Fire Of Heaven 03 - Fire of Heaven

by Bill Myers

  What faith these Christians must have had. To withstand so many attacks on so many levels. And yet — his mind focused more sharply — wasn’t that exactly what the church of today faced? Today, in this age of information with all of its truths and science and spirituality? So much information attacking from every side. And so many opportunities to throw up our hands, to give up, to quit the fight and zone out with the world’s diversions. Although separated by nearly two millenniums, the cultures suddenly appeared identical.

  Amidst such assault how could either culture distinguish the difference between truth and error? Amidst such cacophony, how could anyone hear, let alone discern, that still, small voice of God?

  And yet, didn’t our culture have at least one advantage? Brandon turned his head toward the Temple of Trajan that loomed above and to his right. As the center of the Imperial Cult, it was the crowning masterpiece of the acropolis and towered over the entire valley, making it clear where the ultimate power and authority lay. At least Christians today didn’t have to worry about the totalitarian government that Salman had described. At least they didn’t have to worry about worshiping a one-world dictator.

  The thought had barely registered before he heard the snakes. They’d rounded the library and were rushing toward him in a giant wave. From the other side came Athena with her pleas for reason, and behind her, Zeus with his thundering demands.

  There was no place to go. It was either down into the theater or up to the Temple of Trajan. He’d known since Ephesus that his future involved a large arena, but he also knew that it wasn’t now. He turned to his right and scrambled up the rocky remains toward the temple.

  And that’s when the rules changed …

  He’d barely reached the temple with its moonlit, blood-red pillars, when an unearthly cry spun him around. To his astonishment, he saw the snakes engulfing Zeus. But it was more than that. Zeus was also engulfing the snakes and Athena … as she was engulfing them. All of the creatures were coming together, joining forces, turning into one large entity — a darkness that resembled none of them separately, but all of them corporately.

  Brandon watched, paralyzed with fear.

  I know where you live — where Satan has his throne.

  Suddenly, he understood. Satan’s throne wasn’t just the altar of Zeus, or Athena, or the medicine of Asclepion, or the library with its thousands of “truths.” It was all of these combined. And now they had all come together, combining forces here at the center of Imperial Cult worship. As he watched, the black shadow collapsed upon itself, condensing into a denser, more tangible form … one he recognized immediately. It was the giant serpent head from his dreams.

  It started toward him.

  Brandon stepped back. “Stay away!” he cried hoarsely. “Stay back!”

  It said nothing, but continued its approach. Brandon could see its tongue flickering in and out and back and forth. His thoughts raced. There had been no way to battle this thing in his dreams nor when it had appeared in his father’s church. If he couldn’t stop the thing then, how could he stop it now?

  He struggled to remember Christ’s words, his letter to the Christians here. Surely God had not left them defenseless. If this was Satan’s throne, God must have given them something to fight with. But what? What could defeat all the noise, the deceptions, the falsehood? What had the letter said?

  I will fight against them with the sword of my mouth.

  But what did that mean?

  The serpent’s head closed in. It slowly opened its jaw, revealing the swirling, fiery abyss inside. An abyss that had nearly consumed him before. The wind increased. It began pulling at him, tugging at his clothes, his body, exactly as it had in the church. Desperately, he looked for an escape, but it was already cornering him against the back wall of the temple.

  His mind churned, running the phrase: Sword of my mouth, sword of my mouth, sword of my mouth. He recalled the small, double-edged sword he’d seen inside Christ’s mouth at the hospital. The one that had replaced His tongue. It was a scary image, almost obscene, but now …

  The sword, the sword … Wait. A verse was coming to mind. One of those he hated memorizing back in Sunday school. “The Word is sharper than any double-edged sword … able to divide, to divide —” He couldn’t remember the rest, but that was enough.

  The mouth was a dozen feet away now. Its jaw unhinged, opening even wider. Now there was nothing but fire. Fire and wind screaming in Brandon’s ears, trying to pull him in. Other memories of other confrontations raced through his mind. What had other people done? What had Jesus —

  He remembered the battle between Jesus and Satan. In the wilderness. It had been one of his dad’s favorite stories. How the most evil force of the universe fought the Creator of the universe. Not with guns or bombs — they hadn’t even tried to nuke each other. Instead, these two powerful forces of the universe battled with the most powerful weapon of the universe: They quoted God’s Word. Wielding it back and forth, like swords, like —

  That was it! That was the sword of Christ’s mouth, His Word!

  Even in L.A., wasn’t that how he’d silenced Jimmy Tyler? Not with his words, but with God’s. And maybe that’s what was bringing God’s judgments down on the world now. Not what Brandon had said up there on that stage, but what God had said through him. That’s where the power was. That’s the weapon that had been given them!

  Brandon reached into his back pocket for the New Testament. He’d barely touched it before he heard the scream.

  “Nooooo!”

  He looked up. The head had stopped its approach. He finished pulling out the Bible and with trembling hands opened it — somewhere, anywhere, it didn’t matter. But, even as he did, he noticed the wind beginning to subside.

  Again he looked up. The serpent head was already beginning to lose its form, turning back into a nebulous shadow. Brandon watched, transfixed, as the shadow started to dissipate, allowing the red moonlight to penetrate it. A moment later it had turned into a fine mist, then wafted and blew until nothing more of it remained. Nothing but two words, or at least Brandon’s impression of those words.

  Soon … The voice echoed inside his head. Very soon …

  And then it was gone. There was no sound, except Brandon’s heavy breathing. No shadows, except those cast by the crumbled ruins. And no more majestic temples. Everything was exactly as he had seen it that afternoon with Salman.

  A thousand feet below, down in the city, the first Moslem call to prayer began. Dawn was about to break. Other mosques around the city joined in until the entire valley echoed in competing calls to worship.

  So many voices.

  Brandon would head back down to join Salman soon enough. But for now he needed to rest. To rest and to contemplate what he’d seen. It was true. The struggles of Pergamum were no different than those of today’s church. So much information, so many versions of truth. Both cultures had their roaring distractions. But both had an identical weapon available, not only to battle those errors, but to uncover the truth.

  Because, just as surely as love was required for Ephesus, and faithfulness to death for Smyrna, so truth was required for the survival of Pergamum.

  Katherine stared at the computer screen, unable to believe what she saw.

  Earlier she’d pulled the system administrator’s password, Mongoose Warrior, from her encrypted file. Then, using his name and password, she’d logged onto the system and was given free access to all files. Everything went exactly as planned. No problem …

  Until she started reading the classified information on Scorpion. She’d already checked the Cairo and Mecca files. Now she was scrolling through the New York one. Like the others, it contained a brief log of time and events. And, although the locations and times were different, the sequence was nearly identical — particularly in regard to the “dehydration of product,” “transportation of product to specified site,” and “dispersal of product over site.”

  It was this last phrase
that sent a shudder through her. With trembling fingers, Katherine brought up the fourth and final file. “Tel Aviv.”

  Again there were minor alterations, but the basic sequence of events was the same … dehydration, transportation, and finally, the dispersal of product over site.

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Was it possible? Here were the first four cities that Scorpion had struck. And here, before her, was a record of the Cartel producing and releasing something over those very same cities.

  No. The thought was too outrageous. It had to be a coincidence. A bizarre coincidence. Her thoughts raced, exploring a thousand other options. There had to be something else, some other tie-in that could either prove or disprove the possibility. Something more that could —

  Wait a minute. Dates and times. Yes, of course. The incubation period of Scorpion was between twenty-eight and thirty-one days. If she could find the date that its outbreak was first reported in each of the four cities, and compare that to the date of the product’s dispersal, that would be more than enough proof.

  For the briefest moment Katherine hesitated, afraid of what she would find. Then the anger kicked in. Anger over the wasted months and years. And anger over all the deceptions that she’d suspected but could never prove. Fueled by this anger and with growing resolution, she jotted down the release dates and exited the system.

  A moment later, she logged onto the Internet and began her search of dates and locations.

  Sarah leaned over Lucas Ponte’s bathroom counter and stared into the mirror. Her face was flush from the wine and her eyes watery. “Get a hold of yourself,” she whispered crossly. “Stop it. Stop it right now.” She grabbed a tissue and dabbed at her eyes, careful not to smear the mascara.

  The dinner had been Lucas’s idea … part celebration, part sitting down with Katherine and Eric to lay out her beliefs about Heylel and to explain what must be done. That was the only reason she’d agreed to come to Lucas’s living quarters, because Katherine and Eric would be there. But, for whatever the reason, mother and son had not shown. And, after waiting nearly an hour (and consuming two, or was it three, glasses of Chianti), they agreed to start eating dinner without them.

  The dinner was excellent. Greek salad, sautéed mushrooms, veal scallopini, and more vino, lots and lots of vino. They talked about everything. And they laughed. Lucas did not bring up his feelings about her again, at least not in words, though she could see it in the hundred and one ways he was attentive to her. In fact, as best she could tell, those feelings had grown.

  So had hers.

  An hour didn’t go by that she didn’t catch herself thinking about him, about them. His sensitivity, his maturity, his power … who he was, and what she could have been with him.

  “Stop it,” she repeated. “You’re a married woman. You have a husband.”

  She took a deep breath to clear her head, then adjusted the spaghetti straps to her dress and tugged at its hem. Why she had worn such a skimpy thing was beyond her. She turned from the mirror and with determined resolve strode across the white marble floor toward the door.

  When she reentered the room she saw that Lucas was no longer sitting at the table. He had dimmed the lights and had stepped over to look out the large picture window with its moonlit view. His silhouette was impressive. That tall frame, those broad shoulders, a physique that he obviously took great care —

  Stop it!

  Sensing her presence, he turned. “There you are,” he said. “Are you all right? I was beginning to worry.”

  His concern was touching. “Yes.” She cleared the raspiness from her throat. “I’m fine.” As she passed the table she had to briefly reach out to steady herself. There was no doubt about it; it was definitely time to be going.

  Lucas turned to look back out the window. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” She arrived at his side, so close they were practically touching. The mountains glowed brilliantly. The shadowed terraces spilled to the valley floor where lights from the tiny village twinkled. He continued, softer. “How could anything be more perfect?”

  She quietly agreed.

  “That’s one of the many reasons they selected this location. Certainly not because of its easy access.” He chuckled, and she felt his arm brush hers. Suddenly she was very aware of their closeness. “Though, I must say, sometimes this isolation, this loneliness … ” He took a deep breath. She felt his arm swell against hers, then deflate as he quietly sighed.

  How hard it must be on him. So powerful, yet so lonely. Here was one of the mightiest men in the world, beside her, alone with her, yet having no one with whom to share his intimate thoughts. What she could do for him, how she could help —

  No! You’re a married woman. There’s Brandon! Your vows!

  She continued to stand beside him, absorbing the scenery, feeling the warmth of his presence, wondering if he felt hers. Her head was growing light as feelings of well-being and euphoria washed over her.

  Your vows! That piece of paper!

  But that’s all it was, a piece of paper. There was no moral contract, nothing physical had taken place. Their marriage had never been consummated. In some cultures that meant it wasn’t even legal. Could she really be considered unfaithful? Unfaithful to what? A written document, a piece of paper? What about faithfulness to her own heart?

  “Sarah …”

  She looked up at him, wondering if he knew her thoughts, seeing and feeling the room move slightly.

  What about Brandon? What about God?

  She waited for him to say more, but he did not. Instead, he looked down and shook his head, unable to continue. But she knew. She always knew. She could see the glint of moisture in his eyes. She touched his arm, offering support, assuring him she understood, that she felt it, too. The impossibility of their situation.

  And then he looked at her. Those soulful, penetrating eyes that reached in and held her heart, that dissolved her very insides. The room started to move again, and she tightened her grip on his arm for support.

  What about Brandon? What about —

  He slipped his arm around her waist, helping her to stand. He understood everything. They were close, their bodies touching. Closer than they’d ever been. She could feel his breathing, the pounding of his heart.

  She was no longer certain if she was standing or being held. It didn’t matter. The room was moving again, and they were so close, and so much alike, and so perfect for one another.

  His mouth moved toward hers.

  What about —

  She tried to think of Brandon, of God, of some reason to resist. But they no longer mattered. There was only Lucas, their embrace, his pounding heart, the spinning room …

  She closed her eyes, felt his warm breath on her face. She tilted back her head until, finally, their lips found one another’s.

  CHAPTER 12

  TO THE ANGEL OF the church in Thyatira write:

  These are the words of the Son of God, whose eyes are like blazing fire and whose feet are like burnished bronze. I know your deeds, your love and faith, your service and perseverance, and that you are now doing more than you did at first.

  Nevertheless, I have this against you: You tolerate that woman Jezebel, who calls herself a prophetess. By her teaching she misleads my servants into< sexual immorality and the eating of food sacrificed to idols. I have given her time to repent of her immorality, but she is unwilling. So I will cast her on a bed of suffering, and I will make those who commit adultery with her suffer intensely, unless they repent of her ways. I will strike her children dead. Then all the churches will know that I am he who searches hearts and minds, and I will repay each of you according to your deeds. Now I say to the rest of you in Thyatira, to you who do not hold to her teaching and have not learned Satan’s so-called deep secrets (I will not impose any other burden on you): Only hold on to what you have until I come.

  To him who overcomes and does my will to the end, I will give authority over the nations — “He will rule t
hem with an iron scepter; he will dash them to pieces like pottery” — just as I have received authority from my Father. I will also give him the morning star. He who has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches.

  The sun had set an hour ago, but the darkness offered little relief from the heat. Brandon had spent all afternoon inside the coffee shop reading his Bible. A television set droned quietly in the background as a large electric fan swept back and forth across the sweating men who sat around Formica tables drinking tea, discussing politics, or playing a tile game called Okay. They were a hundred yards down the street from the ruins of Thyatira, now called Akhisar. There was little to see. Just more dried grass and scrub pines in ruins that were no bigger than a city block … a city block located directly in the center of the existing town.

  Salman was up in the hotel room resting. Despite Brandon’s protests, Tanya Chase had insisted upon paying for their room. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she’d scolded him when he’d tried to refuse. “It’s good for all of us. They’ll kick you out the second you try to sleep in those ruins, and Jerry and I have no intention of traipsing all around the countryside tracking you down wherever you decide to camp out.”

  It seemed a fair trade-off: a real bed to rest his travel-weary bones, for life under some minor media scrutiny that would be inevitable anyway. But there was another reason he had agreed. Although Tanya insisted she was only going after a story, pushing him to make his “great declaration to the world” so she could wrap it up and put it to bed, Brandon saw something else. A softening. Maybe not on the outside, but something was happening to her heart. As she and Jerry continued to hang around, watching him day in and day out, occasionally discussing the Scriptures, something was happening to her. Slowly, but surely, something was happening. He turned back to the New Testament and smiled quietly. There seemed to be no end to God’s miracles.

  As he continued reading and waiting on the Lord, an unusual truth had started to emerge. But this one wasn’t about the church of Thyatira … it wasn’t even about the church of today. It was about Brandon Martus. A truth exposed and revealed by “He who searches the hearts and minds.” A truth about the Jezebels in his own soul. The sins he was tolerating and allowing to dwell within his own heart.