“Don’t just stand there,” Reis said, calmly folding his hands as he stared at the startled guards. “Open the coffin of death and release your master. He is not dead, but lives!”
For an instant no one moved, then all six guards sprang into action. Sarah found herself pushed forward by a perversely curious crowd as the guards grunted and lifted the lid, then allowed it to topple to the marble floor.
As Sarah watched in horror, Adrian Romulus sat up in his coffin. He wore a white robe, a pale linen that nearly matched the drained color of his skin. His dark hair had been smoothed back from his pale face, and when he turned to survey the crowd, Sarah saw that only one black eye looked out upon them. The other eyelid had been sewn shut with long, black stitches—the marks of a practical physician who would not waste time on a body destined for a closed coffin.
A dozen arms reached toward Romulus, and in a silence that was the holding of a thousand breaths the guards released him from the confines of the coffin and set him on his feet. For the barest moment Sarah thought she saw him sway, but Romulus braced himself upon the cold white marble box and seemed to take strength from it. Looking out with one dark eye, he saw Elijah Reis . . . and smiled.
“Today”—his voice rang like chilled steel—“I have been granted the keys to life and death. Life and death, and heaven and hell, are mine to command!”
A wave of murmuring met this proclamation, a rising crest of sound that rose and fell only when Romulus lifted his hand for silence. His single eye sought the television camera and honed in upon it.
“Citizens of the world,” he said, his voice filled with a quiet menace all the more frightening for its control, “no longer will the dead God of the Hebrews be worshiped in this Temple. This shall be my Temple, and I shall be God in Israel. I have felt the icy touch of death, and I have conquered it. I have wandered into the abyss of darkness, and with power I have fought my way back. I have felt the sharp bite of pain and suffering, and I have overcome.”
Horror snaked down Sarah’s backbone as the Beast stared out at the crowd, his pale skin and darkly closed eye more dreadful than any horror movie’s zombie. He lifted his hand toward the spectators closest to him—instantly they shrank back.
“Yes,” Romulus said, the word faintly underlined and spoken with a delicate ferocity. “You do well to respect my power. No longer will I share my glory with other gods, philosophies, or national loyalties. From this day forward, anyone who refuses to worship me as the one true God shall be instantly executed.”
“You lie, Adrian Romulus!” The voice, coming from the outer court, rang with ridicule. Sarah craned her neck, overcome with fear and curiosity, until the crowd parted. There, in the gap, stood the two witnesses who called themselves Moses and Elijah. Moses strode forward with the un-conscious confidence of an armed warrior, while Elijah glared at Romulus like an avenging angel.
“You are the worthless shepherd, the man of lawlessness doomed to destruction,” Moses called. “Today you have fulfilled the Scripture and set yourself up in God’s Temple, proclaiming yourself to be God. But you lie, Beast. You are the father of lies, and the truth is not in you.”
Sarah saw a tiny flicker of shock widen Romulus’ eyes. “I am God!” he snarled, taking a step forward. “And I have proven it!”
With long, purposeful strides Elijah came forward. Though he wore a serious expression, one corner of his mouth curled up in an inexplicable smile. “You have proven nothing, Romulus,” he said. “The Lord Jesus will overthrow you with the breath of his mouth, with the sword of the Spirit, and the splendor of his coming. You may work counterfeit miracles, signs, and wonders, and you will deceive those who are perishing. But those who love the truth shall be saved.”
Romulus’s jaw clenched, his single eye narrowed, and across his pale face a flush raced like a fever. “You cannot save yourself, so how can you save others?” he asked, a smug expression settling onto his disfigured face. He lifted his head and turned to the camera. “So that all may know that I have power over these two and their God”—he spat the word— “watch and see how a prophet dies.”
As Romulus lifted his hand, Sarah heard the metal-on-metal ratchet of a submachine gun’s bolt sliding back. She lifted her gaze in time to see a Universal Force patrol step out from behind a portal, a black Uzi in his hand. Of course Reis would have agents hidden in the Temple; he would want to guard against a replay of that other tragic day, and yet— A new thought skittered across her brain. Romulus had tried and failed to kill the witnesses before, but today he really believed he would succeed.
Why?
With no time for further thought, Sarah screamed. The people around her fell back, ducking for cover, and Reis flinched at the sound. But Romulus didn’t move. His uplifted hand came down, pointing toward the witnesses, then Sarah heard the gentle puff-puff of two shots, the somewhat louder metallic sound of the cycling submachine gun’s action, and the impact of both rounds on their targets.
The witnesses fell to the ground without a sound, bleeding through their rough garments. A liquid pool spread out from their bodies, staining the white marble floor like a crimson flower. Sarah stared in heartbroken horror as Romulus strolled forward and stood over the bodies, planting his feet in the river of blood.
“See”—he spread his arms wide—“how I have the power to give and take life. Know that I am alive today and forever more. Consider how easily I can destroy those who oppose me. And realize”—he swiveled, turning toward the very area where Sarah stood—“how easily I can identify those who are against me. You—the woman who screamed. Come here.”
Instinctively, Sarah turned to flee, but a wall of bodies blocked her exit. With no other choice, she lifted her chin and walked forward to meet the false shepherd.
TWENTY-NINE
IN HIS TINY ROOM AT PETRA, ISAAC STARED DOWN AT the laptop screen and watched in hypnotized horror as Sarah walked toward Romulus as calmly as if he’d called her up to receive an award. The muscles of his throat moved in a convulsive swallow as he saw a pair of UF guards rush to her side. “Dear God, help her,” he murmured. “What is happening?”
Thomas Parker rose and stared at the computer. His own terror was obvious, but he folded his trembling hands across his chest and jerked his head toward the screen. “She tried to warn the witnesses, Isaac. You know Sarah wouldn’t have screamed for any other reason. She’s not a hysterical woman; she’s a well-trained operative.”
“What is God doing?” Afraid to take his eyes from the flickering screen, Isaac dug his fingertips into his scalp as a sludge of nausea rolled back and forth in his belly. “I shouldn’t have let her go. I should be there with her. Romulus wants to hurt me; he has nothing against Sarah.”
“He has something against all of us who will not bow to him,” Parker said, his voice seeming to come from far away. “Watch and see what God will do.”
Holding Sarah’s arms, the guards brought her to stand directly before Romulus, then they stepped back. One of them stooped as if asking for permission to move the prophets’ bodies, and Romulus nodded grimly. “Take them to the plaza in front of the Western Wall and leave them there. They are not to be buried or anointed or mourned. Any man who touches them will die.”
The guards obeyed, lifting the legs of the dead prophets and dragging them away, leaving a bloody smear over the gleaming floor. Isaac stared at the sole of a leather sandal as the camera focused on the departing bodies and remembered the day he had first heard the prophets speak about Jesus . . .
Romulus’s voice caught his attention. The camera shifted, showing the Beast and Sarah, who seemed small and frail before him. “You.” The suppressed hate in Romulus’s voice echoed over the airwaves and struck Isaac low in the pit of his stomach. “You are Isaac Ben-David’s wife.”
Isaac winced, but Sarah met Romulus’s accusing eyes without flinching. “I am.”
“He is a murderer.”
She lifted a brow, pretending not to understand his
look. “How can that be? You are not dead.”
“But you are, my dear.”
Romulus held out his hand toward one of the guards, who unsnapped his holster and withdrew a pistol, then placed it in Romulus’s hand. Sarah saw the exchange, of course, but she lifted her chin and boldly met the Beast’s gaze. “I am not afraid of you,” she said, her voice ringing like a bell in the spaciousness of the Temple. “I believe in Yeshua, my Lord and King. He will conquer you, Adrian Romulus, son of Satan, and he will use even you to bring glory to God.”
In a silent fury that spoke louder than words, Romulus pressed the pistol to Sarah’s heart and pulled the trigger.
Isaac felt the blow in his own chest, then black emptiness rushed up like the bottom of an elevator shaft in free fall.
As lightning sizzled and rainless thunder rattled the Temple Mount, Rabbi Baram Cohen stood in the darkness of the Western Wall Plaza where three bodies lay exposed to the whistling winds. In the dim glow of shifting moonlight he could see that the powerful blast of the gun had mangled the chests of the two witnesses, but the woman wore a look of peaceful resignation.
Baram folded his arms in an effort to resist the grip of terror that had seized him by the guts. He had known terrible things would happen before the coming of the Messiah, but never in all his days had he imagined that such atrocities would be committed in the holy Temple. He had held such high hopes for Israel as they labored to build this holy sanctuary. At one point he had even hoped that Adrian Romulus might prove to be the Messiah.
So many hopes . . . and now, so much blood.
Baram closed his eyes and swayed slightly on his feet, alarmed and horrified by the jovial carnival music that blared from speakers outside the Temple. After killing the woman, Romulus had announced that April 26 would henceforth be celebrated as an international holiday to commemorate his victory over death and the execution of certain “blemishes upon the name of the one true god, Adrian Romulus.” Another celebratory chant had arisen from the gathering after this announcement, though Baram could not discern from where it had come. The people who stood around him wore expressions of shell-shocked disbelief.
The buzzing drone of flies brought Baram back to reality. A swarm of insects had settled over the bodies already, eager to feed upon the eviscerated flesh.
Baram felt his flesh prickle at the thought. This was an obscenity, and something that would never have been allowed in Israel before Romulus’s coming. Did they not work for months to clean up the dead after Gogol’s Invasion? Though Romulus had expressly forbidden anyone to touch the bodies of the witnesses, should such a law be obeyed? Surely these men of God deserved a dignified burial. And the woman— Baram knew she had a husband and a father who cherished her.
Baram knelt by the woman’s side, ignoring every legalist prohibition about touching a dead body. What did the old rules matter anymore? Gently he ran his hand over her lovely face, smoothing the eyelids until she looked as if she slept. Standing, he moved to cover the mangled bodies of the prophets, then felt the unique inner voice he had heard only twice before in his lifetime: Touch them not.
Baram stepped back, rebuffed. Why would the Holy One allow him to touch the woman and not these two? They died for the same cause; they obviously believed the same things . . .
Touch them not.
Baram lifted his head and stared up into the swirling gray sky. “The Master of the Universe knows what is best.”
Slowly, Baram walked toward a shadowy huddle of refugees from his synagogue. They waited in the recesses of Wilson’s Arch with downcast eyes, wanting to know what he would have them do. “Take only the woman,” he whispered, drawing his coat tighter around his shoulders. “Leave the prophets. But the woman should be taken to her husband, if you can find him.”
One of the young men nodded, his eyes dark and deep beneath the wide brim of his hat. “I know where Isaac Ben-David is.”
Baram nodded. “Then see that they are reunited. He will want to give her a proper burial.”
THIRTY
THREE DAYS LATER, ISAAC STOOD IN THE CENTER OF A hollowed chamber beneath the Temple Mount. The crowd before him contained many new faces and included Jews and Arabs and Europeans who had decided to reject Romulus in favor of the living God.
He wiped damp dust from his face with the back of his hand. He had just come from a secret tunnel where they had discovered alcoves suitable for burying their dead. Sarah now lay there, wrapped in a silk garment someone had scavenged from an empty apartment and covered by the sandy soil of the Temple Mount. For three days Isaac had battled grief and depression, but a stern rebuke from Sarah’s father brought him out of his stupor.
“These people look to you for leadership,” Rabbi Lerner had said just before they prayed over Sarah’s makeshift grave. “I know you miss her, but Sarah would not want you to quit. There is a time limit to all this, Isaac, and every day that passes is one less we will have to endure. Finish the race. Stay the course. And then you will be reunited with your wife.”
Now, as Isaac looked out across the sea of faces, he took comfort in his father-in-law’s words.
“Friends,” he began, trying to be strong but torn by conflicting emotions, “the Lord is full of compassion and mercy. As an example of patience in the face of suffering, consider the prophets who spoke in the name of the Lord. As you know, those who have persevered are considered blessed. You have heard of Job’s perseverance, and you have seen what the Lord finally brought about in his life. You have heard of Sarah’s courage, and the two witnesses’ boldness. We, my friends, must be patient until the Lord’s coming. We see how the farmer waits for the land to yield its crop and how patiently he waits for the autumn and spring rains. We, too, must be long-suffering and stand firm because the Lord’s coming is near.”
He shifted his stance to look at those behind him and saw that he was looking through a ribbon of sunlight that angled down from another ventilation shaft. “Dear friends,” he said, “do not be surprised at the painful trial you are suffering, as though something strange was happening to you. But rejoice that you participate in the sufferings of Christ, so that you may be overjoyed when his glory is revealed. When the Chief Shepherd appears, we will receive the crown of glory that will never fade away. The God of all grace, who called us to his eternal glory in Christ, after we have suffered yet a little while more, will himself restore us and make us strong, firm, and steadfast.”
Several members of the group wept, the tracks of their tears shining in the light. Isaac paused, as touched by the sight of such emotion as he was by the burning wound that had recently seared his own soul. Struggling to find his voice, he was almost relieved when a little boy ran into the chamber and interrupted. “Come, quickly!” he said, his eyes as wide as saucers. “They’re walking around!”
Isaac tilted his head, wondering where the boy had come from, but then another figure burst into the chamber. “The prophets!” A young woman leaned against the wall, her hand pressed to her ribs as she struggled to catch her breath. “They are alive and walking in the Temple courtyard! Romulus could not kill them!”
Without another word, the crowd jostled out of the chamber and snaked through the tunnels, then stumbled out into the bright light of morning. Isaac followed, walking with long strides even as his brain hummed with troubling questions. Had he been wrong to bury Sarah? Would she resurrect, too? Had all the natural laws of life and death been suspended in this supernatural war?
He passed through the Beautiful Gate, then stopped and gaped at the sight that met his eyes. Moses and Elijah were standing in the center of the Court of the Gentiles, their faces shining, their wounds gone. Their dark and dusty robes still bore the crusty stains of blood, however, and Elijah’s hair had gone as white as his companion’s. But the same fire burned in their eyes, and the same undeniable power filled their voices.
“Rejoice, children of God,” Moses was saying as Isaac strode into the Temple courtyard. “I looked, and there
before me stood a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, tribe, people and language, standing before the throne and in front of the Lamb. They were wearing white robes and holding palm branches in their hands. And they cried out in a loud voice, ‘Salvation belongs to our God, who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb.’”
With an effort, Isaac found his voice. “Who were they? Did you see my wife?”
Moses’ eyes seemed to soften as his gaze met Isaac’s. “They are the ones who have come out of the great tribulation; they have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb. Never again will they hunger; never again will they thirst. For the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their shepherd; he will lead them to springs of living water. And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.”
A tumble of confused thoughts and feelings assailed Isaac as he stared at the two witnesses. And while he stood there, the clouds overhead rumbled as if with rain, and the sky moved. While every eye lifted toward the promise of much-needed moisture, a voice, deep and powerful, echoed over the Mount of Zion. And while Isaac watched, his heart in his throat, a dense cloud descended and wrapped itself around the two prophets. The mist seeped around their ankles and rose to their knees, their waists, and then their heads, and when it finally lifted, the witnesses had vanished.
For the next thirty minutes, pandemonium reigned upon the Temple Mount. Some searched for the prophets, certain that they had merely gone into hiding; others swore that a voice from heaven had called “Come up here!” and the witnesses had risen visibly through the air. Others declared that Romulus must have invented some new technology that could transport prisoners through the dimensions of time and space.
Isaac knew exactly what had happened: He had read it all in the Book of Revelation. He also knew that within the hour a severe earthquake would strike Jerusalem and a tenth of the city would collapse. Seven thousand people would die.
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