jibril.
‘Colonel Zawahri, salaam,’ said Jibril. ‘We are honoured.’
‘The honour is mine, Your Majesty,’ the colonel replied.
Alex frowned.
The man’s accent was not Arabic, but Israeli.
‘The Ghost relays to His Majesty, with honour and respect, that he alone is in total command of the operation. Or there will be no operation.’
King Jibril nodded. ‘Tell him I accept his terms.’
The colonel bowed deeply. ‘He sends his honourable tidings to His Majesty as always, with deep gratitude to Jordan for its part in the Resistance.’
‘I send my deep respect and warm tidings in return. It is Jordan’s privilege. My forebear Aretas the Great would expect nothing less of his kingdom.’
Lawrence recited from Daniel 11: 41: ‘He shall enter also into the glorious land, and many countries shall be overthrown: but these shall escape out of his hand, even Edom, and Moab, and the chief of the children of Ammon.’
Jibril leaned toward him. ‘What does that mean, learned Professor?’
‘Edom, present-day southern Jordan; Moab, central western Jordan; and Ammon, present-day Amman. You see, Your Majesty,’ he said softly, ‘thousands of years ago, long before your esteemed forebear King Aretas was born, the Archangel Gabriel appeared to the Hebrew seer Daniel. In the scrolls of the Revelation of Daniel, Gabriel revealed to him that not only would Jordan escape the Antichrist’s armies, but Bozrah – specifically, the very land we stand upon now, Petra – would be a refuge in the time of the very end, especially to the Israelis. You are fulfilling the prophecy before our very eyes, Your Majesty.’
The colonel removed his kaffiyeh.
‘Indeed, Professor,’ he said. ‘We revere our prophet Daniel deeply.’
‘Ari, my long-time companion.’
Jibril clasped the young Israeli to him in a fierce embrace.
‘We attended Eton together. Ari’s family and mine go back many decades. The trust between us is unbreakable.’
Alex watched in fascination. ‘So you know the Ghost?’
Ari gazed back impassively. ‘No one knows the Ghost.’
Alex noticed the brief look between Lawrence and Jibril.
Jibril nodded. ‘It is the only way.’
Ari turned to Lawrence.
‘Professor, time is our enemy. De Vere has already stopped the daily sacrifices our people perform. His forces have incarcerated our President, Prime Minister, and the Israeli Cabinet, as well as thousands of our people who refuse to worship his abomination of a statue. They are all marked for execution.’
Lawrence looked at Ari with compassion.
‘And from the time that the daily sacrifice shall be taken away, and the abomination that maketh desolate set up, there shall be a thousand two hundred and ninety days. Gentlemen, our Maker’s clock is now winding down. We have precisely 1,290 days.’ He hesitated.
‘That’s three and a half years,’ Alex interjected.
‘Three years, six months, one week, five days, eight hours, nine minutes and fifty-nine seconds, to be precise,’ Lawrence said softly.
‘Until what, learned Professor?’ Jibril looked into Lawrence’s eyes intently.
‘Until the day that was scribed in the Apocopalypse of Saint John – Armageddon.’
Ari bowed to Lawrence, then embraced Jibril again.
‘Operation Kontsa Dney has begun,’ the young Israeli said. And donning his kaffiyeh, he disappeared.
Alex frowned. ‘Kontsa Dney? What does it mean?’
Jibril turned to him. ‘It’s Russian.
He hesitated.
‘It means End of Days.’
Black Site
Undisclosed Location
Israel
Jason lay facedown in a restless slumber on the thin urine-stained mattress. Tossing in frustration, he opened his eyes. Someone was in his cell.
He struggled to sit up, but it was as if his entire body were paralyzed. Finally, he managed to turn his head.
In the far corner of his cell stood a priest, his face covered by a cowl. He faced the wall, praying.
‘Come to give me the last rites? Your god–’ He stared with undisguised hatred at the priest. ‘Your god is nothing but a vicious, vengeful tyrant; a weak, cowardly charlatan. Get out!’ Jason screamed, half blinded by tears of rage. ‘Get out of my cell.’
Slowly the priest turned, his face still shadowed by the cowl of his cassock.
‘Where can I find your god?’ Jason rasped, his fists raised to the ceiling. ‘Have it out with me, man to man.’
The priest remained silent.
With great effort, Jason managed to raise his head a few inches off the mattress.
The priest came towards him and said, ‘Who is more afraid, Jason de Vere?’ The beautiful tones reverberated through Jason’s body. ‘The child who is afraid of the dark?’ There was a long silence. ‘Or the man who is afraid of the light?’
‘Get out!’ Jason cried. He stared blindly at the sandalled feet before him. ‘Didn’t you hear me?’ he rasped, his fingers clawing at the concrete floor. ‘I said get out!’
‘The agonizing pain of loss is almost too deep to articulate.’
‘Loss?’ Jason muttered. ‘How could you ever understand loss?’ Jason drew himself up to his knees, his face contorted with bitterness. ‘Loss of the only person I ever really loved.’
The priest was silent for what seemed an eternity. He gently took Jason’s hand in his. Blood dripped onto Jason’s hands.
‘It was in a garden,’ the priest’s voice sounded wistful, filled with the understanding of suffering, with immense sorrow, ‘not far from where I stand now, where I, too, knew what it was to lose the greatest love of my entire being. To experience such intense loss and abandonment is indescribable. The agony, the utter torment.’
‘Jesus Christ!’ Jason shouted, sobbing with rage. ‘Who is this god – this vengeful, merciless tyrant who torments us with his rage? How can you serve him?’
He rose unsteadily to his feet, his fists clenched, but some strange force pulled him back onto the thin, grimy mattress.
‘I will find him, this god,’ he hissed through clenched teeth.’ And I will fight him.’
The priest moved into the moonlight.
Jason stared at him, suddenly disorientated. The figure seemed somehow familiar, yet not familiar at all. He gazed upon Jason with overwhelming love, with what seemed to be the understanding of the ages, and with immense sorrow.
‘Then fight me.’ The priest reached down with his hand, to where Jason lay. ‘If you must.’
Jason gazed up, transfixed, at an inch-long wound in the priest’s palm. His gaze dropped to the sandalled feet. They bore the same grotesque scars.
His entire body began to tremble in a mixture of rage, a strange wonder, and dread. And as though magnetized by some strange supernatural force, against his own will he raised his face, inch by inch, to the stranger’s.
‘You are no priest,’ Jason stammered.
The stranger pushed back his cowl, and the moonlight falling through the sliver of a cell window illuminated his face fleetingly.
He was young. Very young. About his brother Nick’s age. His countenance shone with a luminosity so intense that his features were hidden from Jason’s view.
The brightness gradually faded until the priest’s face was fully visible. Jason stared, mesmerized by the noble countenance, the high cheekbones, and regal aquiline nose, the gleaming shoulder-length dark hair.
But it was the stranger’s eyes that captivated him. Jason tried to shield his own eyes from the consuming waves of love, compassion, and tenderness.
Then the waves became deep understanding and authority. And Jason De Vere knew, from a place beyond his own earthly comprehension, that he was staring into the eyes of a king.
The king.
A new and fierce fire felt as if it were burning in his heart.
Then, his entire body trembling, he collapsed back onto the thin mat on the concrete floor.
The stranger stood perfectly still. In his eyes Jason saw love and understanding he could not fathom.
‘Jason, you have fought me all your life.’ He smiled straight into Jason’s eyes. ‘Follow me now, Jason De Vere.’
Jesus knelt and held Jason tightly to his chest.
Jason clung to him in a mixture of sheer desperation and wonder. He could not keep the racking sobs from coming.
An hour then two . . . How long the stranger held him, he would never know. Only that the storm that had raged in his chest for forty-seven years was finally stilled.
He was finally home.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Petra
Jibril’s aide entered quietly and handed him a note. Jibril read it, looked at Alex, and then handed it to Lawrence.
Lawrence scanned it, bowed his head, and crossed himself. ‘They have taken her, as we knew they would,’ he said softly.
Jibril nodded. ‘Activate the nano-camera immediately. Wake Weaver from his slumber.’
Alex stood up. ‘Who have they taken?’ Lawrence looked grim. ‘Julia.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I’m so sorry, Alex. They just murdered your grandmother.’
Secret Surveillance Operations Chamber
Petra
‘Where is my grandfather?’ Alex asked.
‘Your grandfather is resting,’ Lawrence said quietly. ‘No, he’s not.’ David Weiss’s voice came from behind them. ‘Bubelah.’
David embraced Alex fiercely. His eyes were red-rimmed.
‘Alex, do not grieve. It is the only way your grandmother would have wanted to go.’
He smiled weakly.
‘She shot four of her assailants and wounded Guber before he murdered her. She died as she always lived – a hero. My Rebekah.’
‘I’m not grieving.’ Alec’s voice shook with rage. ‘I want revenge.’
Gathering himself, he asked, ‘Where’s Lily?’
‘She cannot know the danger her mother is in,’ Lawrence replied. ‘I instructed King Jibril to deliberately distract her.’
‘Rebekah sensed this would happen,’ David said softly. ‘Avi Cohen just spoke to me. It seems he gave Rebekah the latest nano-camera that Mossad’s technology department had just developed – completely undetectable by any tracking device. Rebekah surgically implanted the tracking device into the cornea of Julia’s right eye. We will see what she sees.’
He gestured to the wall of blank screens in front of them.
‘Activate the nano-camera,’ Von Bechstein instructed.
‘Microphone activated,’ Weaver answered. ‘Camera activated.’
Instantly every screen on the wall came alive.
‘She’s walking down steps,’ Weaver muttered. ‘Must be coming off a plane. Looks like a Gulfstream. Stepping onto tarmac.’
‘Oh, my god, look who’s waiting for Aunt Jules!’ Alex exclaimed.
‘My, my. Xavier Chessler,’ Lawrence murmured.
‘She’s walking with him to a limousine. Where’s he taking her?’ Alex said.
‘Damn!’ Weaver hit the console with his chubby fingers. ‘The microphone’s stopped working. Let me work on it.’
‘It’s got to be Babel.’ Alex stayed riveted to the screen.
‘It is Babel,’ Lawrence said quietly.
They watched, transfixed, as Julia got out of the limousine. She was gazing up at a soaring structure.
‘The Tower of Alexander,’ said Lawrence. ‘We’re the first ones apart from the Fallen to see it.’
‘She’s going inside,’ Alex murmured.
Tower of Alexander
Babel
Julia’s hair was swept back into a long ponytail. Now dressed in black Armani jeans and a chic leather jacket, and clutching a Balenciaga handbag, she was being escorted through the soaring golden doors of the Tower of Alexander.
The drugs were slowly wearing off.
‘Where am I?’
She turned to Xavier Chessler. ‘Uncle Xavier,’ she said groggily.
He put out his arms, and Julia fell into his embrace.
‘Xavier, where am I? What’s going on?’
‘You’re in a safe place, Julia, my dear.’
‘Jason.’ She felt a surge of panic. ‘Where’s Jason?’
‘My dear, there are certain matters . . . hard matters for you to accept. We have had to wait till you regained your strength.’
Chessler led Julia through the soaring marble foyer to a palatial breakfast room reminiscent of the Ritz in London. He pulled out a chair for Julia. She sank slowly into it.
Coffee for three, he mouthed to the concealed waiter at the door.
Petra
‘Damn! Microphone’s just not activating!’ Weaver slammed the console in frustration.
Chessler’s face appeared on the screen. Everyone watched, riveted.
‘Come on, Weaver!’ Alex stood over him. ‘We have to hear what they’re saying.’
Tower of Alexander
‘Unfortunately, Jason has lost his faculties, my dear. It’s tragic. He views everyone as his enemy. We have to keep you safe.’
From Jason? Julia stared at him in confusion.
The waiter returned, cafetière in hand, and deftly poured the aromatic Turkish blend into three china cups.
The enormous mahogany doors opened amid a flurry of activity.
Petra
‘Oh my god! It’s Adrian!’ Alex exclaimed.
‘Got it!’ Weaver exclaimed. ‘Microphone activated!’
Tower of Alexander
Adrian walked through the breakfast room, straight toward Julia, embracing her.
‘Julia, my darling, you’re safe now.’
He sat down opposite her and gently took her hand in his.
‘I’m so sorry for all the trauma you’ve been through.’
She put her hands to her head. ‘My head, Adrian . . . it feels so groggy. I’m struggling to remember things.’
‘The truth is,’ Adrian placed a single lump of brown sugar in his cup and stirred it slowly, ‘Jason has been mentally ill for a very long time. Lilian, Nick – the whole family tried to keep the facts from you. It finally resulted in his shooting me, his own brother, in cold blood.’
Julia put her head in her hands. ‘Yes, I only found out a few days ago. I . . . I still can’t believe it. It’s horrific.’
‘Julia,’ Adrian pulled his chair closer, ‘Jason has been through multiple batteries of psychological tests. He has been diagnosed by the leading psychiatrists in the world as psychotic.’
Psychotic? Julia reeled.
‘His brain chemistry and neurotransmitters have been permanently affected by the post-traumatic stress of having murdered his own brother. The incident was simply too much for his brain to assimilate. We have done everything we possibly can, but he is trapped in an impaired reality. He has retreated into a dark world of delusion. He believes that his family and friends are his enemies, and his enemies are his allies. He believes that you, Lily, and Alex, and all your family are enemies to be ruthlessly exterminated.’
‘But Rebekah – she got me better. They were protecting me . . . hiding me.’
‘No, Julia, my dear. Jason and Rebekah Weiss were kidnapping you, with full intent to use you as collateral to save their own skins. We had no option but to rescue you and bring you safely here to Babel. You’re safe here.’
‘But . . . but Lily . . .’
‘Lily will join you as soon as possible.’
Petra
‘Goddamn liars!’ Alex clenched his fist. ‘He murdered my grandmother. Now they want Lily. Over my dead body.’
David Weiss gently laid his hand on Alex’s shoulder.
‘We will protect Lily, Alex. My beloved Rebekah knew the risks. She died doing what she has always done: fighting to protect the truth. You will continue her legacy, Alex.
‘Turn the volume up, Weaver.’
Tower of Alexander
‘But I thought you were . . .’
‘Dead? Evil?’ Adrian sipped his coffee, then dabbed his mouth with a monogrammed napkin. He shook his head. ‘More psychotic fantasies of Jason De Vere, my darling Julia.’
Julia’s hands trembled as she lifted her cup. She studied Adrian. This was the boy she had known since he was nineteen years old.
Her mind raced back to Nick. Adrian had looked after Nick faithfully. Paid for his medications.
When Nick was cut off from his trust fund, Jason hadn’t even taken his calls. Adrian, by contrast, had given him hundreds of thousands of dollars, purchased his South Bank apartment for him. He had always been there.
She brushed her blonde hair back off her face. Adrian had always been so good to her: bridged the loan to secure her fledgling PR business a few years earlier; introduced her to her most influential client – the England Football Team.
Adrian rose. He held out his arm to Julia. ‘You’ve been through enough stress and trauma for one lifetime,’ he said as he guided her through the palatial lobby.
He brought his eye to the gold elevator.
‘Julia, let me introduce you to the Tower of Alexander.’
Julia drew a deep breath as the elevator opened onto the most stunning architectural garden she had ever seen.
She started to walk along a marble path, stopping to smell the jasmine and the endless roses. At every corner were huge crystal conservatories filled with orange, lemon, and lime trees, olive and cypress trees.
She looked back at Adrian in wonder. ‘Oh, Adrian, it’s heavenly!’
Adrian smiled and took her hand. ‘And now, Julia St Cartier, my pièce de résistance, constructed especially for you.’
