Shrouded Destiny

by Richard William Bates

  "Now, without even the pretense of justification, the Israel army sits at our border, poised to strike. Does Israel think because Jesus now walks the earth she can, as a member of the same race as he, act with impunity? Does America choose to sit idly by yet again, as she marshals her forces against us, now that her long-term agenda has been unmasked simply because Jesus, a Jew, has seen fit to make America his home?"

  Roars of protest erupted from the assembly members. Secretary Badime pounded the gavel in an effort to retain order. At last, the members quieted down.

  Mandibbi went on. “We of Syria do not ask ... we demand justice from the United Nations. We warn the Israelis, we will not sit back and allow them to destroy us without a fight. If the United Community of Nations will not act, then we will be forced to. The rest of the Arab nations will join with us, and we will eradicate those who seek to destroy us.” He pounded the table in front of him for emphasis.

  Under other circumstances, such a passionate speech would have been followed by applause, and even cheers. This time, however, a heavy silence hung over the General Assembly. Ray was unable to determine what the silence meant. He wasn't sure of his own reactions to Mandibbi's stirring appeal for justice.

  An eerie silence hung over the assembly, finally broken by the Secretary General's sing-song voice.

  "We will now hear from the nation of Israel."

  The Israeli Prime Minister, clearly shaken by the hostile tone of the Syrian delegate, shuffled papers in front of him for a few moments. Whether justified or not, he interpreted the silence as agreement with Mandibbi, and hence felt on the defensive. “Distinguished delegates, Mr. Secretary,” he began formally, “I thank you for the opportunity to address the lies which have been leveled against my people both here today and in the newspapers.

  "When will it end? When will the savage and bigoted attacks against my people stop? For centuries, the Jewish people have been the scapegoat for every problem of society. We, ourselves the victims of the most atrocious genocide of recorded history, now stand accused of planning a genocide so horrific and so insane it stretches all credibility to imagine such a plan could exist.

  "Yes, it defies credibility ... because it is not credible. And it is not credible because it is not true. Yes, a conspiracy exists ... but it is a conspiracy of lies perpetuated against my people."

  Madibbi interrupted. “Mr. Prime Minister, how do you explain the documents reported in this newspaper, documents which I have copies of right here?” He thumped the pile of papers on the table in front of him.

  "I cannot explain them, sir,” Sahrat said. “I suspect they are forgeries. They must be. My government has no policy of genocide and never has. Being the victims of such genocide ourselves, how can you possibly believe we would be the agents of such a horror?” Sahrat was emphatic in his denial.

  "Yes, so you have said already,” Madibbi said sardonically. “We shall see. We will have them examined by an international panel of forensic scientists so we might get to the bottom of this. I trust that will be acceptable to you?” Madibbi's tone carried a hint of challenge.

  Sahrat was trapped. How could they win? To refuse the examination would be tantamount to admitting the conspiracy. He would welcome the chance to have the documents proven false. Yet, how can I trust that those who plotted against Israel on such a scale wouldn't be able to influence the results of the UN examination as well? These lies were being believed. It saddened him so many were so quick to accept the idea of a Jewish conspiracy. With all of the wonderful contributions his people had made in the fields of science, business, literature, and the arts, the world was still ready to accept the worst about the Jews. The persecution had not stopped. It had only been transformed into a nightmare of lies, painting them now as genocidal maniacs. How could he convince the assembled delegates of the world these were lies created for a larger purpose, when he couldn't demonstrate what that larger purpose might be? The more he protested, the more his protestations would be taken as proof of the charges.

  Sahrat said, softly, “Yes, Mr. Ambassador, that will be acceptable."

  From the sidelines, Jesus smiled to himself. Of course, the international panel of experts would be comprised of agents of The Council. Without realizing it, the Syrians were playing right into their hands. But that was how the Agenda had been designed. Now that all the elements were safely in place, even innocent actions of governments could not help but play into it. The hatred and suspicions of the Muslim Arab nations of the Mideast was guaranteed to work to the advantage of The Agenda. This was going to be even easier than he could have hoped.

  Chapter 27

  "PAPA, ARE WE going to have a war?” Eight-year-old Jacob Goldstein had been quiet during dinner, and his father, Rabbi Samuel Goldstein, was quite startled at the abrupt and direct question. He chose to answer as honestly as he could without creating undue alarm.

  "I honestly don't know, Jacob. It is possible, though."

  He could see his son mulling over the implications of that ... at least whatever implications an eight-year-old mind could contemplate. Samuel noticed the worried expression on his wife's face. No mother ever escaped the thought her son might one day be called upon to sacrifice his life in combat. Unlike his parents, Jacob had never had to face the concept of war. Israel had been in a state of relative peace his entire life.

  "Why do the other countries want to hurt us?"

  Rabbi Goldstein winced. What answer can I possibly devise for that question? He did not know the answer himself.

  "Son, the anger between our nations goes back so far I don't think anyone even remembers the answer to that anymore,” he answered, with a note of sadness in his voice.

  "Then why don't we just stop it? Who says we must fight?"

  * * * *

  Gertrude felt her heart wrench at the beautiful innocence of that question. She struggled to fight back tears. She saw her husband's eyes grow moist. He slumped in defeat. There was no answer. He merely rubbed his hand on his son's head and attempted a kind smile. She hoped young Jacob was not astute enough yet to see how strained and artificial it was.

  The three of them continued their dinner in silence. Samuel and Gertrude's eyes would meet from time to time, each seeing the pain in the eyes of the other and each attempting with their gaze to ease the sadness of the other. They had no illusions about the gravity of the current political situation, the most serious in decades, but they were members of a people who had long ago learned how to suffer the heavy weight of despair nobly and always somehow manage to find an optimistic note on which to pin its hopes for the future. Israel had seen dark days before and always she had managed to prevail and prosper.

  "Papa?” Jacob finally broke the silence.

  "Yes, Jacob?"

  "If we have a war, will I have to hate Rashi then?"

  That was more than Gertrude could bear. She hastily dropped her napkin on her plate and bolted from the dining room to indulge her tears in private. Rashi was Jacob's closest playmate and constant companion. He was the son of a Palestinian oil executive, Fallah Omani, a decent and honest man, who lived in the Goldsteins’ neighborhood.

  * * * *

  Goldstein was taken aback by the question. It was a question automatically implied by the circumstance of the present tension, but only a child could reduce it to such simplicity

  "Jacob,” Rabbi Goldstein stopped eating and gave his son his total attention. His son waited expectantly. “I hope you will never hate another person in this life. The most important gift God gives us is the ability to love others. Friendship is a gift from God. He would not give you that gift if he expected you to throw it away."

  Young Jacob's brow furrowed as if not fully understanding. Samuel smiled and simply said, “No, my son. You will not have to hate Rashi if war should come."

  Jacob's large grin signaled his approval of that answer, and he returned to his meal, apparently relieved that issue had been resolved for him. He seemed to have let his mind
move on to happier thoughts as he finished the food on his plate. He put down his fork and beamed, “May I go and play with Rashi now, Papa?"

  Samuel nodded and smiled. “Yes, Jacob. Remember to be home before it is dark. Your mother worries."

  Jacob called back, as he dashed out the door, “I will, Papa."

  The Rabbi felt the weight of impending war once again press upon him. He left the table and went to find his wife. She was crying softly on their bed. He stopped in the threshold of the bedroom, undecided whether to intrude. After a moment, he continued his entry into the bedroom and sat beside his wife on the bed silently, stroking her hair gently as her crying slowly subsided.

  She sat up and took her husband in her arms. He held her closely for a long time, before she spoke.

  "When does it end, Samuel? How long must we endure this endless living in fear of war?"

  Samuel felt helpless in his inability to offer a meaningful answer to her reasonable question. Who among the Israelis did not feel as she did? All he could offer was to draw her closer to him. He kissed the top of her head tenderly.

  "I don't want to lose Jacob to this eternal conflict, Samuel.” Then with rising anger, “I won't lose him to it, I swear to God."

  Rabbi Goldstein held his wife closely. He felt her body tense up as her sadness was being replaced with anger.

  "Angelino will be coming for me soon, Gertrude."

  "So soon?” she asked sadly.

  "Yes, I'm afraid so. The coming of the Messiah is drawing closer. Freedom for our people and for the people of the world is close at hand. Take comfort in that, my darling."

  Meanwhile, young Jacob Goldstein, absorbed now in the serious business of play, did not bother to think of the business of war or messiahs for the rest of the night.

  * * * *

  "RAY, YOU'VE BEEN a reporter for a long time,” Arnold Wills said. “Can you make heads or tails out of Israel's actions?"

  Ray mulled over the question. It was not as if he had not asked himself the same question a hundred times, and the answer was no clearer to him now than it had been the first time. The three of them had retired to Ray's New York office while the UN was temporarily adjourned, pending the analysis of the documents by the international panel.

  "No, Arnold,” he sighed. “It doesn't make any sense at all. It is totally out of the blue. There is usually some preceding diplomatic or military action precipitating this sort of response. Everything has been quiet in the region, except for the usual saber rattling between the United States and Iraq. But that hasn't involved Israel directly."

  Harold added, “Not only that, but Israel knows she can't take part in any adventures without US assistance. If there had been any agreement along those lines, even if it were being kept top secret, I would have gotten wind of it."

  "I have a source at the Israeli embassy who told me about an interesting meeting between the President, the Joint Chiefs, Jesus, and the other Israeli ambassador, Saul Gerash.” Ray offered. “He told me they presented photos of troop deployments—satellite photos—before any Israeli troops had been dispatched to the borders. Apparently, this created quite a flurry of phone calls and other activity at the embassy. No one could explain the photos."

  "That's not really that surprising,” Harold replied. “Governments have often acted while keeping their diplomats in the dark. Japan did it when they attacked Pearl Harbor. Other times, communications break down. Sure, it's a mess, but it happens."

  "Harold, you did not hear me. I said the satellite photos showed troop deployments before they actually occurred.” Ray said with emphasis.. “I had dismissed it, but perhaps that was too hasty on my part. I forget the abilities of Jesus occasionally."

  Arnold's and Harold's expressions contained a mixture of concern and curiosity. “Tell us,” Arnold finally prodded.

  "Apparently, Jesus threw a pile of satellite photos on the table—the ones which contained the first proof of troop deployments. One of the generals at the table expressed total surprise. Gerash was pretty certain he said something like, ‘Those weren't there before,’ indicating the photos had somehow been altered in the time before the ambassador was summoned."

  Harold frowned gravely. “I see."

  "Is it possible the Israelis are telling the truth? Were those photos, which were undoubtedly shown to the Syrians, somehow forged or altered by Jesus? Could the Israeli troops now assembled have merely responded to the Syrian and Jordanian buildups which were a response to those photos?” Ray was thinking out loud.

  "Good God,” Arnold exclaimed. “If that's true, that could mean Jesus is working with the Council."

  "Why would you draw that conclusion, Arnold?” Ray asked. “It seems like quite a leap to make."

  "Is it?” he said. “Think about it. Everything Jesus has done since he has hooked up with Crowley has been consistent with the idea of expanding central government power. Angelino told us that was the entire purpose of the Council. Crowley is one of their agents, remember that. Would Jesus be working so closely with Crowley if he were opposed to the Council Agenda?"

  They were all hit with the implications. Until now, they had seen the Council and Jesus as two separate and distinct problems, both formidable in their own right. If they were allied in some way, they would be virtually invincible.

  "How could this not have occurred to us before?” Ray said incredulously. “It all makes sense now. The murder of Pope Timothy, and of Julian Michaels as he was about to reveal the secret of a second Shroud, the influence of Jesus upon the entire body politic, the very cloning of Jesus himself."

  He slumped in his chair. “There is nothing we can do now. It's already too late."

  Harold had been absent-mindedly paging through a pile of papers on Ray's desk. Something caught his attention.

  "What are these papers, Ray?"

  "Huh?” Ray was still somewhat dazed. His eyes fell on the stack of papers Harold was pointing to.

  "Oh, those. They're copies of the documents the international panel is pouring over now."

  Harold read through them for a few moments. His face grew pale with realization.

  "I know these documents,” he said. “They are reworded a bit, and it's been quite a while since I've seen them myself so my memory is a bit fuzzy, but these papers have been circulating for over a hundred years."

  "What do you mean, Senator?” Arnold asked.

  "Have you ever heard of the Protocols of the Learned Elders of Zion?"

  "Of course,” Ray answered. “They have been discredited as forgeries since the 1920's. Of course that didn't stop Hitler from using them to justify his anti-Semitic genocide."

  "Whoa,” Arnold said. “Slow down a bit. What are these ... what did you call them again?"

  "Protocols of the Learned Elders of Zion,” Harold repeated.

  "Yeah. What are they?"

  "I'm surprised you've never heard of them before, Arnold,” Ray said.

  Arnold shrugged.

  "Sometime in the late nineteenth century, The Protocols made their first appearance,” he explained. “They were said to be the minutes of a meeting of a secret cabal of Jewish leaders, in which their entire plot to take over the world was outlined in great detail. The plan called for, among other things, the taking over of the world press, assuming control of the economic and business capitals, and the placing of agents loyal to them within the halls of governments around the world. It was used to fuel the flames of Jewish hatred in various countries, including czarist Russia, and of course, post World War I Germany. Hitler made them as widely distributed in Germany as the Bible. Virtually every German household had a copy.

  "For many decades they were condemned as forgeries, then declared authentic, then declared forgeries yet again. The final verdict of historians has fallen on the side that their falsehood has been proven beyond dispute. Of course, Hitler, eager to create a scapegoat around which he could rally the people, and in keeping with his natural hatred of the Jews, accepted them a
s genuine without question. Many racial hatred groups today still maintain they are authentic and represent a plot which they claim is coming to fruition all around us."

  While Ray was talking, Harold had been reading over the copies on his desk. “We have to get our hands on a copy of the original Protocols. I want to compare these documents to them."

  "What's on your mind?” Ray asked.

  "I'm not sure, but I have an idea I might know what is going on here. Arnold, do you still have those documents Claude Chambleau gave to you?"

  "Yeah, of course. They're in my safe in my office back in Washington."

  Harold looked at his watch hastily. “If we hurry, we can catch the next shuttle flight to Washington.” He picked up the documents from Ray's desk. “Come on. Let's go."

  Without waiting for a confused Arnold or Ray to respond, he bolted out the door. Ray shrugged his shoulders and looked at Arnold.

  "What the hell,” Arnold said with a resigned smile. “Beats waiting around here all night.” He followed Ray to the door. “Wait up, Senator. We're coming."

  * * * *

  SUSAN AND ANGELINO were walking along the outskirts of Indore as sunset cast its long shadows over the countryside. Susan had grown to love the peacefulness of this place. She understood Angelino's love for both the village and its people, and therefore, she felt she understood Angelino a little better, too.

  "I just wanted to take a little time with you, Susan,” Angelino said. “It has been too long since we have been able to just talk together, you and I."

  "Yes,” she answered wistfully. “I miss those times. It seems like a lifetime ago."

  Angelino smiled without responding. Susan wondered if he was going to share some bad news with her. It almost seemed like he was reluctant to talk for fear of broaching a sensitive subject.

  "Susan,” he finally said. “Why did you never marry?"

  "Huh?” She was taken off guard by the question.

  "You are a beautiful woman. I can't imagine it was lack of opportunities.” The familiar twinkle danced in his eyes.