“Petra.” Isaac thumped the pages of his Bible. “I know this sounds a little bizarre, but there’s a verse in Isaiah that seems to indicate that after the Lord returns and descends to the Mount of Olives, he will then go to Edom and Petra—and I can only assume he will come to gather his people who have gathered there for safety.”
“It makes sense.” Ephraim nodded, his eyes searching his son’s face. “The only entrance to the city is by the Sik. That gorge is narrow, and the cliffs virtually inaccessible. And the homes carved by ancient Edomites are still usable for shelter.”
“And defensible,” Parker pointed out. “It would be the perfect place for us to wait and is easily defended if Romulus should try to drive us out.”
“Romulus will have his hands full in Jerusalem for some time to come.” Isaac looked around the circle, and his mouth softened when his gaze fell upon the little girl who had flip-flopped her way into the circle. “I suggest that we begin sending people to Petra as soon as possible.”
He lifted his gaze and met the American’s eyes. “Parker, you know the lay of the land, and you’ll be able to help people find dwellings among the cliffs. We’ll need your expertise about which caves are safe for habitation.”
A spark of rebellion flashed in the archeologist’s eyes, and Sarah suspected that he didn’t want to leave the forthcoming adventure in Jerusalem. But after a moment, he nodded and folded one arm across his bent knee. “We should move people in small groups, no more than six at a time under the cover of darkness. We should be able to begin the transfer as soon as we’ve scouted the area.”
“I was at Petra three months ago,” Ephraim added. “The place will be perfect for our use. It’s isolated, it’s sheltered, and it has everything from private dwellings to a public amphitheater.”
Isaac grinned. “Great. Parker, why don’t you organize a scouting team to leave tomorrow night? We’ll present the plan to the others here and begin transporting groups within the week.”
“We’ll need help.” Sarah looked up at her husband. “This type of exfiltration will require careful planning. We’ll need to know if and where there will be roadblocks.”
“That’s why I’m glad we have you.” Isaac moved to stand behind her, then lowered his arms to her shoulders and squeezed gently. “This is the sort of operation you live for, right?”
Sarah could only smile in response.
Isaac sat up and blinked slowly, trying to bring himself back from the realm of sleep. He had caught a sorely needed nap in a quiet corner of one of the tunnels, and though he had posted guards at several major intersections and access points, he still found it hard to lose himself in sleep. Some part of his brain always seemed to stay awake, listening for the odd noise, waiting for the unexpected attack.
In the two weeks since the passing of Romulus’s deadline, Isaac had begun to hear the individual stories of Jews and Gentiles who had refused to accept the Universal Chip or the UFM code. Many resisters had been so wearied by the daily struggle to survive on the streets that they stood passively while a scanner searched for an ID chip in their hands. If one was not found, or if it lacked an authentic UFM code, wireless communications relayed the information to the massive databank at the new UF/IDF headquarters in Jerusalem. Within seconds, the arresting officers were instructed to take the resister to the appropriate prison camp. No delay and no mercy, went the new UF slogan, or there will be no peace.
Yet more than once Isaac heard eyewitnesses speak of Jews who had been arrested, scanned, and released after a UF patrol apparently failed to realize that he had encountered a resister. He had met one of the escapees, a ten-year-old boy, only a few hours before. “It was like he went blind or something,” the boy told Isaac. “He stared right at the scanner in his hand—I saw the alert light flashing myself. And then he let me go.”
Isaac folded his arms and looked down at the boy, trying to hide a smile. “Maybe the patrol took pity on you because you’re young. After all, these are men, not monsters.”
“I don’t think so.” An impish smile had played around the corners of the boy’s mouth. “I think it was a miracle. The Holy One of Israel, blessed be his name, is protecting me.”
Was God protecting them? Isaac’s blood ran thick with guilt as his thoughts turned to Rachel Levison. Why would God spare Sarah and take Yusef’s beloved Rachel? Why would he spare one ten-year-old and allow a thousand others to be arrested?
Isaac stood, coughed the dust from his lungs, then walked to an intersection where an air shaft poured a silvery stream of moonlight into the underground chamber. He knew far too little about the Bible and the prophets. As a yeshiva student, he should have applied himself more to the study of eschatology and less to the debate of kabala. As a mature man, he should have invested more energy in reaching for God than in turning away from him.
His mind skated away from the unchangeable past. What he needed now was help, guidance from God, because the people in this place had begun to look to Isaac for leadership . . .
“My son?”
Isaac’s heart skipped a beat as he recognized his father’s voice. Either his father had crept up without a sound, or Isaac had been too deeply lost in thought.
“Father? You should be sleeping.”
“I slept today because I wanted to spend some time with Thomas before he leaves for Petra. And I am glad I have found you—there are things we should discuss . . . in case we are separated.”
Isaac lifted a brow. “Are we to be separated? I was hoping you would remain with me and Sarah.”
“I plan to, but who knows what tomorrow may bring?” As Ephraim stepped into the moonlight, Isaac saw the misery that darkened his face. “Can we talk, Son?”
“Let’s sit here.” Isaac gestured toward a cleared space near the air shaft. He had planned to go out on a foraging expedition, but such things could wait when a father had pressing matters on his heart.
He waited until his father settled himself with his back to the rough stone wall, then he sat next to him, facing the longest open tunnel. “What is on your mind, Father?”
“I want to confess my faults to you.”
Isaac’s voice went suddenly husky. “You have nothing to confess.”
“Yes, I do. I was remiss in your education—I left your spiritual education to your mother, and when she died, I relegated such matters to the yeshiva school. Later, I left such things to chance. You were a Jew, an Israeli, and a man, and I thought that was all you needed to know.” One corner of his mouth twisted upward. “As time has proven, I was wrong. I failed you, Son, and I would give anything to go back and change my life . . . in order to change yours.”
Isaac rubbed his hand over his face, then swallowed the despair in his throat. “It’s all right, Father. You did what you wanted to do, and so did I. A moment ago, I was thinking about the past, too, and I’ve realized we can’t look back. We must press onward and do our best to ease the suffering around us. I am a soldier, and as a soldier I must defend the people of Israel—”
“That was the other thing I wanted to talk to you about.” His father’s face suddenly went grim. “I know you, Isaac, and I’ve watched you as you talk about Romulus. You used to admire him, then you wondered about him, later you seemed to be confused by him. But lately you say his name with iron in your voice and determination in your eyes. You have decided to do something—and I must know what you plan to do.”
Isaac did not answer, but regarded his father with somber curiosity. If his father had seen through him, who else had realized that he planned to rid the world of Romulus? Did Sarah know?
“Father,” he looked down at his hands, “I must do something. And since I helped pave the way for Romulus to influence Israel, I feel it is my responsibility to set things right. The situation will only grow worse until I act. Romulus is on a rampage, and the situation has escalated since I brought him that cursed spear—”
“Do you think you can resist what has been fore-ordained since
the world began?” His father’s voice, without rising in volume, took on a subtle urgency. “I’ve been reading the Scriptures, too, and I see now that these days were planned in advance. This Romulus is a pawn of Satan’s, and he will deceive many. But the Lamb of God will vanquish him at the end of seven years. You must believe that, Isaac, for it is written!”
“I do believe that.” Isaac answered with quiet firmness. “But how many more must die in the remaining time? Yes, much of the story has been written, but not all of it is fore-ordained. Perhaps I can do something to make Romulus leave Israel. Perhaps an attempt on his life will convince him to establish his religion’s headquarters in Paris, or Brussels, or New York. I do not know if I will succeed in this plan, but I know I must do something for the sake of my suffering people. God does not command us to be passive.”
A weight of sadness came to rest upon his father’s dear face, but he did not argue. He and Isaac exchanged a long look that carried far more information than words could ever impart. Then he said, “So what will you do?”
Isaac took a deep breath. “The Scriptures foretell that Romulus will soon demand that the daily Temple sacrifices cease. Soon afterward, he will install an object that will desecrate the Holy Place—and I believe that object will be a life-size statue. At some point he will almost certainly institute some sort of religious ceremony to mark this occasion, and I believe I can get close to him during this ritual . . . if I can enlist the help of the Kohanim.”
His father’s face suddenly rippled with anguish. “You would try to—”
“Yes, Father. I’m going to attempt to kill him. Even if I don’t succeed, the attempt may convince him that Israel will not ever accept his idolatry.”
“But, Son—”
“Let him be, Father.” Isaac looked up and saw Sarah standing in the darkness, her form dimly outlined by the silvery light. He had no idea how long she had been standing there, but lately she had regained her ability to read him like a book. She knew his heart and his temperament, and she had to know what he wanted to do.
She stepped forward and knelt by his side, then placed her hand on his shoulder. “I’ve been studying, too,” she said, looking from the son to the father. “I wandered into an abandoned church the other day. The place was a shambles, but in an office I found a stack of books, one of them on eschatology. The author spent a great deal of time discussing 144,000 Jews who will be supernaturally sealed to endure a time of tribulation.”
Isaac cracked a smile. “That’s now—right? I’d hate to think this is just the warmup.”
A melancholy frown flitted across Sarah’s delicate features. “The time of tribulation began after the disappearance of the bride of Christ, the Church. And then the Holy Spirit will seal 12,000 Jews from each of the twelve tribes to serve as witnesses throughout the earth. These children of Israel will come through the tribulation safely, and they will be successful in their work. They will point all those who remain toward God and the Lamb. With the two witnesses, they will bear witness of Jesus Christ.”
Isaac pondered this information in silence, but his father cracked a sardonic smile. “How do we know if we are sealed? Do I step out in front of a speeding car to see if I survive? Or perhaps I should allow Romulus’s men to capture me and see if I can miraculously escape.”
Sarah’s voice softened. “I don’t know how these things work. I don’t know who is sealed and who isn’t. But I know that God is in control, even now. We can trust our lives to him, whether we are sealed or not, because he reigns even in the darkest night, and the Lamb is coming soon to defeat Satan and his puppet. Each day we survive, beloveds, is one less day to endure.”
She leaned closer, and Isaac felt the warmth of her soft lips against his stubbled cheek. “Do what you must do, Husband. And I will leave you in God’s hands.”
TWENTY-SIX
THOUGH ISAAC HAD EXPECTED THE NEWS, HE STILL FELT a profound sadness when the story circulated among the resisters: Adrian Romulus had issued a decree that all Temple sacrifices must cease as of April 22, the Sabbath before Pesach, or Passover. From their hiding places, the Orthodox rabbis, most of whom had scattered like chaff before the wind when the Universal Force patrols began checking for Universal Chips, called for a time of fasting, prayer, and repentance. The word spread like a grass fire.
Isaac read the text of Romulus’s edict in the Jerusalem Post:
Because all nations are one, and because the spark of divinity is to be found within us and not within an outmoded religious structure, all rituals, sacrifices, and other liturgical traditions must at once cease in every temple, church, synagogue, and mosque around the world. From this day forward, the universal center of worship is to be the golden Temple in Jerusalem, the Mount of Peace. Join Adrian Romulus, the world’s leader, at sundown on April 24, for the inauguration of global worship that transcends man and myth. In the absolute power of peace, the Universal Faith Movement will bring us together.
Angered by Romulus’s arrogance, Isaac threw the paper to the ground. He had obviously selected Sunday, April 24, as the date for the investiture of his new religion to insult the Jews, for the festival of Passover would begin at sundown on that day. God had delivered the children of Israel from Egypt on the first Passover, but now, Romulus seemed to be saying, God would do nothing to deliver the Jews from the tyranny of the Universal Faith Movement.
Isaac’s anger cooled as he realized another significant fact—Romulus was finally coming to Jerusalem. At long last, he would stop pulling strings from Brussels and Paris. Romulus would walk in the streets of the ancient city, over cobblestones that had recently been washed with the tears of innocent men, women, and children. In his arrogance and evil, he would climb the Temple Mount and face his destiny.
Eager to initiate his own plan, Isaac hurried to find Sarah and the others.
Rabbi Baram Cohen walked north up Tiferet Yisrael to the Burnt House, then proceeded down the set of stairs that led to the security checkpoint. There he stopped and lifted his eyes to the empty plaza before the holiest shrine in all of Jewish civilization, the Western Wall. The crowds that had formerly filled this space had disappeared. The men who used to huddle here, shuckling as they prayed beneath fur-trimmed hats and kippot, were now in hiding, beating their breasts in sorrow as they prayed.
Baram could not think he would ever be able to walk upon the holy Temple Mount. Adrian Romulus, like Antiochus Epiphanes of old, was planning to defile the sanctuary. Just this afternoon a large truck had delivered a nine-foot golden statue to a storeroom inside the Temple. Rumor had it that godless Gentile workmen had mentioned that Romulus intended to place the statue on a pedestal beside the ark in the Holy of Holies.
Baram stopped walking, knowing he could not progress further. The Universal Force patrols at the checkpoint ahead would want to scan his Universal Chip, and Baram would never have one. And so he closed his eyes and stood in the windy street, the shock of defeat holding him immobile as a name kept slipping through his thoughts.
One hundred seventy years before the birth of the one called Jesus of Nazareth, Antiochus Epiphanes, a Syrian, had broken a peace treaty with Israel and marched on Palestine. Like Romulus, he wooed Jews who promised to serve him, and, like Romulus, Antiochus Epiphanes stopped the daily sacrifices. In a fit of murderous rage, he murdered over 40,000 Jews and sold at least that many into slavery. Finally, as an act of complete defiance of the Holy One of Israel, he offered the blood of a pig upon the sacred altar of Zerubbabel’s Temple and set an image of Jupiter in the holy place.
If Baram did not know better, he would have said that history loved to repeat itself. But this was more than the overlapping of historical events. In his innermost heart, Baram knew that the Holy One intended the evil of Antiochus Epiphanes to be a prophetic picture of the evil to come. That evil had appeared in Baram’s lifetime, and even Hitler’s monstrosity paled in comparison.
The wind moaned softly, lifting his beard, and a verse from the prophet
Isaiah rose to the surface of his memory: “In that day Yahweh with his hard and great and strong sword will punish leviathan the swift serpent, and leviathan the crooked serpent; and he will kill the monster that is in the sea.”
Where was HaShem’s great and strong sword? The evil one had come out of the political sea and advanced to the holy mountain, and nothing stood in his way. The righteous Temple priests had been forbidden to serve on the holy mount because they would not cut their flesh for the ID chip, and only a handful of spineless priests remained to care for the sanctuary. These men had willingly taken the Universal Chip, and, in exchange, Romulus had given them the worthy positions reserved for generations for the sons of Aaron. Before the Temple dedication, Baram had sent a pleading message to one of Romulus’s representatives, but the answer, when it came, was clear: Anyone who did not take the Universal Chip would forever be forbidden from entering the Temple. There would be no exceptions and no mercy, not even for the Kohanim.
Baram lifted his eyes to the ragged edge of the Wailing Wall as a suffocating sensation tightened his throat. As a leader of the Kohanim, he had failed his people. He had been blinded by Romulus’s charm and dazzled by the prospects of seeing the Temple rise in his lifetime. He had been so distracted by the preparations and celebrations that he had failed to realize one thing—the Shekinah glory, which he had beheld on several occasions when the ark of the covenant rested in the underground shrine at the Air Force base, had not once appeared above the ark in this false Temple. The clouds that filled the Temple at the dedication ceremony had been man-made, as was the glow that surrounded Adrian Romulus every time he appeared on television.
Lowering his head, Baram slipped his hand into his pocket and felt the handle of the knife. It was a simple steak knife, someone’s castoff kitchen utensil, but it would do the job if he asked it to. He could, of course, simply walk to the security checkpoint and ask to pass to the Wailing Wall, but he did not want to die at the hands of his enemy. After all, Saul had fallen on his sword rather than have the enemy make sport with him.
The Spear of Tyranny Page 24