The chair opened the floor for additional nominations and recognized the ambassador from Ecuador representing South America, who nominated Jackson Clark, the ambassador from the United States. The nomination was seconded by American-educated Ambassador Nikhil Gandhi of India. Most observers had expected the American to be nominated, but weren’t sure how it would play out. Ambassador Clark had only recently resigned as the U.S. president in order to replace Walter Bishop, who had died in the crash along with Hansen. The nomination made it clear just what Clark had in mind when he resigned the presidency: He wanted to be secretary-general. The primary member from North America, Canadian Ambassador Howell— still in poor health but delaying his resignation—was expected to provide a third vote for his southern neighbor.
Again the floor was opened for nominations, and the chair recognized Ambassador Ngordon of Chad, representing West Africa, who nominated Ambassador Fahd of Saudi Arabia. The nomination was seconded by the ambassador from Tanzania, representing East Africa. The basis for this final coalition was easily recognizable as one of common religion and proximity.
The vote was as split as it could possibly be. Since no one could be nominated without the support of at least two regions, and no region could nominate or second anyone from their own region, the maximum number of nominations possible was three. Only China had abstained; all other votes were committed. Whoever would eventually be chosen would need the approval of all ten regions and that appeared to be a long way off. For now there was nothing to do but to go on to other business.
Jerusalem, Israel
Scott Rosen was lost in thought as he walked out across the crowded outer courtyard that surrounded the newly reconstructed Jewish Temple. As it had been in ancient days, this nearly square courtyard, called the Court of the Gentiles, was as close to the holy places of the Temple as non-Jews were allowed to come. The mood here had much more an air of carnival than of worship or reverence. Nowhere was this more inescapable than in the column-lined covered portico encircling the perimeter of the Court of the Gentiles. Here, housed in haphazardly misarranged booths and stalls, temple money changers dickered rates of exchange with worshipers to convert various currencies into newly minted shekels—the only currency acceptable for temple offerings. Nearby traders offered pigeons, doves, lambs, rams, and bulls for purchase as sacrifices.
Scott paid no attention to the cacophony. His mind kept going back to a conversation he had had the day before. It had started out as a perfect day. The weather had been beautiful, the traffic was light. A meeting he wanted to avoid and for which he hadn’t prepared was indefinitely postponed. The extra time allowed him to tackle some interesting and important work and within two hours he had come up with a way to solve a major problem that had seemed unsolvable to everyone else who had looked at it. An overdue rent check for the house that had belonged to his parents arrived in the morning mail. Sol, the proprietor at the kosher deli he frequented, had added an extra scoop of tuna to his sandwich and had given him the biggest dill pickle Scott had ever seen.
That’s when the day began to sour.
Sol came over to talk with Scott while he ate and Scott invited him to sit down. It had started innocently enough: They talked about politics and rising prices and discussed religious issues and the latest gossip from around the Temple—all topics they had discussed before and upon which they almost always agreed. Then Sol mentioned he had been reading his Bible in the ninth chapter of the book of Daniel.
“The prophecy at the end of the chapter says that King Messiah was supposed to come before the second Temple was destroyed!” Sol declared. “That happened in 70 C.E. 55 , so he must have already come!”
“Sol, that’s crazy!” Scott corrected sharply. “If King Messiah had come we would surely have known.”
But Sol didn’t yield. “According to Daniel’s prophecy, King Messiah was to come 483 years after the decree to rebuild the city of Jerusalem, after it had been destroyed by the Babylonians. Based on Ezra chapter 7 56 , the date of that decree can be determined as 457 B.C.E. 57 And when you take into account that there was no year zero, that means King Messiah came in the year 27 C.E.!” Sol pulled out a calculator to show Scott how it all worked but Scott stopped him.
“Sol, what you are doing is very serious. It is forbidden by the Talmud.”
“What?” asked Sol in surprise.
“Calculating the time of King Messiah’s coming based on the ninth chapter of Daniel is forbidden,” Scott answered authoritatively.
“But—”
“In the Talmud, Rabbi Jonathan put a curse on anyone who calculates the time of the Messiah based on Daniel’s prophecies,” Scott declared. 58
Sol mulled this over for a moment. Scott, confident he had settled the question, took another bite of his sandwich. Taking advantage of Scott’s full mouth, Sol rejoined the exchange. “But that can’t be right,” he said, to Scott’s sandwich-strained chagrin. “Why would the Talmud not want us to know when Daniel said King Messiah would come?”
Scott forced down his food. “Sol, prophecy is hard to understand. You can’t just pull out a calculator and figure out what a prophecy means.”
“Why not? That’s what Daniel did to interpret the prophecy of the prophet Jeremiah. And that’s in the ninth chapter of Daniel, too—the same chapter as the prophecy of when King Messiah would come. Of course Daniel didn’t have a calculator, but it’s still simple arithmetic.”
“Look, Sol, you’re dealing with things you don’t understand.”
But Sol wasn’t ready to quit. “Don’t you see, Scott? If the Messiah came in 27 C.E., then we did not recognize him. Don’t you get it? 27 C.E.! There’s only one person who fits the description!”
“Stop it, Sol! I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but this is wrong, and I won’t listen to it. If you fear HaShem, you’ll be at the Temple tomorrow with your sin offering asking forgiveness.” Ever dutiful, Scott used the orthodox method of referring to God as HaShem, meaning “the name,” rather than Yahweh or even God, in order to avoid any possibility of blasphemy.
Sol didn’t say any more but it was clear he felt no guilt that would warrant an offering at the Temple. Scott grabbed the rest of his sandwich and pickle and left. Sol just didn’t realize what he was saying, Scott thought. If he does that sort of thing with his other customers, he won’t have any business left.
Outside the Temple on the broad steps leading down to the street, Scott was distracted from his recollections by someone calling his name. The voice had come from the direction of a large group of tourists, recognizable by their cameras and paper yarmulkes, so he assumed the call had been for some other Scott.
“Scott,” came the call again, but this time he spotted its source coming toward him at a brisk pace.
“Joel,” he called back to his friend and professional colleague of many years. Joel Felsberg had been a part of the team with Scott fifteen years before, during the Russian invasion. “What brings you to the Temple?”
Unlike Scott Rosen, Joel Felsberg had never spent much time on matters of religion. The only times he came to the Temple were with relatives or friends who were visiting from the United States. “Scott,” he said again, out of breath and ignoring Scott’s question. “I’ve found him! I mean he’s found me.”
“Slow down, Joel,” Scott said. “Who have you found? What are you talking about?”
Joel, who was of average build and just under five feet seven inches tall, leaned close to the much larger Scott Rosen and whispered, “The Messiah.”
Scott Rosen looked around quickly to see if anyone else had heard, then grabbed Joel’s arm and walked quickly down the Temple Mount through another crowd of tourists. The smaller Felsberg, who was easily eighty pounds lighter than Rosen, had no choice but to accompany him. “I’ve found him,” Joel said again as he tried desperately to keep up.
“Be quiet!” Scott warned as he pulled Joel along.
When they reached the parking lot some hundr
ed and fifty yards away, they stopped next to Scott’s van. He looked around to be sure no one was within earshot and finally spoke, “Are you crazy?! That’s nothing to joke about. And of all places—right on the steps of the Temple! Maybe you don’t take your religion or your heritage seriously but some of us do. If anyone had heard you—”
“No, Scott. I’m not joking. I’ve seen the Messiah. I’ve seen him,” Joel interrupted.
“Shut up, Joel! You didn’t see anybody. So just shut up!”
“But—”
“Shut up!” Scott said again, this time grabbing Joel’s shirt and shaking his fist in his face. Joel fell silent but the maelstrom was still in Scott’s eyes. Scott dropped his fist and began to release his grip. “Is the whole world going mad?” he asked. “First Sol and now you!”
“But—” Joel said again. Scott took hold of Joel’s shirt with both hands now, lifting him onto his tiptoes, and brought his face to within inches of his own until they were eye to eye.
“If you say one more word,” he said through his teeth, “I swear by the Temple of HaShem that I will—” Scott caught himself. Swearing by the Temple was serious business; next to swearing by God himself, there was no more powerful and binding an oath. It was not to be made in anger or haste. Scott released his grip and pushed Joel, who stumbled back into the side of a car. “Just get away from me until you’ve come to your senses.”
Joel picked himself up and looked into Scott’s eyes with a sincerity that even Scott could not doubt. “I really have seen him,” Joel insisted.
There was nothing else to do. Scott couldn’t bring himself to actually hit his old friend. They had been through too much together. They had fought side by side to save Israel those fifteen years ago, there in that bunker beneath the streets of Tel Aviv. They had been heroes together. There was nothing left for Scott to do but ask the obvious question. “Where?! Where have you seen him?” he demanded, finally resigning himself to having this conversation.
“In a dream.”
For a moment Scott just stared, dumbfounded. From the beginning, Joel had known how weak that answer was going to sound but it was the only one he had, and to his mind, that was what God had given him to say.
“And he’s coming to establish his kingdom,” Joel added finally.
Suddenly Scott’s anger changed to concern. He had been wrong to be so brutal. Joel was obviously delusional. Scott had dreams from time to time that felt so real they seemed real even in the waking world. Apparently, Joel couldn’t separate dream from reality. “Joel,” he said sympathetically, “It was just a dream.”
“But it wasn’t just a dream.”
“I know, Joel,” Scott said in the most consoling tone he could muster. “It must have seemed very real to you. But it was just a dream.”
“No, Scott. Don’t you see? I’ve been wrong all these years. And so have you.”
The conversation was taking an unexpected turn. “What do you mean?” Scott asked.
“We’ve been wrong all this time. My sister Rhoda and her rabbi have been right all along. Don’t you see, Scott? Yeshua really is the Messiah!” And then just to be sure Scott fully understood what he had said, Joel used the English version of the name, “Jesus is the Messiah!”
That was the last straw. Scott Rosen’s eyes filled with rage. He didn’t care whether Joel was delusional or not; this was too much. He grabbed Joel by the shoulders and shook him. “You and that traitor rabbi, you’re both meshummadim!” he said, using the Hebrew word for traitors. Scott violently threw him to the ground. Joel’s left wrist and forefinger snapped as he tried to break his fall.
“I don’t know you!” Scott screamed. “I never knew you! You’re dead! You never existed! If you ever talk to me again, I’ll kill you!”
Scott got in his van and drove off, leaving Joel to nurse his wounds.
23
Offering
New York, New York
ALICE BERNLEY AND ROBERT MILNER strolled slowly past the huge wall of ivy along Raoul Wallenberg Walk, their pace giving no hint of the excitement they felt as they talked of the events of the past few weeks. “It’s all coming together; I can feel it,” Alice said. “Even if I weren’t here to see it for myself, I think I would still feel it. I think,” she said, after a moment, “I could be on the moon and I’d still know.”
Milner smiled. He did not doubt her supposition for a moment. He could feel it too.
“I’ve gotten calls and letters, e-mail and faxes from people all over the world. They can sense we’re on the very brink of the New Age,” Bernley continued.
“Yes. Some of that concerns me, though. I’m afraid there are those who would like to rush its advent. We cannot allow that.”
“No one else knows about Christopher?” she asked, her voice laced with concern.
“No. At least not that I know of. If our friends on the Security Council knew, they’d try to make him secretary-general right now.” Milner was speaking hypothetically, but Bernley took him seriously.
“We can’t allow that,” she said.
“No, of course not. The time simply isn’t right. No, I don’t think anyone else knows about Christopher. At least not yet. But many obviously do know that you and I know something.”
“Yes,” Bernley said, her mood shifting back to enthusiasm. “I’ve gotten calls from people and groups I’ve never even heard of. All of them want to know what they should do.”
“And what do you tell them?”
“I tell them to organize, add to their number, spread the word that the arrival of the New Age is near. And to wait.”
“Good advice,” said Milner.
Ahead of them on the walk stood a tall thin man with graying hair, wearing a tailor-cut European suit. He was flanked by two very large men, both easily twice his weight. The eyes of the larger men were hidden by sunglasses, but the thin man stared directly at them. Had Milner and Bernley not been so involved in their conversation they would have noticed the men long before. Their combined swath blocked nearly the whole walk. They did not seem menacing, but they did appear determined.
“Secretary Milner?” the thin man asked.
“Yes.”
“Ms. Alice Bernley?”
“Yes.”
“I have a letter for you,” the man said as he handed an envelope to Bernley. The man had spoken only a few words, but Milner, who had traveled to every corner of the world, recognized his accent at once. Most would have guessed French, but there was more. It was rougher, more guttural than a true French accent. There were also strong traces of German. The man was obviously a native of Alsace-Lorraine, the region of France that from 1870 to 1945 had traded hands between the French and Germans five times. Milner wasn’t sure, but he could think of only one item of business that would bring this man of Alsace-Lorraine to this meeting in the park.
Bernley opened the envelope and began to read the letter inside. “Bob, look!” she said, holding up the letter for him to see as she continued to read.
Milner read. It was as he had suspected, but it was important not to appear too eager. Impressions could be critical. “Please convey our appreciation,” Milner said as soon as he was sure of the letter’s content, but without reading it in its entirety. He knew Alice could be very excitable and he wanted to be the first to speak.
“You will take delivery of the package, then?” the thin man asked.
“Yes,” Milner answered calmly.
“Yes, of course we will,” Bernley said, in a much more animated tone. “We would be delighted to …” From the corner of her eye she caught the disturbed look on Robert Milner’s face, and let her sentence trail off. She recognized it at once as the look he gave when he thought she was getting too ardent. Not that he wasn’t just as excited as she; it just wasn’t always prudent to show it.
“Where would you like it delivered?”
Milner thought quickly and answered with the most obvious place: “The Lucius Trust at the UN Plaz—” Miln
er stopped himself. It didn’t make sense to ship it across the Atlantic only to ship it back for its final delivery. “No,” he said. “Have it delivered to the Italian Embassy in Tel Aviv.”
“We will need some assistance getting it through customs,” the man said.
“Of course,” Milner answered.
“You can expect delivery in one week, if that is acceptable to you.”
“Yes, that would be fine,” said Milner.
The man reached into his pocket and retrieved a key ring with four keys. “You will be needing these,” he said without further explanation. “Ms. Bernley. Secretary Milner.” He nodded in farewell, and without another word the three men walked away. Milner now looked at the letter more closely.
We believe that a certain item, in our possession for a number of years, may prove useful to your current enterprise. At your request, we would be most gratified to surrender the item to you to use at your discretion.
The letter went on to give specifics on the delivery of the item and to note that there were certain precautions to be observed in its transport and handling, of which the writer was sure they would be aware.
Bernley had been right: It was all coming together. “I knew they would contact us,” said Milner. “It was just a matter of time.”
Tiviarius, Israel
“So, what is it you wanted to talk about?” Rabbi Eleazar ben David asked Scott Rosen as he sat down in his favorite chair. The rabbi’s study was a little darker than Scott liked; one of the bulbs was out and there was no natural lighting because the room’s only window, like every other wall in the room, was hidden by tightly packed bookshelves. It was quite an impressive collection of books, some in each of the three languages the rabbi spoke fluently.
In His Image Page 36