by C. M. Palov
“Ah! I can see that you are familiar with the tale,” Caedmon blithely continued. “Then you undoubtedly know that contained within the pages of the Apocrypha, those being the twelve books omitted from the Protestant Bible, the story is recounted of how God presented to his favorite, the beautiful and arrogant Lucifer, the Stones of Fire. Proudly Lucifer did wear the breastplate as a symbol of his esteemed status amongst the heavenly host.” Tilting his head to one side, Caedmon examined the gem-studded relic. “Curious to think the same breastplate that you now wear once adorned the Prince of Darkness.”
In unison, MacFarlane’s three subordinates glanced at the Stones of Fire. Edie could see that Caedmon’s remarks unnerved more than one man among them.
If they could flip one of them, they might have a shot at escaping with their lives.
Although Braxton was loyal to a fault, she thought Harliss or Sanchez might be persuaded to change team colors. Assuming she and Caedmon could push the right buttons.
Hoping the relic’s infamous lineage would create some dissension in the ranks, Edie asked the obvious. “What happened to the Stones of Fire when Lucifer was cast out of heaven?” As she spoke, she noticed that all three of MacFarlane’s henchmen turned an attentive ear.
“The Stones of Fire then passed to the archangels Michael and Gabriel. Not only did they share joint custody of the breastplate, but it is their two images that supposedly adorn the lid of the Ark.” Picking up the game ball, Caedmon pointedly glanced at Braxton, Harliss, and Sanchez before turning his attention to MacFarlane. “Do you think it’s safe for your boys to come into such close proximity to the Ark? Unlike you, they have no protection should a tragic accident occur.”
“Yeah, I hear tell that skin cancer can be difficult to treat,” Edie piped in. “And as far as I know, there’s no cure for the plague.” Seeing Sanchez’s slack-jawed expression, she decided to push the fear factor for all it was worth. “Oh, and let’s not forget about those poor guys at Bethshemesh. Not a pretty story, let me tell ya.”
Craning his head, Caedmon peered into what now appeared to be a five-foot-deep hole, directing his comments to Braxton and Sanchez. “Did your commander mention that the Ark of the Covenant is, in fact, a weapon of mass destruction, once used to slaughter the enemies of Israel? My own theory is that the Ten Commandments were inscribed upon pieces of radioactive—”
“Lies! Every last word of it!” MacFarlane bellowed, his face having turned a distinctly unhealthy shade of madder red.
Nervously gripping the shovel handle, Sanchez came to a standstill. “But, sir, what if—”
“Keep digging!”
“Yes, sir!” Sanchez replied, applying spade to dirt with a renewed vigor.
Realizing the momentum had just swung the other way, Edie’s shoulders slumped. “So much for converting one of the faithful.”
“There is a reason why they are called true believers,” Caedmon replied. Though he didn’t show it, she knew that he, too, was dismayed by the almost-win.
At hearing a loud metallic clunk! MacFarlane rushed over to the hole.
“Sir, we just hit some sort of metal box,” Braxton excitedly declared.
Edie swallowed back a nugget-sized lump of fear.
“I think they may have actually found the bloody Ark of the Covenant.” Like a man possessed, Caedmon intently stared at the excavated hole.
Repeating the procedure from the cloister, Sanchez fetched the length of coiled rope, and he and Braxton cinched it around the buried object.
MacFarlane, smiling indulgently, turned his attention to Caedmon. “Do you by any chance know the meaning of the words apocalypse and tribulation?”
If Caedmon thought the question odd, he gave no indication. “Apocalypse is taken from the Greek word apokalupsis, meaning ‘revelation.’ And tribulation is from the Greek thlipsis, meaning ‘affliction.’ Did I pass?”
MacFarlane’s smile broadened. “No, you did not. Because like most, you have no concept of the power that is inherent in those two words, the prophetic truth that those two words reveal. Most people think of Judgment Day as a fairy tale that can never come to pass.”
“I take it that you think differently?”
“‘And I will plead against him with pestilence and with blood; and I will rain upon him, and upon his bands, and upon the many people that are with him, an overflowing rain, and great hailstones, fire, and brimstone.’”
Listening to the verbal joust, Edie started to get a very bad feeling in the pit of her painfully cramped stomach.
Apocalypse. Tribulation. Judgment Day.
She’d heard those words before. Long years ago when she’d been made to sit silently while her grandfather nightly read aloud from the dog-eared family Bible.
End Times prophecies.
The Bible, both Old and New Testaments, was full of it. When she was a young girl, those stories of disease, famine, and global warfare had terrified her.
But what did the End Times prophecies have to do with the Ark of the Covenant?
CHAPTER 69
“I know that Bible verse . . . it’s from the book of Ezekiel,” Edie murmured.
Knowing that Edie had been force-fed a biblical diet during her teenage years, Caedmon turned to her. At a glance, he could see that she was distressed by MacFarlane’s recitation.
“I didn’t take you for being a woman versed in the prophecies,” MacFarlane dismissively replied.
Edie shrugged. “My grandfather held to the same End Times belief, absolutely certain that Ezekiel’s war, as he called it, loomed on the near horizon.”
“Then you undoubtedly know that the ancient prophecies are a gift from God. A light in the midst of the spiritual malaise that is so prevalent in our day and age. Long centuries ago, the prophet Ezekiel clearly spelled out God’s battle plan to save mankind from the forces of evil that lurk on the near horizon.” MacFarlane spoke with a proprietary air, as though imparting a great and wondrous secret.
“Which merely proves what I’ve thought all along . . . that biblical prophecy is too often used to justify the hate-filled agendas of warmongers like yourself.” Edie’s normally pale cheeks were flushed with vivid color; Caedmon was well aware that, for her, the argument had a personal dimension. “Many fundamental Christians believe that the verses of Ezekiel contain a detailed plan for the invasion of Israel by an alliance of foreign countries,” she continued, addressing her comments directly to Caedmon. “It’s what known as the Battle of Gog and Magog. Furthermore, they believe that this battle will be fought during the last days.”
The last days.
By that he supposed that Edie referred to the much-ballyhooed apocalypse. The end of the world as we know it. As in bend your knees and kiss your arse good-bye.
Was MacFarlane’s obsession with the Ark of the Covenant somehow intertwined with an apocalyptic vision? God help them if it was; history was full of men who had proclaimed that the end of the world was near at hand. In almost every instance, those “visionaries” left only pain and misery in their wake.
“I’m curious about this so-called Battle of Gog and Magog,” Caedmon said. If he’d learned anything during his tenure with Her Majesty’s government, it was that information was a form of power. Sometimes the only power one had over one’s enemies. “Where precisely will the conflict take place?”
“The great battle will be fought in the mountains of Israel,” MacFarlane replied.
“I see.” Caedmon mulled the disclosure, his curiosity piqued. “And who will be involved in this clash of titans?”
His nemesis answered, “The prophet Ezekiel clearly writes of an alliance of nations from remote parts of the north known as ‘the land of Gog.’ This alliance will come under the leadership of the ruler of Gog, also known as Magog, and will include the princes of Rosh, Meshech, and Tubal.”
Caedmon silently considered what, to the uninitiated ear, was so much gibberish. “I assume that Rosh refers to the tribe of Ros, an ancient
group of people believed to have inhabited the region of modern-day Ukraine and Russia.” When MacFarlane nodded, he next said, “So presumably this northern alliance will be composed of former eastern bloc countries.”
“Many of which, such as Kazakhstan and Tajikistan, are Islamic nations,” Edie pointed out.
Islamic nations fighting a cataclysmic battle within the borders of Israel.
The stew pot had considerably thickened.
“According to Ezekiel, Magog’s army will be supported by the nations of Persia, Cush, and Put.” This came from Edie, who was fast proving herself a font of biblical information.
“Iran, Sudan, and Libya, if my ancient history serves me correctly.” Caedmon took a moment to mull over what he’d been told thus far. Then, finding a glaring inconsistency with the prophesized scenario, he said, “Let’s assume for argument’s sake that the Ezekiel prophecy does foretell of a Russian-led invasion of Israel; what possible reason would Russia have for initiating such a war?”
MacFarlane stared at him as though he’d asked a simpleton’s question. “Economic and political instability are reason enough, don’t you think? Israel is, after all, the Silicon Valley of the Middle East.”
“And don’t forget that there’s a wealth of minerals to be mined in the Dead Sea, as well as the untapped oil reserves within Israel’s borders,” Edie piped in, her remarks leaving Caedmon unsure of whether she believed the apocalyptic tale. “Given that both Russia and Israel have nuclear weapons in their arsenals, the end result will be catastrophic.”
“I must confess that it’s not an improbable scenario; the Middle East is a volatile region,” Caedmon admitted in response to Edie’s last remark. “Although if that particular conflict ever manifests, it will be orchestrated by man, not God. The world’s thirst for oil is unquenchable, and Russia is undoubtedly concerned by the extreme lengths that the U.S. has gone to in order to secure a foothold in the Arab world. The Iron Curtain may have fallen, but the old rivalry still lingers.”
“The prophet Ezekiel describes the battle to come in clear, concise terms,” MacFarlane said with a manic gleam in his eyes. “One has only to read the daily newspaper to know that the prophesized Battle of Gog and Magog can come at any time.”
Unconvinced, Caedmon folded his arms over his chest. “Prophecy is always a slippery slope to navigate. Although I’m curious as to who you think will be the victor if this unholy conflagration were to occur.”
“Why, Israel, of course. And that victory will assure Jews and Christians alike that God is still in their midst, as he was in the days of old when he dwelled among them during the forty-year trek through the wilderness. With victory, a new temple will be erected in Jerusalem. Once it is constructed, the Ark of the Covenant will be restored to its rightful place.”
The Ark of the Covenant . . . finally, they had come full circle.
Caedmon glanced at the trio of men busily engaged in hauling their treasure trove out of the hole. Time was not on his and Edie’s side. And it was certainly against them if the excavation turned up anything other than the sought-after prize.
“Why are you telling me all of this? Aren’t such disclosures akin to letting the cat out of the biblical bag?”
MacFarlane took a step in his direction; Caedmon was surprised to see a look of entreaty on his face.
“I have a reason for sharing the prophecy with you . . . I want you to join us in our holy cause. The Lord always has need of good, stalwart men ready to fight his battle.”
CHAPTER 70
“. . . As with Paul on the road to Damascus, you have a chance to redeem yourself. Read the prophecies for yourself and you will see that I speak the truth.”
Astonished that the offer had even been made, Caedmon stood silent for several seconds. That is, until cynicism got the better of him.
“Ah, yes, ‘the sure word of prophecy,’” he drolly remarked, quoting another Church father, St. Peter.
“I know you to be a man searching for meaning in his own life and in the world around him.”
“Though that may be true, I’m not a malleable soul ready to latch onto the first prophet who offers a ready-made curative to life’s travails.” Purposefully he held MacFarlane at bay, knowing that if he committed too soon, he would show his hand.
“Your words imply a deep-seated fear. I can take that fear from you.” MacFarlane expansively gestured to the three men industriously working to haul their treasure trove aboveground. “My Warriors of God know no fear.”
“He’s feeding you a load,” Edie exclaimed, grabbing him by the arm. As though she feared he might step across the imaginary line that had been drawn between them and their nemesis. “I’ve read the Ezekiel prophecies, and do you know what I think? I think Ezekiel was a madman, a doomsday prophet who would have been on lithium and a very short leash had he lived in the twenty-first century. One of his so-called visions actually tells of how he came upon a pile of dry bones in the desert and supposedly breathed life into those same bones, creating a mighty army. Maybe I’m the crazy one here, but that sounds like the kind of delusional prophecy that would be spouted by some homeless guy pushing a shopping cart.”
Eyes narrowing, Stanford MacFarlane contemptuously glared at Edie.
Hoping to smooth the rough waters, Caedmon cleared his throat. “Although I won’t go so far as to speculate on Ezekiel’s mental state of mind, I know that many of the Old Testament authors wrote metaphorically, never intending their verses to be literally interpreted by later generations.”
“This I know above all else,” MacFarlane countered in an acid tone, “not only will the divine revelation given to Ezekiel come to fruition, but the Battle of Gog and Magog will be fought. Only those who put their trust in the Almighty will escape the coming doom. And those who take up arms against the soldiers of Magog will be doubly blessed. When the battle is fought and won, the Ark of the Covenant will be restored to its rightful place within the new Temple. Repent and you will live eternally. Turn your back on the Lord and you will be damned.”
“But why ask me to join your ranks? It’s been years since I last stepped foot in an Anglican church.”
“We can use a man with your specialized talents.”
Something in the offhand compliment gave Caedmon pause, leaving him with the distinct impression that MacFarlane knew about his tenure with MI5. Such skills would certainly appeal to a man like MacFarlane. Although he had a small army at his disposal, there was a world of difference between a soldier and a trained intelligence officer.
“I would be happy to join your ranks. However, there is a condition attached to my acceptance . . . you must free Miss—”
“Don’t do it, Caedmon!” Edie screeched over the top of him.
“—Miller. Needless to say, the point is not negotiable,” he added, hoping to check Stanford MacFarlane. And to check Edie as well. To that end, he cast her a stern glance, wordlessly ordering her to cease and desist.
“The woman knows too much. She can’t be trusted to keep quiet,” the other man uncharitably replied.
“I trust her implicitly. Is that not enough?”
“She is a degenerate vessel, unworthy of your consideration. My offer does not include the woman.”
Visibly rigid with the force of his contempt, MacFarlane glared at Edie. Loathing incarnate. Throughout history, men such as Stanford MacFarlane had voraciously condemned the female sex, blaming them for the ills of the world. He’d always thought the loathing stemmed from a deep-seated fear of woman’s innate wisdom.
With a heavy heart he offered Edie a silent apology.
Knowing that monsters, by their very nature, were devoid of mercy, he said, “Your offer puts me in mind of a medieval inquisitor attempting to convert a hapless heretic. Regardless of whether the heretic repented, it usually ended badly. For the heretic, that is.”
“I can see that your eyes are jaded. That you aren’t fit to gaze upon God’s glory.” His contempt having mutated i
nto a stern-faced rage, MacFarlane turned to his men. “Harliss, prepare the tabernacle!”
“Yes, sir.” Like a marionette on a string, Harliss unzipped one of the oversized equipment bags.
Unable to look Edie in the eye, well aware that he had lost his only opportunity to save her life, Caedmon was surprised when she leaned her head against his shoulder.
“When the end comes, at least we’ll be together,” she whispered.
“Yes . . . we will be at that.”
“Any idea what they’re up to?” She jutted her chin at the folded stacks of material that Harliss had removed from the zippered bag.
“A badger skin, a length of blue cloth, and a tightly woven veil were traditionally wrapped around the Ark whenever it was in transport. I suspect the three layers created a primitive form of nonconducting insulation. Clearly, MacFarlane intends to play the game by the book.”
“That being the Good Book, huh?”
“Indeed. Although the scriptures have a way of becoming distorted beyond recognition when spouted by a man like MacFarlane.”
Curiosity superseding his dread, Caedmon watched as the other two members of the trio hauled a large metal box out of the earth. A quick mental calculation proved that the box was large enough to house the Ark of the Covenant. As he’d done at the cloister, Braxton opened the lock with a mighty swing of his pickax.
His movements slow and reverential, Stanford MacFarlane opened the lid.
Although he craned his neck, Caedmon could see nothing more than the dull glimmer of gold. A gold what, he couldn’t say. What he could see, however, was the awestruck expression affixed to the face of each of the four men gathered around the open box. As though they’d just wandered into Aladdin’s cave.
“‘And there was seen in his temple the ark of his testament and there were lightnings, and voices, and thunderings, and an earthquake, and great hail,’” Stanford MacFarlane loudly i ntoned.
“Don’t forget the drizzle,” Edie muttered under her breath. “And the fog,” she added a moment later when Harliss set off a smoke bomb, completely obscuring the proceedings from their view.