The Snare

by David A Ogunde

  “How dare you—”

  “Please. I did not call this meeting to talk about past inaction. I am here to point to a way forward. The Third Temple must be built; and I have a plan. Will you listen?”

  A moment of murmuring preceded the deep voice of Rabbi Neusner. “Continue.”

  “As we all know, the most hallowed place in the temple is the room known as the Holy of Holies. And the location of the Holy of Holies must rest in the exact place it sat in the previous two temples. And that location is as of yet still being disputed.”

  “Only because the Arabs won’t let us around the site long enough to make any determinations!” an angry voice spoke up.

  “But they have let me,” Maximos smoothed on. “And I commissioned a team of historians, archeologists, cartographers skilled in ancient maps, as well as experts in the latest satellite systems and advanced ground-reading technology.

  “Gentlemen, madam.” Maximos took a pen from his pocket and pointed its tip at a wall of dark stone. With a click, an image was immediately projected for all to see. It was a current picture of the Temple Mount and Jerusalem’s Muslim Quarter. Clearly marked upon the image were the locations of the Dome of the Rock and Aqsa Mosque.

  With another click, a new image was suddenly superimposed upon the first. It was the outline of the Temple. The room was quiet for a few moments as brains digested the information; then, it exploded with murmurs.

  “It is accurate, I guarantee you,” Maximos spoke to head off the doubts he knew were rising. “This information has been gathered by the best scientists, researchers, and equipment that money can buy. And so, you can see, the ancient site for the Holy of Holies rests to the right of the Dome of the Rock, not directly underneath it. Therefore, the Third Temple can be built beside your brother’s shrine. There is no need to destroy what Ismael has established. Isaac’s path to redemption will come by way of peace, not violence.”

  “And you don’t think ‘Ismael’ will be violent if we attempt any construction on the Temple Mount?” exclaimed a distraught minister. “My God, they throw stones at us for just looking in that direction!” Like a match to ready kindling, an uproar immediately flared as frustrated men expressed their anger, their vehemence filling the room to a stifling volume. But their outrage was not meant personally for him Maximos knew. Not directly, anyway. No, this display came from the deep roots of Israel’s constantly being denied. Denied from their Promised Land. Denied from having their Third Temple. Denied from restoring their people’s purpose and position in the world as God’s Holy ones. Burdens they’ve struggled with for longer than a burden should be borne. And here was their weakness, as Profeta had revealed to him. Their need, their desperation, had become so great that they would take any viable opportunity to see their deeply-set, long-awaited dream realized.

  Sensing that the thickness of desperation had reached a critical point, Maximos seized the moment he had worked to produce. With gracefully controlled momentum, he raised his voice over the exasperated shouts and pronounced, “I have already spoken with the Palestinians, the Arabs, and prominent Islamic leaders about this matter.”

  Words were cut off mid-sentence and shouts abruptly died away, as the uproar fell suddenly silent.

  “You spoke with them?” Rabbi Vilna demanded. “And who are you? Why do you care?”

  “We care about peace!” The President of the United Nations’ voice rang out for the first time since the commencement of the meeting. “Can’t you see that this incessant struggle is affecting the whole world? We want to move forward - to move all nations into peace and prosperity. But this fight of yours is preventing us. While there is no peace in this region, there can be no peace for anybody!”

  Rabbi Vilna scoffed at the perceived impertinence. “President Ammon, you can’t possibly put the blame on us! After all, we’ve been through—nation after nation conquering, pilfering, murdering us! All we want is the right to exist.”

  “Can’t you see?” Maximos interjected. “That is all anybody wants. Even the Palestinians. Look. Isaac, Ismael. You are children of the same father, Abraham. You both deserve to exist. So why can’t brothers live together in tolerance?”

  “Ignorant! The Palestinians won’t—”

  “The Palestinians want peace!” Maximos’ voice rose like commanding thunder. “They are tired of fighting. Tired of living in strife. They are willing to extend their hand if you will meet them halfway.”

  “What exactly would ‘meeting them halfway’ entail?” scrutinized Rabbi Vilna.

  President Ammon spoke up. “Only that you allow your brother to exist as a nation side by side with you.”

  “And what,” Rabbi Neusner said imposingly, “is in it for us? This….this tolerance?”

  “Your Temple for one thing,” Maximos answered. “Built alongside what’s already established upon the Temple Mount. The establishment of proper worship and sacrifices to God. You, with your brother, will finally take dominion over your territory—your father’s inheritance. Don’t you understand? Divided and fighting, you are nothing. But together you are strong.

  “And, also consider this. If you, Israel, would agree to make peace, you would have my backing—GED’s backing. Financial and political support to make this vision a tangible reality. I can promise protection for Israel. For Palestine - protection from attacks or intimidation from radicals and rebels.”

  “And how can you promise that?” Rabbi Vilna’s voice had lost its accusatory flare. He was listening. He was hoping.

  President Ammon stepped forward slightly. “I will help. The United Nations will help. We have always wanted to help. Don’t forget, it was through the efforts of the United Nations that practically made it possible for Israel to even possess what land you have today. We are for you, not against you. And we will partner with every effort to bring about and sustain permanent peace in the Middle East, and thereby the world.

  “If you make this agreement to become two states living side by side—dividing Jerusalem between you as brothers, not enemies, as your cooperative capital—your actions will qualify you to be official, credible and powerful members of the United Nations. And joined as one with the other nations, we will all work to protect your shared interests, together.”

  Chapter 74

  “Do you really think they will go for it?” President Ammon asked Maximos as they followed their respective entourages’ lead out of the building.

  “You don’t?” Maximos’ oily voice left an aftertaste of impatience upon the air; but Ammon didn’t notice.

  “It just still seems like a big stretch; that’s all. I mean, off the record, Israel is about as stubborn as they come. Why would they suddenly agree to a compromise now when they’ve been fighting against one since time began?”

  Maximos felt annoyed by his compatriot. Now that Dr. Youcef Ammon’s part had been played and the deal practically sealed, it was time for the actor to get off the stage. He may be the President of the United Nations; but in the scheme of things this title wouldn’t likely count as anything for much longer. Silas quickly glanced over at the man. So puny in power. So unaware of the real world moving around and through this meager plane of physical existence.

  “Let’s just say I have a good feeling about it,” Maximos answered, hiding his true feelings as usual.

  “Well, I hope you are right. This could be big. And just think! I’d go down in history as being the UN President who oversaw the most sought-after peace deal in the world. I tell you, Maximos, keep up the good work and I’ll have you nominated for a Nobel Peace Prize! But don’t,” he suddenly looked around through the gaps of his surrounding servicemen before continuing in a purposefully lowered tone. “Don’t let’s get carried away and let the cats out of the bag too soon. After all, nothing is official yet. We agreed, didn’t we? To keep this meeting, and the one we had with the Arabs and Palestinians under wraps for now? We wouldn’t want the press to get a hold of anything and ruin the surprise. Or ruin the ne
gotiations for that matter.”

  President Ammon looked over at Maximos meaningfully. The mouse staring at the hawk as if it had the power to persuade the latter not to gobble him up.

  Silas Maximos simply smiled at the little creature. “I promise I won’t tell a soul,” he placated. “It will be our little secret.”

  Chapter 75

  James could hear the sound of enthusiastic clapping filtering through the numerous sets of open double doors—the gala had already begun. He checked his watch and strode as fast as he could across the marble foyer toward a set of doors nearest to him. He hadn’t meant to be this late; but ever since he came back to HQ from London, his acute organization and punctuality had somewhat slipped. Sarah’s betrayal had really shaken him. In losing trust in her, he had subconsciously begun to lose trust in himself; and his work was being affected. He had taken to spending nights in his office to work on his reports, which used to take him half as much time to generate. The stress was getting to him, affecting his sleep. He had dozed off this afternoon on his office couch, waking late and leaving him to hurriedly dress and make his way down the tower to the ballroom.

  Donning his most courteous smile as a uniformed woman at the door scanned the back of hand and checked his invitation information on a tablet; James craned forward to catch pieces of Maximos’ opening speech.

  “...But this isn't a time for self-congratulation. I admire everyone who has realized that a new type of cooperation is necessary to help the world. A new balance of power between national governments and international companies. We have the contacts, the resources, the expertise and the technology to bring aid to your citizens and reclaim the world!”

  “Thank you, Mr. Mode. Please, enjoy your evening.” James nodded courteously to the woman and stepped through the doorway into the brightly lit ballroom, a glare of which almost hurt his tired eyes. He shuffled around the back of the elegant crowd, made up of national delegates, government officials, and the super-wealthy, looking for an inconspicuous place to stand. From the corner of his eye, he could see the platform on which Maximos stood. There was a large screen behind him displaying images relevant to his speech while his words echoed around the marble pillars and crystal chandeliers.

  “Around the world, the Rigula virus devastates economies, with the exception of all of you who joined our nano monitoring technology program. The nanos are the only thing capable of defeating this vicious virus.”

  The listeners clapped again—an expression of relief and support—as James recalled the news he had just watched that morning. The Rigula Virus had spread into Central America, and even Mexico was now in a quarantined state. The WHO had not commented, though James knew they had reached out to GED for help. In fact, tonight’s announcement was the result of collaborations between Maximos and the WHO director.

  “It is only by deploying a unified strategy,” the loquacious CEO continued, “that we can become strong. Many of you may be aware that in just a few weeks, we will be hosting the annual International Summit right here. Not only is this a great honor, but a great opportunity and responsibility. For we have come to a crucial moment in the timeline of humanity, where division will be our downfall. At the Summit, I intend to unveil my plan to unite us all as one people; and with this strength, together we will be architects of a new and better world!”

  The excited crowd, twinkling with shining diamonds, offered more applause in as enthusiastic manner as was deemed proper for those of their stations, and were soon dismissed to mingle, eat, and have an opportunity to shake hands with the man-with-the-plan himself. After a quarter of an hour of tinkling glasses, supercilious banter, and gripping handshakes, James began looking for the nearest exit. Once upon a time, he might have shone in an evening like this; but, tonight, he wasn’t feeling it. He moved toward the door keeping his eyes down, hoping not to catch attention. He was fairly startled, therefore, when a low voice spoke in his ear.

  “Going so soon?”

  He whipped around and saw Cyndi in a sparkling silver dress which draped to the floor in elegant, heavy-looking folds. She stood for a moment, inviting his appraisal of her before stepping closer. With every move she made, the jewels upon her gown answered, flashing like diamonds in a spotlight…a million of them.

  “Uh…” James shook his head to try and pick up his thoughts.

  She threw a contagious smile at him, her eyes bright with the knowledge of some secret she may or may not share with him. James couldn’t help but smile back, his first genuine one in a while.

  “Why, Ms. Pale” he greeted. “I’ve just overheard the Foreign Minister of Suriname say that you've got what it takes to save his economy. I thought he was talking about your business finesse; but now, I see what he really meant….” He gestured to the gown. “Diamonds, I presume?”

  She simply smiled as she slipped her arm into his and led him away from the door, her gliding motion akin to stately clouds proceeding across a regal sky. “There is someone who very much wants to make your acquaintance,” she spoke next to his ear while dazzling all they passed with her radiant smile. James had not even been paying attention to where they were going, or how far they had walked when she pulled him to a stop in front of man dressed in an elegant, but not overt robe. His dark grey and white-bearded face looked worn, though not necessarily old; and his eyes looked kind and full of knowledge.

  “Profeta Ibrahim,” Cyndi addressed the man with noted reverence. “May I present James Mode?” The prophet inclined his head to her before reaching out and taking one of James’ hands in his own in the way a father might procure a handhold from a child on which he doted.

  “James,” he spoke deeply and with authority. “I have been looking forward to meeting you for so long.” The man’s eyes at once captivated James in a feeling of familiarity and security, despite the fact that he had never met this man before.

  “Forgive me,” James entreated, “but I don’t know who you are.”

  A warm and understanding smile alighted upon the man’s face; and he turned to look at Cyndi. Without glancing at her diamond dress, he spoke courteously. “Would you be so kind as to excuse us, Ms. Pale?”

  “Of course.”

  As she took graceful leave, James couldn’t help but watch the back of her gown and its gleaming sparkles as she sashayed back into the crowd.

  “Lovely woman, Ms. Pale.” The prophet said, turning James’ attention round. “One of our company’s finest assets, to be sure.”

  “Our company? Do you work for GED?”

  “You might say that. I’m known as Profeta Ibrahim, or Profeta. I run the European Interfaith Forum, which is generously funded by GED at Maximos’ personal bequest. Our general purpose is to get different religious communities working together through our program, ‘Compassion Without Compromise.’ Too often, these impassioned, hard-working, religious people waste their energy struggling against one other. And why? Pride and fear - fear that in cooperating with a person of a different religion, they are betraying their own. We help them overcome that.”

  “That’s all too true,” agreed James, thinking obstinately of Sarah’s refusal to honor professional work ethics by spying on him in their own home. “Pride is a dreadful device of separation and strife.”

  “On the whole, yes; it can be a terrible vice.” The prophet could sense James’ darkened tone of thought and aimed to bring him back into the light. “However, used responsibly, pride can be an admirable motivator and complementary expression of emotions. For instance…” He raised one of his hands with a fluid motion to indicate a man’s head across the room that was just visible above the surrounding swarm. “I feel no disinclination to allow myself a little pride in our generous host this evening. Silas Maximos is turning out just as we have all hoped. The world has yet to be made aware of all that he has achieved.”

  “You speak as if Maximos were your son rather than your patron,” said James lightly so as not to appear rude.

  “Perhaps. And
yet you forget my name already,” chuckled Profeta. “I am Ibrahim, father of many, and have fatherly affections for many sons and daughters, including you, James.”

  “Me?” James scoffed in surprise.

  Profeta considered him for a moment before reaching toward a passing tray and amply selecting a tumbler containing a dark amber liquid.

  “To your happiness, my son.” He raised the glass and patiently waited for James to take it.

  “Why not,” said James. He lifted the glass in agreement and drank down the liquid which burned at his throat and sent a stream of fire down into his belly. Working to maintain a composed face against a grimace, James looked at Profeta, expecting to find satisfaction on his face. Instead, the prophet was pensive and seemed to be watching him with concern.

  “I sense your soul is troubled, James.”

  Taken aback, James emitted a standoffish laugh. “Yeah, well whose isn’t?” He reached toward another tray holding cocktails and downed a clear, fruity number in response to the sudden awkwardness he felt. But his actions didn’t put the prophet off. Instead, he took a step forward and spoke in a heavy but quieter nature.

  “So, speak to me. Share with me your troubles and pains.”

  A warm comfort flooded throughout James’ being—no doubt the effect of the drinks, he assumed—and an intense desire to let go of his charade gripped his heart and mind; he did not want to resist.

  “I feel like I’ve lost my way, Profeta.” He spoke, looking at the man’s cream and golden-robed chest rather than his eyes. “I feel as if all I’ve ever believed in has departed from me and left me utterly alone. I believed in marriage, and it’s only betrayed me. I had faith in the world’s ability to be better; yet, the more I look around, the more I see how it’s falling apart. I had faith in myself; but I’ve become a wreck. I’ve even had faith in God, but…”

  “You feel as if He’s disappointed you, or, at times, as if He’s not even there at all.”