“I’m the one you’ve been waiting for,” the man said, still extending his hand. “But believe me, I’ve been waiting for you for a lot longer than you’ve been waiting for me.” Cohen was silent, still unsure of what to say. “And you are Saul Cohen,” the man continued, “of the lineage of Jonadab, son of Recab, about whom Jeremiah prophesied.” 38
Cohen’s mouth dropped open. “That secret has not passed outside of my family for nearly twelve hundred years,” he said.
“It is the only explanation for why you were not taken in the … um, ‘Disaster’,” the man explained. “And when you have completed your work, your son will take your place in the Lord’s service, as was promised through Jeremiah.”
Cohen grew pensive.
“Why don’t we just sit down,” the man suggested. “We have a lot to talk about.” Cohen complied silently. “As our meeting indicates, the time is at hand for the end of this age.” Without pausing to allow Cohen to consider the full impact of this statement, the man continued. “I’ve observed you for a number of years and I am now certain that you are the other witness. The fact that you recognize me confirms that belief.”
“You were not sure before?” Cohen asked.
“I was not told who the other would be. I now see I was led to you, but confirmation was left to the discernment and wisdom God has granted me. I had no special revelation on the matter.”
This discovery caught Cohen off guard. “But … I don’t understand. How could you not know?”
“Well, as the Apostle Paul wrote, ‘For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.’ 39 I can assure you that as long as you and I remain on this side of life, that will never change—not even if you were to live to be two thousand years old.”
“Rabbi,” Cohen said, not knowing how else to address this man whom he considered to be hundreds of times his spiritual senior.
“Please,” the man interrupted, “call me John.”
This had gone on long enough. Cohen had to be sure he understood what was happening. “You are John?”
The man nodded.
“Yochanan bar Zebadee?” Cohen said, using the Hebrew form of the man’s name.
“I am,” he answered.
“The apostle of the Lord? You were there, at the foot of the cross?” 40
“I was there,” John answered with an expression that showed he still felt the pain of that event nearly two thousand years earlier.
“But how? Have you returned from the dead?”
The man smiled. “In many ways I would have preferred that. But, no, I’ve been here, alive on this decaying world, waiting for this moment for two thousand years.”
Cohen didn’t repeat his question, but his eyes still asked “How?”
“Do you not recall what our Lord told Peter about me on the shore of the Sea of Tiberias?”
Cohen knew the words but he had never thought their meaning to be literal. After his resurrection, Jesus told the Apostle Peter how he, Peter, would die. Peter then asked what would happen to John. “If I want him to remain alive until I return, what is that to you?” Jesus replied. 41
“But you also wrote that what Jesus said didn’t mean you’d never die, just that you might not die until after his return.” 42 As soon as the words left his mouth, Cohen realized he did not need an answer; both he and John were fully aware of the fate that soon awaited them—and that fate matched Jesus’ words perfectly.
“The Lord told my brother James and me that, like him, we would both die a martyr’s death. 43 James was the first of the Lord’s apostles to die 44 … and I shall be the last. I suppose in this way at least, my mother’s request to Jesus will be granted: James and I will sit at the Lord’s right and left hands in his kingdom.” 45
Cohen still struggled.
“In the Book of Revelation,” the man continued, “I said that an angel gave me a scroll and I was told to eat it. I wrote:
I took the little scroll from the angel’s hand and ate it. It tasted sweet as honey in my mouth, but when I had eaten it, my stomach turned sour. Then I was told, “You must prophesy again about many peoples, nations, languages, and kings.” 46
Cohen nodded recognition. “The words of the scroll were sweet,” John explained, “because in that moment I came to know I would live longer than even Methuselah. 47 But the scroll became sour in my stomach as I understood I would have to wait longer than any other man to see the Lord again. Then I was told the reason my life must continue: I have remained on this earth to prophesy again, this time with you, about many peoples, nations, languages, and kings.”
Knitting his brow, Cohen lapsed into an introspective state. He believed but, then again, it was almost too much to believe. “I suppose it should have been expected,” he said finally, “after you survived being immersed in boiling oil. 48 And it explains the prophesies of Yeshua concerning the end of the age, when he told the disciples, ‘Some who are standing here will not taste death before they see the kingdom of God come with power.’ 49 If you are John, then indeed that generation has not passed away. Still, what of Polycarp?” Cohen asked, referring to the late first- and early second-century bishop of Smyrna who, according to his student Irenaeus, had said John died during the reign of the Roman emperor Trajan. 50
“Have you not read Harnack?” the man responded, referring to the German theologian who had propounded that Polycarp was referring not to John the apostle but to another man, a church elder, also named John. 51
It occurred to Cohen that this might also explain one of the mysteries of the Bible that had always puzzled him. “And is this the reason for the apparent later additions to the original text of your gospel?” 52 he asked for confirmation.
The man nodded. “I regret the confusion that has caused. From time to time I’d tell someone about something Jesus did or said that I had left out of my Gospel and they’d urge me to include it. It never even occurred to me that, by adding a few things I had left out of the earlier versions, I would cause so much confusion later on.
“Saul, I understand your reason for questioning, and yet I know that at the same time, the Spirit gives witness to you that I am who I claim to be.”
“But where have you been?” Cohen asked. “How could you have kept your identity concealed?”
“It’s easier than you might imagine,” John answered. “I must admit, however, I’ve not always been as successful as I would like. There was a period of a few hundred years that no matter where I went—from China, to India, to Ethiopia—the stories would follow me.”
A thought occurred to Cohen. “Prester John?” he asked, referring to the mysterious figure mentioned in dozens of legends and by a few more reliable sources such as Marco Polo, over a span of several hundred years and in widespread locations. 53
John nodded. “Though how I ever got tied in with the legends of King Arthur, I can only guess. Perhaps it was the result of speculation that I had the Holy Grail. Since then, I’ve been a lot more careful about concealing my identity. To avoid questions I’ve had to move frequently—never more than ten or fifteen years in one place. And I have always tried to find work in the Lord’s service that would not draw attention. I’ve pastored a hundred small churches in every corner of the world. But is it so surprising that I could have gone unnoticed in a world of hundreds of millions? After all, God himself became a man and lived on the earth and went unnoticed by the world for thirty years until the time was right for him to begin his ministry. Now the time is right for me, and for you as well, my friend.”
Shiwi, Pakistan
Decker tried to maintain an encouraging smile as he walked among several small groups of people who were sitting on logs or squatting on the ground eating their rations. It was just after six o’clock and the day’s second meal—one could hardly call it dinner—was being served. It had been nearly two hours since Secretary-General Hansen’s helicopter had left, four hours late, wit
h the rest of the UN contingent. Decker and Christopher remained to await the second team of ambassadors who were coming to the camp to survey the conditions. Christopher had gone to his tent to take a nap shortly after Hansen left.
“Christopher, wake up; it’s time for supper,” Decker called as he approached the team’s small stand of greenish-gray tents. “Come on, Christopher, rise and shine,” he said a little louder, but there was no answer. “Christopher, are you in there?”
Decker stuck his head between the two tent flaps and past the mosquito netting. Inside, Christopher sat unmoving on the floor of the tent. Sweat dripped from his face and body and a pained stare filled every feature of his face.
“Are you all right?” Decker asked, though it was obvious he was not.
“Something is wrong,” Christopher said finally.
“Are you sick?” Decker asked, but as soon as he said it, he realized Christopher had never been sick; he probably wasn’t capable of it.
“Something is terribly wrong.” Christopher answered.
Decker ducked inside the tent and closed the flaps behind him. “What is it?” he asked.
“Death and life,” Christopher replied slowly. Each word seemed as if it tore an agonizing track from his lungs to his lips.
“Whose life and death?” Decker asked in the more traditional order in which those words are used.
“The death of one who sought to avoid death’s grip; the life of another who sought to accept death’s release.”
“Who has died?” Decker asked, wanting to cover one item at a time and seeing the second reference as both less pressing and more obscure.
“Jon Hansen,” Christopher replied.
Decker never got around to asking about the second reference.
21
When Leaders Fall
New York, New York
IT WAS THREE DAYS LATER before search parties spotted the secretary-general’s helicopter, forty-five miles off course and crumpled like tissue paper among a stand of trees southwest of Gujränwalä, Pakistan. There were no survivors. It was the second time a secretary-general of the United Nations had been lost in an aircraft crash, the first being Secretary-General Dag Hammarskjöld in 1961, whose plane crashed in Northern Rhodesia (Zambia), killing all on board. The earlier crash, though tragic, had hardly carried the impact on the world and its peoples as did the deaths of Jon Hansen and three members of the Security Council. In 1961 the position of secretary-general, like the United Nations itself, had had little if any influence on the lives of most people in the world. Now, it seemed, the world revolved around the United Nations, and its secretary-general was at the center of it all.
Not since the assassination of the American president John Kennedy or the death of Princess Diana of England had there been such an international outpouring of emotion. At the United Nations, the General Assembly adjourned for two weeks to honor the man who had led them for nearly fifteen years through some of the most remarkable times in recorded history.
The members of Jon Hansen’s staff struggled to get through each moment while attempting to carry out their duties. Few attempted to hide their tears as they spoke of him. It was not unusual to see small groups huddled closely together, weeping openly as they reminisced.
As much as anyone else, Decker Hawthorne grieved the loss of his boss and friend, but for Decker there was no time to commiserate with his colleagues. At this moment the world waited for him. As director of public affairs, he had to put aside his own mourning in order to coordinate the funeral and numerous memorial events. His staff was inundated with calls from the press and from mourners wanting to share their grief. Thousands called requesting photographs of Hansen, and hundreds of dignitaries wanted to be included in the many memorial ceremonies. Of the latter group, each believed that Decker should take their call personally; in many cases he did. Staying busy was probably the best thing for Decker at the time and he knew it.
But the lust for power never ceases, and it was during this period of mourning that Decker saw the first indications of the odious dealings that were afoot to replace Hansen. The once-united members of the Security Council each called upon Decker, requesting special favors with regard to the funeral or the ceremonies surrounding it. Ambassador Howell of Canada wanted to be the final speaker to eulogize Hansen at the funeral, the ambassador from Chad wanted to be seated near the center of the dais from which the speeches would be made, and the ambassador from Venezuela wanted to escort Hansen’s widow. The request that angered Decker most was made by French Ambassador Albert Faure, who, though he had never said a kind word about Hansen while he was alive, now wanted to be a pallbearer for the secretary-general. Worse, he also insisted he be given the right lead position among the bearers. Though he wouldn’t say why, Decker understood the reason: In that position, Faure hoped to be able to be most frequently seen by the television cameras.
As one of his more pleasant duties, Decker sent a limo to pick up Christopher at Kennedy Airport, but could not spare anyone to greet him. Christopher, like hundreds of other diplomats and hundreds of thousands of mourners, had come to New York for the funeral, filling the already crowded streets to capacity. In the sixteen years since the Disaster and the devastation of the Russian Federation, the population of the world had grown very quickly. Overall, world population was still more than a billion fewer than before the Disaster and the war, but one would not have guessed it to look at New York on this occasion.
As Decker emerged from his office after a long meeting, he called one of the senior secretaries to be sure the limo had left to get Christopher.
“No, sir,” the secretary answered, quickly adding, “Alice Bernley called during your meeting and said she and former Assistant Secretary-General Milner would meet Director-General Goodman.”
At Kennedy airport, Robert Milner and Alice Bernley waited patiently for Christopher’s flight. When Christopher arrived, he seemed genuinely pleased to see his mentor waiting for him at the gate, and the two embraced in a warm, extended hug. “How are you, Mr. Secretary?” he asked.
“Just great, Christopher,” Milner answered.
“And Ms. Bernley. It’s so nice to see you again.”
“How have you been? It’s been nearly a year since I saw you last in Rome,” Bernley said.
“Yes, it’s been a very busy year. But what are you two doing here? I didn’t expect a greeting party.”
“Well,” answered Bernley, “when we heard you were coming in, it just didn’t seem right that you should have no one to greet you but a driver.”
Christopher smiled. “I’m so glad to see you both. Thank you for making the effort.”
“Besides,” added Milner, now getting to an additional reason for the airport reception, “there are some things we need to discuss before your arrival at the UN.”
Christopher looked curious.
“We’ll discuss it in the car, where we can talk more freely.”
Once in the car, Alice Bernley reached for the switch that closed the tinted glass barrier between them and the driver. With their privacy ensured, Milner wasted no time getting to the matter at hand. “Christopher, it is the double curse of wars and politics that when a great leader falls, those who mourn most his loss must, at that very moment, also be most vigilant to defend against the encroachment of those who have lost the least and who see in our adversity an opportunity for their own gain. So it is, even at this moment of loss.”
“It’s started so soon?” Christopher asked.
“It has,” Milner said. “There is more power up for grabs at this moment than at any single moment in world history. The first order of business for the UN will be for Europe and India to elect new members of the Security Council to replace the ambassadors who died with Hansen in the crash. In India there are two strong contenders, including the current alternate, Rajiv Advani, and the Indian prime minister, Nikhil Gandhi. Gandhi, who, as you know, is half Italian and was educated in the United States, is clearly
more reasonable and would be easier to work with than Advani. But if Gandhi wins, which appears quite likely, Advani plans to return to India to run for prime minister. I don’t know how familiar you are with Indian politics, but polls indicate that without Nikhil Gandhi to head it, the Congress Party’s coalition will not be able to hold power. If the polls are right, Advani’s Bharatiya Janata Party could win enough of a plurality of the 545 seats in the Indian parliament to easily form a solid coalition with a few of the minority parties. The Bharatiya Janata Party is a Hindu revivalist party that appeals to Hindu pride and has as one of its goals to revoke all rights of the Muslim minority.
“So while we would welcome Nikhil Gandhi’s election as a member of the Security Council, if it results in the election of Rajiv Advani as India’s prime minister, it will have come at a very expensive price. There can be no doubt that the hostilities between Hindus and Muslims in India will sharply increase under Advani, and the border tensions with Pakistan will grow even worse.
“In Europe the most likely candidates are Ambassador Valasquez of Spain and, of course, Ambassador Albert Faure of France. It’s my guess that Faure has his eyes on something much bigger.”
“Secretary-general?” Christopher asked. It was a rhetorical question; there was only one position more powerful than that of primary member of the Security Council.
“Exactly,” Milner answered.
“That’s quite a jump from being an alternate member of the Security Council.” Christopher said. “He can’t possibly think the Security Council is going to vote for a second consecutive secretary-general from Europe.”
“I didn’t say it was likely he could win, just that that’s what he’s after … along with half a dozen other people, I should add.”
Alice Bernley had been sitting quietly but it seemed to her that the conversation was getting off track.
In His Image Page 34