The Last Day

by Glenn Kleier

  On the pope's immediate left was Antonio di Concerci, prefect of the Congregation. Di Concerci placed several papers in front of Nicholas, without comment, and then returned to examining documents of his own. Nicholas gathered his up and skimmed rapidly through them.

  Further down the table and on the opposite side of Cardinal di Concerci, sat Alphonse Bongiorno Cardinal Litti. A bit flushed, a bit anxious, Litti turned to the elderly man on his right, but the cardinal was occupied with his own papers. Litti rotated in the opposite direction, but that neighbor was also busy reading. Frustrated, Litti sighed, folded his arms and stared at the whorls in the dark mahogany tabletop.

  Litti had read this document before him numerous times, and his reaction had never wavered. The report had been hurriedly prepared at the pope's request by the Congregation in secret session under the auspices of di Concerci, sitting prefect. Its ponderous commission: A Preliminary Evaluation of the Purported New Messiah, with an Assessment of the Current and Potential Repercussions of the Millenarian Movement on the Stability and Welfare of Holy Mother Church and Her World Congregation.

  The report was vintage di Concerci. Hopelessly dogmatic and closed-minded. To Litti, the final lines betrayed the prefect's mind-set:

  Given the cursory examination with which this Forum has been charged, it must be concluded at this time that there are no preternatural circumstances surrounding the appearance of an alleged Messiah in Israel. Granted that a number of surprising and perplexing incidents and coincidences have occurred, in each instance, a reasonable explanation can be provided referencing natural or man-made causes.

  However, we find the issue of unrest within the World Congregation to be very real and pressing, and we recommend an immediate, formal inquiry be conducted to examine these issues in specificity, and to render a vox veritatis whereby these circumstances can be put in measured perspective for the faithful.

  After discussions with the Congregation today, the pope was to decide whether or not a formal inquirendum, an official, secret inquiry of the Holy See, should be undertaken. Such a weighty inquisition would likely result in recommendations for a papal encyclical, or decree, to clarify the Church's position in these consequential matters.

  The Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, the Catholic Church's stern defender of holy orthodoxy, was precisely the organization to undertake this mission. Its reputation and demonstrated abilities for uncovering facts and truths in moral matters could be traced all the way back to the 1500s when it was better known as the Congregation of the Inquisition.

  There was little doubt around the great table that an inquirendum would, indeed, be authorized. The real issue was how quickly the inquirendum could be completed and an encyclical issued to restore order. And, not insignificantly, who would be entrusted with heading this important inquest.

  It was Alphonse Litti's ardent hope that Nicholas would bestow the distinguished responsibility on him. To that end, the cardinal had already sent a long private letter to Nicholas listing more than eighteen solid reasons why Litti was the right choice to oversee this sacred undertaking.

  But Nicholas, apparently, had little inclination for a prolonged discussion of the issue.

  “Brethren,” he began, and the cavernous hall quieted in attention. “This controversy surrounding a possible Second Coming, or the arrival of a New Messiah, genuine or otherwise, demands a calm and reasoned response from this Holy See as the one source most highly qualified in these matters. All of us recognize that the very existence of the Church is predicated upon the inevitable return of our Savior. It is an eventuality we have been anticipating for two millennia. But sadly, as these recent occurrences have made evident, we seem surprised and ill-prepared to authenticate it.

  “While the Church traditionally moves slowly and cautiously in examining serious theological concerns such as these, unfortunately, the recent events in the Holy Land require immediate and decisive response from this chair. I have prayed fervently over the past days for guidance and wisdom in these proceedings. I believe my prayers have been answered and I am now decided how we shall move forward.”

  Litti inhaled.

  “Effective immediately,” Nicholas declared, “I order this Congregation to initiate an inquirendum, to be headed by Antonio Prefect Cardinal di Concerci, who has done an admirable job in the completion of this preliminary report.”

  There was acclamation and applause from fellow cardinals in the hall, but not from Alphonse Litti, who sat quietly, stunned and crushed.

  “Furthermore,” the pope continued, “I order that the inquiry receive the complete and uninterrupted attention of the entire Congregation, and that the final draft be completed and submitted for my review four weeks from today, February 18.”

  The hall grew immediately still again. This was an unheard of deadline in an ecclesiastical domain where such substantive inquiries typically required years to reach their painstaking conclusions.

  “I recognize the unreasonableness of the time frame,” the pope responded to the silence, “but we must all recognize the unreasonableness of this crisis.” And in a quieter voice, almost to himself, “I only pray that four weeks is not too long.”

  “It will be done as you order, Holiness,” di Concerci assured him. “I request your permission to dispatch delegates to the Holy Land immediately for a firsthand investigation of the circumstances there.”

  “Of course, Antonio,” Nicholas granted. “I authorize you to do whatever is required to arrive at the truth of this matter as quickly and completely as possible. If this person, Jeza, is indeed a precursor to the Second Coming as John the Baptist was to the First, we must determine it without delay.”

  “My fellow cardinals.” Di Concerci rose from his chair to address the assembly. “I ask the entire Congregation to remain here in counsel after our audience with His Holiness. I would wish to make appointments to chair the respective subcommittees and to establish the structure for accomplishing our objectives.”

  An ashen, depressed Alphonse Litti knew all too well that his out-of-favor, conflicting voice would not be among the appointees. He also knew that any window for salvaging his dissenting perspective was rapidly closing.

  Heavily, Litti stood and extended his hand to hold the proceedings in abeyance. “If I may,” he began, and the pope displayed a fleeting look of annoyance. “As a means of advancing the progress of this important inquirendum, I'd like to call to the Congregation's attention the fact that a convocation of world churches is gathering in the United States on February 4, 5 and 6. The expressed purpose of this convention is to address the very issues we're pursuing here.”

  “Begging your forgiveness, Holy Father,” di Concerci broke in impatiently, “but Cardinal Litti has raised the question of this conference to me before and I have investigated it. It's being hosted in Salt Lake City by the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Mormons, whose creed, as you know, is profoundly millenarian. The makeup of the convention,” he added, “will be predominantly millennialists and fundamentalists. It hardly raises itself to the level of a world convocation, and we should not legitimize the proceedings with our attendance.”

  “Holiness”—Litti ignored di Concerci and appealed directly to the pope—”your words were that we should arrive at the truth as quickly and completely as possible.” He gave di Concerci a pointed, defiant glance before continuing. “The prefect has unintentionally overlooked the fact that the Presbyterian, Lutheran, Unitarian and Jewish faiths, among others, will each be represented there. Even if there is little new information to come from this conclave, what harm could it possibly do? The inquirendum would at least benefit from knowing the perspectives of these other denominations.”

  The pope shrugged his shoulders deferentially, and to di Concerci said, “I see no harm in Alphonse attending this conference, Antonio.” Rising from his chair and with a patriarchal smile, he added, “In any event, perhaps it will keep the two of you out of each other's way for a w
hile!” There was appreciative laughter from the assembly, and the pope retired, leaving the Congregation to its work.

  42

  WNN headquarters, Jerusalem, Israel 4:47 P.M., Friday, January 21, 2000

  Everybody's eating our goddamn lunch,” Bollinger complained hotly to the entire staff at their end-of-week meeting. “How come every other local TV reporter from Kalamazoo can run into Jeza and we come up empty for two damn weeks? Where the hell are you guys?” he shouted to the field teams who sat hangdog and tired. “And we still don't know a damned thing more about that Negev laboratory than we did three weeks ago. We got six crews out here at an unbelievable expense and nothing to show for it!

  “I want more reconnaissance, more spotters, more cell phone contact going on. And I want you guys to come back with something really big by Monday morning or some of you are going back where you came from. Do I make myself clear?”

  After the dispiriting staff meeting, it was an especially pleasant diversion for Feldman to receive a phone call from Anke, who normally wouldn't disturb him at the office. It had been four long days since he'd seen her, and Feldman was not looking forward to telling her he'd be working this weekend.

  “Jon, I'm sorry to bother you at the office.”

  “Not a bother. It's good to hear a friendly voice. How are you?”

  “Actually, I'm doing very well—for the both of us. I've found you a contact with the Negev Research Institute. And it's a good one.”

  Feldman bolted forward in his chair, ecstatic. “You're kidding! I can't believe it! You don't know how badly we need a break like this! Who is it?”

  “Not now. Come down tonight after work for a nice, home-cooked dinner and I'll tell you all about it. We've got a meeting set up for tomorrow morning. Just you and me, and no cameras. And for God's sake, don't tell anyone. There's apparently a lot more to this than any of us realize!”

  The drive to Tel Aviv was a short fifty minutes, and an eager Feldman arrived well before dark. Despite his persistence, however, Anke refused to discuss business until after dinner. They dined on the balcony in the refreshing salt breeze, enjoying steamed crabs and rock lobster that Anke had prepared to perfection. Later, snuggling together in a love seat, a luxury liner plying the twilight sea before them, Feldman took his arm from around her, grasped her smooth brown shoulders and turned her toward him.

  “All right now,” he commanded with transparent sternness, “I've been frustrated long enough. You tell me immediately about this source of yours or I'm turning you over my knee!”

  She laughed at the impatience in his eyes. “Believe me, Jon, this is worth waiting for. I just wanted you to relax a little first.” Her face glowing with excitement, she grasped his hands in hers. “When I got back to campus for classes last week I picked up a copy of the university paper to catch up on what had happened over winter break. I was shocked and upset to read an article and obituary on Dr. Jozef Leveque, who was a genetics biology professor at the university. I knew him and his wife, Anne, very well. Both of them being from France, like me, we had much in common.

  “The article was peculiar in that it didn't give a cause of death, a date or anything. Well, I didn't make the connection at the time, but later I phoned Anne Leveque to offer my condolences. We talked for a while, and she finally confided in me that her husband had died in the explosion at the institute. She was terribly shattered over it, of course, poor thing.

  “I tried to get Mrs. Leveque to open up a bit, but she seemed very nervous, although I could tell she wanted to talk with someone. When I told her about us, who you were and all, she got extremely anxious and made me swear an oath that I wouldn't say anything to you. She made some excuse and hung up. I thought that was the end of it, but then today, she called to say she wanted to meet with you and me tomorrow morning and that it was very important. But only you and me and no cameras or tape recorders. She was calling from a pay phone because she was afraid her home was bugged.”

  Feldman looked off in the distance at the disappearing ocean liner and sighed appreciatively. “You don't know how timely this is!” He gave her a vigorous hug. “When do we meet?”

  “Seven o'clock, tomorrow morning.”

  He feigned a frown of concern. “Then we'd better get to bed early tonight, wouldn't you say?”

  43

  Nordau Towers, Tel Aviv, Israel 7:00 A.M., Saturday, January 22, 2000

  Anne Leveque arrived promptly and nervously at the appointed hour. Anke invited her in and introduced her to Feldman, whom she immediately recognized. “You're as handsome in person as you are on TV,” she complimented him in excellent English, and Feldman smiled graciously.

  Mrs. Leveque was a sprightly, dignified-looking woman, in her early seventies, Feldman guessed. Nicely dressed, with thick silver hair swept back and secured by a gold clasp. Although she smiled with her lips, her gray eyes and brow were in perpetual worry. Feldman reassured her that she could place her trust in Anke and him.

  As if she'd finally resolved her inner conflicts, she stared closely at them for a moment, reached over to take their hands in hers, and whispered softly, “You make such a wonderful couple. Jozef and I were much like you many years ago.”

  Feldman glanced over at Anke, who was sitting close to him with large tears in her eyes.

  Mrs. Leveque attempted another half smile. “Yes, I know I can trust you both and I will do what I have to do.” She grew serious again and stared intently at Feldman. “Jon, I want you to know that I love my country dearly and would never do anything to harm it. What I am about to tell you is not a betrayal of Israel. It concerns a secret IDF operation unknown even to the prime minister or the Knesset. And that makes my situation all the more serious because the operation is outside the law.”

  She could no longer look Feldman in the eye. “I am ashamed to admit to you that I and my late husband played a major part in all of this.”

  Feldman frowned and reclined slightly in his chair.

  “As you know,” the woman proceeded, “the IDF functions under the control of Defense Minister Shaul Tamin, who is directly involved in this operation. Tamin is a ruthless man, and what I say here will place me at great risk. Nevertheless, for the safety—and possibly the life—of someone… very important to me, I must do this. I must expose something I fervently believe is against all the laws of God and nature.

  “But I must have your solemn oath that certain aspects of this story, which I will designate to you, be held in the strictest confidence.”

  They both solemnly agreed.

  This seemed to satisfy Mrs. Leveque and she settled into the couch.

  “It's an involved story and I should start from the beginning.”

  “Do you object to my taking notes?” Feldman asked.

  “Not so long as you don't record names or those details that I will indicate as sensitive.”

  Mrs. Leveque opened her large saddle purse next to her chair and withdrew a worn, clothbound album. “Because you will not believe what I am about to tell you, when I am finished I will share with you my husband's diary, which will substantiate everything. You understand, however, I cannot let you borrow it. It is all I have left of these last strange years with Jozef.”

  Feldman nodded. Mrs. Leveque held the diary in both hands, as if drawing strength from it.

  “First,” she began, “let me explain to you that I met my husband Jozef at the University of Cologne in 1952 where we were both graduate students in biology. We fell in love, and after completing our degrees, Jozef received a professorship at the University of Tel Aviv. We married against my parents’ objections—I'm a devout Catholic and Jozef is Jewish—and we moved here in the summer of 1954.”

  Feldman noted with interest that, unlike his parents, the Leveques seemed to have reconciled their disparate religious persuasions.

  “Jozef quickly earned a research position at the university and I was also offered a biology professorship there. Because of our careers, we decided to
forgo having children. Our daughter, Marie, who was born in 1968, was a wonderful accident. It wasn't until we had her that we realized how much we'd been missing in our lives. Marie was the most loving, intelligent and happy child a parent could ever wish for. She completed perfectly the love Jozef and I shared.

  “But then, in the early spring of 1992, my only child, my beautiful, bright twenty-four-year-old Marie, was nearly killed in a senseless, brutal act of terrorism by the Hezbollah near the Western Wall in Jerusalem. My Marie was never a political person. She was kind, gentle, caring. Simply out on an innocent excursion in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  “A car bomb exploded. A piece of shrapnel struck Marie in the back of the head—”

  Feldman felt his stomach knot.

  Mrs. Leveque's eyes were misting, but she kept her composure. “Today, my beautiful Marie lies as she has for eight years. In a coma, on artificial sustenance, in a special medical room at my home.”

  She exhaled deeply before continuing. “Marie was Jozef's greatest joy. He lavished his love on her and this senseless tragedy was devastating to him. But rather than let it destroy him, and rather than accept it as the will of God, he considered it a challenge. He resolved to conquer it. That was his nature.

  “At first, Jozef felt he could possibly restore Marie—and now I am entering a subject that must remain proprietary.”

  Feldman dutifully put down his pen and pad.

  “Jozef's field of research at the university was bio-electronic circuitry, a hybrid field of science pursuing ways to integrate nerve tissues with microchip circuitry. His research team had developed a type of microchip on which nerve tissue would grow and mesh, creating artificial nerve pathways.