His children, Devorah and Asher, would understand. Like the Jews who died upon Masada, they possessed strong minds and the spirits of warriors. They would gladly take their own lives rather than surrender to Romulus’s evil system.
The heaviness in Baram’s chest felt like a millstone as he pulled the blade from his pocket. The serrated blade winked in the sunlight, and he turned to face a wall, in case the guard at the checkpoint below should happen to look up.
He pressed the tip of the blade to his coat and teased aside the heavy layer of wool. In a last gesture of humility, he lifted his eyes to the blue sky above and whispered a prayer: “You who know all things, the Holy One of Israel, surely you understand?”
No sound rumbled from the cloudless sky, but a clear voice whispered from the recesses of his heart: A suicide is a sentinel who has deserted his post.
Slowly, Baram lowered his gaze and the knife. He knew the quotation; it came from Bahya ibn Pakuda, an ancient Jewish sage. He had not thought of that quote in years, but he knew why the Holy One had brought it to mind now.
He could not quit. For some reason, the Master of the Universe had assigned him a role to play in the coming days, and he could not neglect his duty.
He dropped the knife and heard the blade clatter on the stones. And then, like the still voice of an old friend, came another whisper: Find Isaac Ben-David.
Moving forward in the certainty of blind faith, Baram turned and walked back the way he had come.
Romulus closed his eyes as artic air brushed his cheeks and the exposed flesh of his neck. His body remained in his chair, recording impulses, feelings, and sights as his spirit soared over the rooftops of Paris, past the Eiffel Tower, up into the velvet blackness of the icy night. As he and Nadim floated on spirit wings through the second heaven, snatches of earthbound sounds came to him: the urgent whisper of a man plotting with his mistress, adenoidal wailing above a twanging stringed instrument, raucous laughter from an Italian restaurant.
Below him, like a slumbering dark giant, lay his future kingdom. He already controlled men’s lives; soon he would control their hearts and spirits as well. Nadim had assured him that victory and glory awaited immediately after the test.
Nadim’s strong arm tightened around Romulus’s waist, then the ground rose up to meet them with a sudden sucking sound. Romulus tensed, then relaxed as his feet touched solid stone. He blinked, then focused on their surroundings. Beneath him, the silvery lights of a metropolitan city twinkled. Fragrant groves filled the spaces between hills and high-rise apartments, and behind him stood . . . the Temple.
“Ah.” He slipped his hands into his pockets and returned Nadim’s smile in full measure. “You didn’t tell me we were going to Jerusalem.”
“The Temple Mount, to be exact,” Nadim answered, releasing Romulus’s waist. “The pinnacle of the Temple, to be precise.”
“Of course.” Romulus looked to his right. The Al Aqsa Mosque stood within its enclosure, shimmering in the starlight. Behind it stood the Dome of the Rock, and behind it, the Temple rose in all its newfound glory. “It won’t be long,” he said, turning to face the Temple. “The preparations are complete. In two days I will enter the Holy of Holies and prove to Israel that the God of their fathers is a dead deity.”
“Adrian,” a note of rebuke filled Nadim’s voice, “do not forget yourself. You are the mightiest man alive, true, but do not forget that your power comes from me.”
Nadim’s short warning sent a tremor scooting up the back of Romulus’s neck. “Of course, you are right. Your power is great; I am only a channel.”
“But you can soon be more than a mere channel.” Nadim stretched out his hand, turning Romulus to face the expanse of the city. “Do you see this city? It and all other kingdoms will I give to you, if you will obey me, Adrian.”
Romulus wavered, trying to comprehend the meaning behind the message. “Have I not always obeyed you without question?”
An inexplicable, lazy smile swept over Nadim’s face as he surveyed the sleeping city. “I once made that same offer to another, and he refused me. I offered him many things, and he threw my gifts back in my face.”
Romulus smiled in the calm strength of knowledge. “That one was a fool, and he is dead. He died”—he stretched out his hand and pointed through the darkness toward the place of the skull—“somewhere over there, if the tour guides are correct.”
Nadim’s warm hand came to rest upon Romulus’s shoulder. “I will not ask you to jump from this pinnacle, Adrian, but in the next two days I will ask you to do something equally as difficult. That one was willing to die for his beliefs—are you willing to die for yours?” His voice dropped to a low, sensuous growl. “Will you give your life for me, Adrian?”
The thought of death was like a rock dropped into the pool of Romulus’s heart, sending ripples of fear in all directions. Death was the great equalizer of men, but Nadim had made Romulus more than a man. And just as a caterpillar had to die and rest in the cocoon before it could rise as a butterfly, so he would have to die and rest before he could fulfill his glorious destiny.
He did not flinch as he turned to face his master. “I will die for you,” he said simply, falling to one knee. He grasped Nadim’s hand and pressed it to his lips, then turned his head and rested his cheek on the leathery palm. “I will do anything you require because I believe you have the authority to imbue me with ultimate power. Yes, Nadim. I will willingly follow you into the grave.”
Nadim pressed both hands to Romulus’s face, then held his head for a long moment. Romulus remained very still, knowing that his master had the power to rip his head from his shoulders if he chose to, but Nadim only caressed Romulus’s cheek with one hand, then lifted his head and split the night with a great peal of laughter.
TWENTY-SEVEN
BY SUNDAY MORNING, APRIL 24, ISAAC’S PLAN HAD come together. Two days before, he had met Rabbi Baram Cohen, who appeared at the mouth of the tunnels from out of nowhere and announced that he was searching for Isaac Ben-David. The sentry brought Cohen to Isaac immediately, and Isaac had listened in amazement as the rabbi explained that the Holy One of Israel had sent him to help Isaac defeat Romulus. “I have no idea what that means,” he had said, lifting his hands and then letting them fall into his lap. “But I am here, and I am a willing vessel. Tell me what you need.”
Grateful that God had provided, Isaac quickly outlined his plan, and the rabbi helped to fill in the missing pieces. Afterward, the rabbi placed his hands on Isaac’s head and asked for God’s blessing.
When he concluded his prayer, the aged rabbi stepped back and slowly stroked his beard as he stared at Isaac. “A month ago, if anyone had told me that I would allow a soldier to wear a replica of the high priest’s breastplate, crown, and robe, I would have told them I would sooner be cursed,” he had said, his eyes dark with gravity. “But such a sin is nothing compared to the abomination that now waits to be placed in the Most Holy Place. The Holy One of Israel, blessed be his name, cannot be compared to man-made images!”
Now Isaac stood in one of the small storage rooms of the Temple, waiting for the moment for which his entire life had been nothing but preparation. Getting onto the Temple Mount had been the hardest part, but Danny Melman, who bore the Universal Chip and was therefore trusted, took charge of Temple security and announced that a new man had been appointed to assume the position of chief priest for this all-important day. Dressed in copies of the authentic Temple garb and cloaked in the authority of the Shin Bet, Isaac had joined the other false priests and made the procession into the Temple through the underground gate of the Kohanim without having to pass through a security scanner.
Now he wiped his damp palms on the heavy robe as a tiny radio receiver buzzed in his ear. With help from Melman, Sarah and his father had procured a radio and earpieces, and from outside the Temple Mount they were monitoring Romulus and his entourage. Sarah had taken a position inside the outer courtyard; his father stood in a throng ar
ound the base of the Temple Mount. As Isaac suspected, the Universal Force had placed tight security all around the Temple complex, carefully scanning anyone who actually entered through the Temple gate, but the gathering outside the walls was so large that only troublemakers were being scanned for Universal Chips.
Isaac knew that video cameras monitored activities throughout the Temple, including the court outside the sanctuary. At the time of the Temple construction, not even Romulus had dared to suggest that a camera be placed inside the Holy of Holies, but Isaac wouldn’t have been surprised if he had installed one now. His arrogance knew no bounds.
Isaac’s father’s voice suddenly buzzed in his ear. “They’re coming into the Temple area. Be ready, Isaac. ETA is ten minutes.”
They had decided that it was too risky for Isaac to wear a microphone, so he could not answer. He pressed his hands together, however, and slowly paced in the open space of the storage room. He had no definite script to follow, nor did any of the other sycophantic priests scattered through the Temple enclave. A few strokes of Romulus’s pen had wiped away five thousand years of history, and no one knew what he would do once he entered the Temple. He had demanded, however, that the Jewish high priest be present, and Isaac had been delighted by Romulus’s overconfidence. The beast was planning to preen himself and flaunt his image before the Holy One’s representative, but he would find his plans interrupted.
A trumpet blast broke the stillness of the vast chamber, the sound echoing across the high ceiling and setting Isaac’s nerves on edge. He stepped out of the storage chamber and stood in the vast space of the courtyard, watching as Romulus strode forward, flanked by Elijah Reis on one side and General Archer on the other. Archer wore his military uniform; Reis wore a simple black cassock with a white collar. But Romulus was dressed in a spotless white robe that fell from his neck to the floor in a single piece. His dark hair gleamed in the light from the candlesticks, and in his hands he carried only one object: the Spear of Longinus.
Isaac felt a shiver of revulsion, a spasm of hatred and disgust that rose from his core. He had known Romulus would carry his talisman of power, but the sight of that symbol wrenched at Isaac’s gut. The blood of six million Jews and untold thousands of Christians had flowed because of ambitious men who had grasped at that spear and all it promised.
Wearing a superior smile, Romulus moved across the courtyard, barely acknowledging the priest who waited in the shadows. With the confidence of a man returning home, he flung open the double doors that led to the Holy Place and stepped through the portal.
Remaining a careful distance behind, Isaac followed with his gaze lowered and his hands tucked into the sleeves of his robe, as quiet as a nun. He did not want to be recognized yet, for there was still time for Romulus to sound an alarm.
Archer and Reis fell into step behind Isaac, though the rest of the entourage waited respectfully in the courtyard.
“Only the high priest shall accompany me now,” Romulus called, his voice bouncing from wall to wall in the sanctuary. “When I have accomplished what I have come to do, he will open the curtain and show the world who I truly am.”
A breath of cold wind seemed to blow through the closed room, shivering the curtain between the Holy Place and the Holy of Holies. Isaac steeled himself for what must come next, and a lifetime of obedience and holy awe fell away as he followed Romulus through the opening in the linen curtain. The wind blew again, lifting the hair at the back of his neck, and suddenly he stood in the Holy of Holies, before the golden ark of the covenant, beneath the sheltering cherubim that hung from the far walls.
Romulus stood before the ark, one hand gripping the spear, the other extended toward the flat place beneath the two golden cherubim on the lid of the ark.
“They say that those who touch the ark of the covenant will be struck down,” Romulus remarked, tossing the comment toward Isaac as casually as if he had been discussing the weather. “What do you say to that, priest?”
Isaac swallowed hard and took a step forward. He had not counted on having a conversation in this room; he only wanted to do what had to be done, and quickly. But Romulus turned slightly, and a small smile lifted his lips when he saw Isaac standing beside him.
“I shall never cease to be amazed at the enemy’s bag of tricks.” Romulus lowered his voice to a low hiss. “He has sent a Jew, one of my own officers, to kill me.” Laughter floated up from his throat. “What a delicious sense of irony he has.”
Isaac stopped dead, his heart beating hard enough to be heard a yard away.
“I know everything, friend.” Romulus’s voice wasn’t much above a whisper, but the effect was as great as if he’d shouted in Isaac’s ear. “Do you think I am a mere man? I am not. I am the son of the master of all—I am the one who will hold the keys to life and death. It is right that men worship me. And my worship shall begin today.”
“You are not God.” The words hurt Isaac’s throat, as though he’d swallowed some jagged object. “You are not worthy of worship.”
A feral light gleamed in the depths of Romulus’s eyes as he turned toward the ark. “You are wrong, Isaac Ben-David. And before three days have passed, you will see how wrong you were.”
The next events happened in a blur of motion so swift that later Isaac couldn’t recall their exact order. Propping the spear against a wing of a suspended cherub, Romulus reached out with both hands to touch the holy ark. Turning, he sat upon it, and he didn’t die. Instead, he seemed to glow in the light reflecting from the golden cherubim. And something in the sight of the beast sitting upon the ark of God drove Isaac to desperation. In a moment the curtain would open, and all of Israel would see this impostor posing as the Holy One himself . . .
As Reis drew the curtain, Isaac lunged for and grasped the spear. The air filled with gasps of awe and wonder and the metallic clink of golden rings sliding back upon one another. Romulus smiled out at the world, his hands upon the cherubim’s heads, his body desecrating the holy ark, and Isaac knew he had to act or be killed. With a bellow of rage, he drew back the spear and let it fly. Romulus saw the movement and threw up his arm, but the spear flew straight and true, flashing through Romulus’s arm and embedding itself in that arrogant eye . . .
Romulus’s spotless white robe streaked and spattered crimson. General Archer gaped open-mouthed at his employer, while Reis turned to look at Isaac with eyes as expressionless as obsidian stone.
Pandemonium broke loose in the outer court, blood flowed freely in the Most Holy Place, and Isaac fled the sanctuary, running through the amazed and helpless priests. Entering the storeroom once again, he pushed aside the carved flagstone that led to the cisterns and the secret chambers. As the men above scrambled to save the evil one, Isaac dropped to the floor below, then ran for his life, gasping for air that burned his lungs even as the enormity of his deed seared his brain.
Hiding in a small apartment near the Jericho Road, Sarah and Thomas Parker sat in silence and watched the breaking news reports. Uri Shamir, the chief of detectives for the Universal Force Criminal Investigation Agency, spoke slowly to the horde of reporters assembled outside the Augusta Victoria Hospital in East Jerusalem.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the press,” Shamir said, his expression a mask of stone, “I regret to inform you that Universal President Adrian Romulus was pronounced dead at 2:04 P.M. this afternoon.”
A flutter of horror ran through the group, then faded to silent expectation as Shamir held up his notes and continued. “Doctors at the Augusta Victoria Hospital tried to revive him, but Adrian Romulus had lost too much blood at the scene. Though the doctors and emergency medical technicians made valiant efforts to save his life, nothing could be done.”
“Who killed him?”
“Did he die in the Temple?”
“What was he doing in the Most Holy Place?”
“How’d the assailant get a weapon into the Temple?”
A host of questions filled the air, then were drowned out in
a flood of reproachful shushing when the spokesman lifted his hand for silence.
“Apparently, President Romulus was attacked within the Holy of Holies by a man pretending to be the high priest,” Shamir continued. “The assailant attacked Romulus with a personal possession the president often carried, an ancient spear that meant a great deal to him.” Shamir paused and looked out over the rim of his glasses. “To my knowledge, no king or head of state has been assassinated by a sword or spear for several centuries. But since this assailant must have known Romulus would be carrying a spear, we can assume this attack was premeditated and carefully orchestrated by the resistance movement.”
The spokesman lowered his notes and nodded grimly at the camera. “Eyewitnesses have confirmed that the assailant was a former major of the Israeli Defense Forces, Jerusalem resident Isaac Ben-David. Those who know Ben-David have stated that he once was an enthusiastic supporter of Romulus and the Universal Faith Movement but has been absent without leave from his military post since early March. He is considered armed, dangerous, and mentally unstable. Anyone who sees him must alert a Universal Force patrol immediately.”
A reporter in the front of the mob waved his hand. “Where is this man now?”
If possible, Shamir’s face took on an even harder look. “Unfortunately, Ben-David escaped into the tunnels beneath the Temple Mount. At the moment of crisis, all attentions were directed toward President Romulus, of course, and by the time security forces reached the sanctuary, the suspect had disappeared. The ancient tunnels, as you know, wind for miles beneath the Temple Mount and the Old City and have not been fully explored since the reopening of the area three years ago.” Shamir narrowed his eyes at the reporter who had asked the question. “I guarantee you, we will find this man, and he will be executed. We have already executed Daniel Melman, the Shin Bet director who was in charge of maintaining security upon the Temple Mount. Without a doubt, Melman helped Ben-David gain access to the president.”
The Spear of Tyranny Page 25