"I am the creation of the world. I live because life has been breathed into me, not by your scientists, who merely made this physical body from ancient DNA, but because the essence that makes up my being permeates the ethers all around. The manufactured body, soulless and empty, was the ideal place for me to reside. Like ice crystals forming on a cold pane of glass, living energy forms around the air of corruption that flows thick around you. That living energy is the one you see before you now."
Jesus raised his head high and announced in a triumphant tone, “I cannot be defeated, because I am the essence of mankind made manifest. To destroy me is to destroy mankind itself.” Then, looking straight at Angelino, he said, “You waste your concern on people who deserve the subjugation they are racing headlong to place themselves under. You would do better to just leave them to their fate. It is the fate they have designed for themselves. Indeed, it is a fate they warmly embrace. You cannot save them. They do not want to be saved."
Angelino smiled, which angered Jesus. MacArthur sat dumbfounded, still unable to fully comprehend the scene he was witnessing.
"You are amused by all of this, Angelino?” Jesus snarled. Again, Angelino simply smiled.
He finally said, “You speak of the fabric of your existence ... the corruption of mankind ... with pride. What you fail to see, and what will be the source of your ultimate defeat, is that the corruption upon which your existence is built must necessarily destroy itself. The evil you are, Jesus, is the very thing which will ultimately destroy you. The pride which you wear as a badge of honor, the arrogance you do not even bother to disguise for appearances sake any longer, the destructive course upon which you have embarked, all will conspire to bring about your own destruction. As ye reap, so shall ye sow.
"Earlier you challenged me. You said there was nothing I could do to defeat you, and I responded I knew this. You, in your arrogance, took this as a sign you were invincible. You see, Jesus,” he said, while looking directly at MacArthur, “I will not need to destroy you. You will destroy yourself. That is always the ultimate end of evil. It only has the life it is given by others. When the evil is withdrawn, you will dissolve away like fog."
"I'm surprised at you, Angelino,” Jesus grinned. “You talk like an old woman, weaving a web of fairy tales and pixie dust. You can't possibly believe what you are saying.” He thumped his chest. “I am real, not some fog of the imagination. But even if what you say is true, the day when evil is no longer present in the hearts of men will never come. I anticipate a long reign indeed."
Warrenger had been enjoying the duel between Jesus and Angelino. His earlier concerns had dissipated now that it was clear Angelino was no match for Jesus. Oh, he stood bravely before him, but that bravery was the bravado of ignorance. It wouldn't matter how many Knights aligned themselves with Angelino. The anti-Christ was right. The evil that coursed through every sinew of Jesus, the evil that fed him, was the most ubiquitous commodity in the world. It was literally everywhere, expanding to the point where it had reached critical mass, hence producing the environment in which the Master was able to thrive and prosper.
The genius of what Jesus was doing was becoming clearer to Warrenger as well, as was the purpose behind the Agenda. While ostensibly the purpose was to lead the world into an era of harmony, the proposals Jesus had brought before the Unite Nations would, in the long run, end up fanning the flame of discord and mistrust. Jesus promised to distribute all wealth equally. The weak would be able to call upon the strong to fulfill their needs—from each according to his ability, to each according to his need. This was guaranteed to pit class against class. The ultimate outcome of that would be an increase in the negative forces upon which the anti-Christ fed. The Agenda, by working over the centuries to weaken the spiritual influences of the world and increase the secular materialism, had ensured a fertile environment for The Master.
And he, David Warrenger, Number One of the Council of Most Highs, would serve at his side, enjoying the fruits of the discord which would serve as the foundation for the new order.
The more hatred grew, the greater would become the power of the anti-Christ. The deeper despair sunk its roots into the psyche of mankind, the louder would become the cry for a leader. The more fear gripped the hearts of the people, the more desperate would become the call for order. And Jesus would be there to answer each call, growing stronger and more invincible in direct proportion to the depth of the tapestry of corruption his masterful plot would weave from the very soul matter of the people.
Jesus had discovered the secret to enslaving the very soul of mankind—give the people everything they wanted. Take away from them forever the sense of worth that comes with creating and building a dream, for what need would there be for dreams when the dreams were fulfilled before they need ever be dreamed? Remove all need, all want, all desire, and man was reduced to a stature beneath that of the foulest beast.
How foolish Nicole had been to allow her mind to be clouded by the delusions of Angelino. The world could have been hers, her rightful heritage as a loyal servant to the Agenda. Warrenger felt pity for her—and regret for himself. Now he would never know the smooth and youthful flesh of his Number Two. He would have to find other outlets for the burning lust she created within him. When the Agenda was in place, perhaps then he would take her to himself. What was the good of having power if it was not used to satisfy one's desires? Yes. The day would come when she would lie helpless and docile before him, even begging him to relieve the ravenous lusts which consumed him. She would surrender to him and he would possess her forever. If she did not wish to rule by his side, then she would serve his carnal cravings. She'd had her chance and had surrendered it to the folly of a hopeless fantasy.
* * * *
MacArthur sat shaking in his seat, eyes glazed over. He was a broken man. What must a man who discovers the entire foundation of his life has been based on a lie experience as his mind fights desperately to find meaning? His mind exploded in a maelstrom of disjointed images. He had chosen the strategy of retreating inward, unable to confront the horror of a lifetime devoted to a hideous lie. Angelino noticed this and broke off from his confrontation with Jesus.
He kneeled next to him and called his name softly, “Gregory. Gregory."
In the chaos that had become MacArthur's mind, a figure emerged from the cascading confusion. The figure called out to him, its hand extended. The form remained in shadow, its features unformed. The figure seemed familiar. His awareness again fell out of his control, and the figure fell into a spiraling vortex. Panic overcame him as the figure disappeared into the void. The silent scream within became deafening. Darkness pressed in on with physical force.
Suddenly, the figure emerged from the darkness once again. It called out to him once more. “Take my hand, Gregory,” it said, echoing within his brain. Timothy wanted with all his might to grab the offered hand but was paralyzed. As a mad fury raged all around him, the vaguely defined figure was the only familiar thing around him. Somehow, he found a hidden reservoir of inner strength and latched onto it with all his might, as if allowing it to fall away again would mean the end of who he was. His identity was nearly demolished. All of this occurred not at the level of thought—his mind was too fragmented at the moment to form thoughts—but at the abstract fundamental level from which thought itself was formed.
Finally, summoning the capacity to act, he grabbed the extended hand. It pulled him close and he was face to face with the kind face of Angelino.
Perhaps it was the latent memory of the golden years of his youth. Perhaps it was an instinctive survival reflex. Or perhaps it was a sudden realization of what Angelino represented—indeed, had always represented despite the hate-inspired blindness with which he had regarded him all these years. Whatever it was, he flung his arms around Angelino and clung to him.
Back in the outer world, MacArthur's eyes once again regained their awareness. He blinked rapidly as his eyes focused on Angelino, who was kneeling besi
de him, holding one of his hands in his, his other hand placed gently on the Pope's shoulder.
"What happened?” he said absently. “Anthony, is that you?” It had been close to fifty years since he had called Angelino by his given name.
"We almost lost you there, old friend,” Angelino smiled.
Jesus watched MacArthur's confusion and laughed.
"I remember now,” MacArthur said. Then he said to Jesus, “You have used me and the Church."
Warrenger spoke up. “Used you? We created you, Timothy."
"Yes,” Timothy said evenly. “I am beginning to understand that.” He looked over at Angelino, who was standing now, as if seeing him for the first time.
"Anthony,” he said softly. “Why did you help me? I would have destroyed you if given a chance.” He hung his head and said with shame in his voice. “I would have ordered you killed. I allowed my heart to fill with joy at the very thought of your murder. Why?"
"I will let you discover the answer to that question for yourself, Gregory.” He smiled broadly at the Pope. “But I think you already know the answer."
MacArthur allowed himself a small smile and nodded. “I have a headache,” he said, placing his hands on his temple.
Angelino casually placed his left hand on MacArthur's head. Immediately, the pain vanished. MacArthur looked at Angelino with surprise.
"Well, this has been fun, but I'm afraid I must go,” Angelino said. To MacArthur he said, “Would you like to accompany me?"
"Accompany you? Where?"
Angelino swung his gaze between Jesus and Warrenger. “Does it matter?"
"I see your point,” the Pope said with a wry smile. “Ok.” He rose to his feet. “Let's go."
With that, the familiar white light engulfed them both and they vanished from the room.
Warrenger said to Jesus, “Why did you let them leave?"
"What would you have had me do, Number One?"
"I don't know,” Warrenger admitted. “I just don't feel good about letting them leave unchallenged."
"Do not worry, Number One. I have plans for all of them ... plans which are much more efficient than chasing them down and eliminating them one by one. They will cease to be a concern for any of us. Soon, the world will belong to us."
Chapter 24
"THE FIRST THING you must learn,” Raji said to his attentive pupils, “is how to seek out the still voice within you. It is that voice which will guide you. All other things follow. Just as one must master basic arithmetic before they can move up to higher mathematics, so must you master this ability."
"Excuse me, Raji,” Susan interrupted. “I don't mean to question you, but do we have time for all of this? Father Angelino said we have very little time to prepare."
Raji smiled patiently. “There are no shortcuts to these things, Ms. Morgan. The time we have is the time we have—the time we need is the time we need. That cannot be altered, however urgently we might wish it to be."
"What if we are not ready in time?” Nicole's azure eyes were wide. Susan could hardly believe this young woman, now seemingly so innocent, had only a few days earlier been a cold, calculating killer.
Raji studied Nicole intently. “How much do you want to achieve the skills you need, Ms. Chambleau?"
"Oh, I want it very much, Monsieur Raji."
"Do you?"
"Oui."
"We shall see. Come with me."
He led Nicole and Susan to a small fountain in the middle of the courtyard. Without warning, he grabbed Nicole's head and pushed it under the water.
"What are you doing?” Susan screamed. She moved to pull Raji off Nicole, but Maribella held her back and said softly. “Do not interfere."
"But he's trying to drown her,” Susan protested.
"Do not interfere,” Maribella repeated firmly, tightening her hold.
Susan watched helplessly as Nicole's arms flailed wildly. Her body wrenched and lurched as she fought against the firm grip of Raji's hand pressing her head beneath the water. Her legs kicked, lashing out mindlessly as her entire being became consumed with the overwhelming need for air. Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity, Raji pulled Nicole's face from the fountain. She gasped loudly and her small frame heaved as she welcomed sweet air into her lungs. She slumped down against the wall of the fountain, water dripping down her face, her hair hanging like spaghetti. Her eyes, frightened and confused, looked up at Raji, who was standing expressionless over her.
"When you want your enlightenment with as much commitment as you just now wanted air ... when every fiber of your being yearns for that enlightenment as you just now yearned to breathe ... then and only then will you have it."
Susan bent down and put her arm protectively around Nicole.
"Raji,” she glared at him. “Was that really necessary?"
"Ms. Morgan,” Raji answered. “Did you not just tell me we don't have much time?” Susan did not answer, but continued her hard gaze into his face. There was no malice in his eyes but they conveyed an intensity that let her know it was he who was master here.
"Dry her off and get her into some fresh clothes. We will continue our lesson in fifteen minutes.” With that, he and Maribella turned and entered the house, leaving a sobbing Nicole in the arms of an angry Susan.
Susan gently coaxed Nicole to her feet.
"Come on, dear. Let's get you into some dry clothes."
* * * *
ANGELINO AND THE others materialized a quarter-mile outside a Buddhist temple fifteen miles south of Peking. To make sure they did not attract attention in this country intolerant of strangers, they would use the cover of darkness. Quon Lee, the eighth Knight, would be expecting them and they would not need to tarry. They would collect him and be on their way to their next stop, Japan.
"Billy, keep watch for us,” Angelino whispered. “We don't need any delays from the authorities."
Billy Red Deer nodded and peered into the twilight. He knew the trick to seeing at night was to use peripheral vision. The direct line of sight was relatively blind in darkness, but the peripheral edge of vision was quite acute once one learned to resist the temptation to move the eye in the direction of any movement. It was not as easy as it sounded, requiring practice and discipline to overcome the temptation to turn in the direction of every movement detected out of the corner of the eye.
The six of them sat patiently as darkness descended. MacArthur was still shell-shocked. Like Nicole and Susan, he had found his entire world turned upside down. He had not entirely absorbed that his life had been dedicated to a lie. Part of him clung to his resentment of his old schoolmate, Angelino. Another part was awakening to the possibility he had possibly misjudged Angelino.
He found himself sitting next to Angelino as they awaited the cloak of darkness. “Why, Anthony?” he finally whispered.
"Why what, Gregory?"
"Why are you doing all of this? What are you up to?"
"Not much, really. Just your run-of-the-mill save-the-world scheme."
"Must you always make light of things?"
Angelino chuckled. “That has always been the difference between us, Gregory. Everything is always a crisis for you."
"Excuse me,” MacArthur spat out. “We have an anti-Christ at the right hand of the President of the United States. I think that qualifies as a legitimate crisis."
"Gregory, you seem to finally be developing a sense of irony.” He slapped him playfully on the back. “Good for you. It's about time."
Angelino's smile made MacArthur's anger subside. Maybe caused by the shadows of the darkening twilight, in Angelino's face he saw the youthful face of the young and cocky Antonio Angelino Sabbatini of fifty-plus years ago. A wave of nostalgic melancholy rippled through him. How he had loved Angelino back then. He had forgotten that. Then he remembered something else. The man before me is eight hundred years old!
"I have missed you, my old friend,” Angelino said, gazing affectionately into the Pope's eyes. “It has been
many years since I have seen you behind those eyes. The man who has been using those eyes for so many years was a stranger to me."
MacArthur leaned back against a tree and sighed. “Anthony, where did the years go?"
Angelino simply nodded his head.
MacArthur has a wistful smile on his face. “Do you remember the time we substituted vanilla wafers for the communion wafers?"
Angelino laughed. “Do I ever. I told you he wouldn't bother to check before the service."
"I was sure he'd at least look down once before the service began."
"Your certainty cost you five dollars, as I recall. You always were my favorite fish. There wasn't a sucker bet you wouldn't take."
MacArthur smiled broadly, suddenly looking twenty years younger. “Remember the expression on the Monsignor's face when he went to offer the first sacramental wafer? His eyes grew as big as silver dollars and then he immediately looked at me, with that withering stare of his."
He turned and smiled at Angelino. “And it had been your idea. You were always doing that to me.” He laughed. “But you were also always there to bail me out, too."
"I didn't think you noticed."
"Oh, I noticed. But there was no way I was going to tell you that."
Angelino grew serious. “Tell me, Gregory. Why?"
"Why? What do you mean?” he asked, puzzled by the question.
"Why did you come with me?"
MacArthur mulled the question over in his mind for quite a while. “Well,” he finally said seriously. “My first temptation is to say it was a better choice than remaining in the grasp of the anti-Christ, but it is really more than that, I suspect."
"How so, Gregory?"
"I guess maybe I'm just not cut out to be a Pope, Anthony. I should be feeling sad about walking away but I feel only relief,” he sighed. “I have to admit that surprises me a bit."
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