In His Image

by James Beauseigneur

  In the end, the vote turned, as history so often does, on an ironic twist of fate. At the UN’s founding, the Soviet Union had insisted that two of her states, the Byelorussian S.S.R. and the Ukrainian S.S.R., be granted admission to the General Assembly with the full rights of sovereign nations. At the time it had been a way for the USSR to gain two extra votes in the General Assembly. Today the independent Ukraine cast the deciding vote to expropriate Russia’s seat on the Security Council. The motion passed.

  One week later

  The vote to reorganize the Security Council did not mark the completion of the effort, but only the beginning of a new phase. Now that the motion had carried, press representatives from around the world were calling, wanting information about this man who likely would become the new secretary-general. Decker brought in extra personnel to support the more routine functions of the effort, but he was wary of delegating too much. As he went over a press release for the third time, he realized he had no idea what he was reading. He was just too tired. Closing his eyes, he slumped down in the chair and thought back to his days at the Knoxville Enterprise. It had been a long time since he had worked this hard.

  Unnoticed, Jackie Hansen had entered the room and was now standing directly behind his chair. As he sat with his eyes closed, she reached down and placed her long, slender fingers on his shoulders. Decker jumped, but seeing Jackie’s smiling face, relaxed as she began to massage his tired, knotted muscles. “Oh, that feels good,” he said gratefully. “I’ll give you just twenty minutes to stop it.” It was an old joke, but Jackie laughed anyway.

  “Your back is one solid knot,” Jackie said sympathetically. “I’ll bet you’re tired.”

  Decker started to nod his head but decided it might interrupt the massage and instead answered, “Uh-huh.”

  “My father really appreciates all the work you’re doing. He told me you were working so hard that sometimes he wasn’t sure which of you was trying to get elected.”

  Decker appreciated the compliment. It was nice to know his work was appropriately acknowledged. He smiled up at Jackie, then closed his eyes again to concentrate on the relaxing feel of her hands. Suddenly she stopped. “You know what you need to really relax?” she asked.

  “What’s that?” Decker responded.

  “Well, whenever I get real tense, I meditate.” Jackie started to rub his shoulders again. “I may seem pretty relaxed to you most of the time, but I used to be a jumble of nerves. When I first started to work here I was so concerned about doing a good job. I didn’t want people thinking the only reason I had the job was because my father was the ambassador.” Jackie found a knot and began rubbing in circles to work it out. “That’s when I met Lorraine from the French Mission. She invited me to go to a meditation class at the Lucius Trust.” Jackie stopped again and looked at her watch. “Oh, my gosh,” she said in surprise, “speaking of the Lucius Trust: it’s 7:55. If I don’t hurry I’m going to be late. I’ve missed the last three weeks because of work; I really don’t want to miss tonight.”

  “Miss what?” asked Decker.

  “My meditation class,” Jackie answered. “It meets at the Lucius Trust every Wednesday. Tonight Alice Bernley, the director of the Trust, is going to show new members how to reach their inner consciousness, the source of creativity. It’s like an inner guide.”

  “Oh,” Decker said, making no attempt to hide the fact that he had no idea what Jackie was talking about.

  “Come with me.”

  “Uh … I don’t know, Jackie. I’m not really into this New Age stuff. I’m pretty square, I guess.”

  “Oh, come on,” she insisted, as she took his hand and gave it a tug. “Really, I think you’ll enjoy it. When you leave there tonight you’ll be more relaxed than you’ve been in weeks. I find it helps me reach a higher plane of thinking. It frees my creative mental processes.”

  Decker sighed. “Well, I guess I could use some of that, but we’ll just have to be a little late. I refuse to run.”

  The class had already started when they arrived. Quietly Jackie moved through the crowd of about a hundred and fifty people, pulling Decker along, until they reached two empty chairs. Around them people sat silently with eyes closed, some with their legs crossed, all listening intently to the speaker. They seemed totally unaware that others were around them. Even in the subdued light, Decker recognized nearly two dozen of the attendees as UN delegates. The speaker was Alice Bernley, an attractive woman in her late forties with long flowing red hair. “Just sit down, close your eyes, and listen,” Jackie whispered.

  It was easy enough to relax in the deep, comfortable chairs. Decker listened to the speaker and tried to figure out what he was supposed to be doing. “In the blackness ahead of you,” Bernley was saying, “is a small point of light just coming into view. As you walk closer to the light, you are beginning to narrow the distance, and the light is growing brighter and warmer.” Decker became aware of a soft, barely audible hum, almost like a cat’s purr, coming from those around him. As he closed his eyes, to his amazement, he too saw a light. It was very distant, but it was clearly visible. He wondered at the sight, and in his mind it did seem as if the light was getting closer, or possibly he was getting closer to it. He was certain it was all just a mental picture painted by the woman, but he was surprised at how open he was to her suggestion. It must be from lack of sleep, he thought briefly. The woman’s delicate voice seemed to softly caress his ears. “Approach the light,” the woman continued, and Decker did. “Soon you will find that it has led you to a beautiful place: a garden.” In his mind Decker followed her words and soon he saw it.

  Bernley went on at some length describing every detail of the garden. It was so clear, so real and precisely described that later, as Decker looked back to this event and thought of all the others in the room, his greatest wonder—though logically he knew better—was that so many could be sharing the same vision so clearly and yet each be totally alone in his or her own garden. Even in his memory the place seemed so real that he expected to see others from the room there with him.

  “Just beyond the shining pool of water you see someone approaching.” Decker looked but saw no one. “It may be a person,” Bernley continued, “but for many people it will be an animal, perhaps a bird or a rabbit or perhaps a horse or even a unicorn. What form it takes is unimportant. Do not be afraid, even if it is a lion. It will not hurt you. It is there to help you, to guide you when you have questions.”

  Still Decker saw no one. “When it has come close enough, talk to it, ask it anything you would like to know, and it will answer. You might start by asking its name. As some of you know, my spirit guide is a Tibetan master who goes by the name Djwlij Kajm. For some, your spirit guide may be a bit more shy. You may have to coax it out, not by speaking to it, but by listening. So listen. Listen very closely.” Decker listened. He moved closer to the pool, trying to hear. Bernley’s voice had fallen silent, apparently to allow those with “shy” spirit guides to listen more closely. Still he saw and heard nothing.

  It was not that there was nothing there. If they had spoken any louder, he surely would have heard.

  “Why does no one approach him?” one of the voices whispered.

  “The Master forbids it,” another voice answered. “He has special plans for this one.”

  Bernley remained silent for another eight or ten minutes. For a while, Decker continued to try to hear or see the guide Bernley said he would find, but when she spoke again he opened his eyes and realized that he had fallen asleep. “Now say farewell to your new friend but thank him and let him know you’ll return soon.”

  Decker watched the others in the group as Bernley brought them back from this expedition of the mind. In a moment they opened their eyes and looked around. Everyone was smiling. Some hugged those around them. A few wept openly. Decker looked over at Jackie Hansen, who seemed to be nearly floating. From a corner of the room someone began to applaud and soon the whole room was filled with appla
use.

  “Thank you, thank you,” Bernley said graciously, “but you really should be applauding yourselves for having the courage to open your minds to the unknown. Now, whenever you need guidance on something that you just don’t know how to handle, all you have to do is go to a quiet place for a few moments, close your eyes, and open your mind. Seek out your guide at every opportunity and ask it the questions you can’t answer. What you are doing is allowing the creative nature that is within all of us to do what it most wants to do: provide visionary solutions to the problems in your life.”

  Some of Bernley’s assistants brought in refreshments and everyone began to talk together in small groups about what they had experienced. Decker politely thanked Jackie for the invitation and told her he had found the experience interesting, but said he really needed to get back to work. She seemed surprised that he was leaving but did not try to stop him.

  As soon as Decker left, Alice Bernley called to Jackie, who quickly made her way across the room. Without speaking, Bernley took Jackie’s arm and led her to a quiet corner where they would not be overheard. “Was that Decker Hawthorne with you?” Bernley asked, sounding a little concerned.

  “Yes,” Jackie answered. “I asked him if he’d like to sit in on the class. Did I do the wrong thing?”

  “No. It’s okay. Actually, it was my fault. I should have told you: The Tibetan has made it very clear that Decker Hawthorne is not to be a part of the Trust. The Master has special plans for Mr. Hawthorne.”

  Two days later

  At the Israeli Mission in New York, Jon Hansen was shown into the office of Ambassador Aviel Hartzog who was at his desk, talking on the phone. He neither looked up nor acknowledged Hansen’s arrival. It was an obvious snub. As Hansen waited he couldn’t help but overhear Hartzog’s conversation, which didn’t sound like very important business. This made the snub all the greater. To be talking petty business with some bureaucrat while a guest ambassador waited was inexcusable. What made it even worse was that Hartzog undoubtedly realized Hansen was not only a fellow delegate but most likely the next secretary-general.

  Nearly three minutes later the Israeli ambassador finally hung up the phone and joined Hansen. He made no apology for the delay and immediately began by calling Hansen by his first name, even though the two had never been formally introduced, the Israeli ambassador having just been assigned to the UN. What a cheeky monkey, thought Hansen.

  “So, Jon, what have you come to offer us?”

  Hansen held his temper like a true Englishman. “Reason, Mr. Ambassador. Reason.”

  “You have brought me a reason that Israel should cut her own throat?” Hartzog asked mockingly.

  “No. I have—”

  Ambassador Hartzog cut Hansen off before he could even begin. “Ambassador Hansen,” he said, now becoming formal, “my government considers the decision by the General Assembly to reorganize the Security Council along regional lines a noble gesture. It is, unfortunately, one with which we cannot abide. Did it not cross your mind that by restructuring the Security Council on a regional basis and then grouping Israel with the other nations of the Middle East, you would force us into a position where we would constantly be at the mercy of our Arab neighbors? In case you were not aware, Israel has a Jewish population of five million. We are surrounded by twenty-three Arab nations with a total population of 250 million. Now, tell me, just what do you think Israel’s chances are of having a representative on the Security Council who is favorable to our country?” Hartzog paused and then added, “Most of the Arab world still hasn’t acknowledged that Israel even exists!”

  “But leaving the UN is not the answer, Mr. Ambassador,” Hansen said, finally getting a word in.

  “Unless you can make some guarantees … perhaps by increasing the number of seats on the Security Council to eleven and guaranteeing that seat to Israel …” Hartzog paused for Hansen’s reaction. He was certain Hansen would never agree to such a proposal, but as Hartzog saw it, he had nothing to lose.

  “You know we can’t do that,” Hansen responded. “It would destroy the whole restructuring. There’s no way we can make that kind of exception for Israel without setting the precedent for others wanting the same.” Hansen didn’t mention it, but there was another precedent he didn’t want to set—that of having a nation leave the UN. It had never been done before.

  “Then there seems little choice,” Hartzog concluded.

  “Mr. Ambassador, if Israel leaves the UN, it will be giving in to the very countries you fear. They’d like nothing more than to see Israel out of the United Nations.”

  “Unfortunately you are correct. But neither can we stay.”

  The conversation did not improve and Hansen left without having gained an inch of ground. When he returned to his office he was met by Decker Hawthorne. “How’d it go?” Decker asked.

  “Not well,” Hansen answered in understatement. “Israel is just too blasted cheeky about what happened with the Russian Federation.”

  “But they’ve acknowledged that their strategic defense had nothing to do with the premature detonation of the Soviet missiles, so what do they have to be so arrogant about?” Decker really wanted to say “cheeky” too, but he didn’t think he could say it without sounding as though he was poking fun.

  “The official position of the Knesset is that the destruction of the Russian missiles was a miracle of God.”

  “You don’t think the Israeli ambassador actually believes that, do you?” asked Decker.

  “The point is a great many of the Israeli people are convinced that what happened was a literal act of God, foretold by their prophet Ezekiel thousands of years ago.” 34 Hansen shook his head and sighed. “I can’t really blame them for their response to restructuring, though. It doesn’t offer them much to look forward to.”

  18

  Revelation

  Seven years later

  New York, New York

  DECKER SHOOK THE RAIN from his umbrella, unbuttoned his raincoat, and walked past the UN guard toward the main elevators.

  “Good morning, Mr. Hawthorne,” the guard said. “And happy birthday!”

  Decker paused long enough to smile and nod. “Thank you, Charlie,” he responded.

  How did he remember that? Decker wondered, as he stepped into the elevator and pushed the button for the thirty-eighth floor. Once he reached the top floor of the United Nations Secretariat building, he proceeded to his office, three doors down from the office of Secretary-General Jon Hansen. The view of the East River and Queens from Decker’s office was almost obscured by the rain beating hard against the window.

  Decker looked through the notes on his desk to decide what he wanted to do first this morning. Among the neatly disorganized clutter were two photographs: one of Decker with Elizabeth, Hope, and Louisa taken in that brief period between his escape from Lebanon and the Disaster and a two-year-old picture of Christopher at his graduation from the Masters program at the United Nations University for Peace in Costa Rica.

  Other than being Decker’s fifty-eighth birthday it was an ordinary day at the UN, a fact for which Decker was grateful. As director of public affairs for Secretary-General Jon Hansen, Decker had been personally involved in much of the planning and implementation of the worldwide United Nations Day celebration three days earlier, so the return to normalcy was welcome. The observance of the UN’s founding had been a big success, with celebrations in nearly 200 of the 235 member nations. Secretary-General Hansen placed great importance on the event. He wanted it to be bigger and better each year in order to build public acceptance and support for the UN and its programs. In some countries the UN Day celebration had actually grown more important than the individual nations’ own birthday celebrations. There were a few countries where they might have even dispensed with their own national celebrations altogether were it not for the fact that it was an extra day off for the bureaucrats.

  Relatively speaking, the world was at peace, and Decker was, for the
moment, at rest, recovering from the massive effort of coordinating celebrations in more than a dozen time zones.

  Twenty minutes later Decker finally let Mary Polk, his secretary, know that he was officially in.

  “Mr. Hawthorne,” Mary said in surprise, “I didn’t see you come in. Have you forgotten about your meeting this morning with the secretary-general?”

  “What meeting?” Decker asked.

  “You’re scheduled for a meeting with the secretary-general this morning. It was supposed to start about fifteen minutes ago. Jackie has already called twice to find out where you were.”

  “Oh, no! Why didn’t you check to see if I was here?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Call Jackie and tell her I’ll be right there.” It was only about thirty yards to Secretary-General Hansen’s office, so Decker was at the door only seconds after Mary reached Jackie Hansen on the phone.

  “They’re waiting for you in the conference room,” Jackie said as Decker altered his course toward the adjoining room and opened the door.

  “Surprise!” about three dozen voices suddenly yelled in unison.

  In the center of the crowd stood Secretary-General and Mrs. Hansen. Both seemed to be enjoying the surprised look on Decker’s face. It was incumbent on Decker to laugh, but all he could manage at first was a pained moan and a disbelieving shake of the head. Finally an appreciative smile broke through. Behind Decker, Mary Polk entered the room to join the party. “You’re in big trouble,” Decker told his secretary as he caught sight of her.

  “Don’t blame her,” interrupted Hansen. “She was just following my orders.”