A Covenant with Death: The Peacock Trilogy - Book 3

by Bill Wetterman

  “To a meeting, that will happen in a week. Until then, goodnight.”

  A voice called to her from what seemed light years away. “We’re waiting, Donna.”

  “Mother?”

  No one had called her Donna in the last thirty-three years. Her mind fell into a deep sleep and nothing disturbed her.

  #

  Pendleton watched Pope Peter walk unassisted up the stairs to his private quarters in the Rome Complex. Aides tried to help him, but he’d shoo them away with the wave of his hand. Sharp in mind, quiet in manner, Peter was a friend, not a religious figure. He extended his hand to Pendleton saying, “Congratulations on your test score and good luck with the vote. Luckily, no one dares vote me out of office.”

  “We’ve prepared Christian leaders worldwide for either the rapture of The Church or their escape by shuttle launches to the biospheres.” Pendleton shook his head. “The press I’m hearing says you and I received strong approval. A few scoffers, but no one thought we were weird.”

  “What does it matter what scoffers think? If God is in this, He will judge them.” Peter sighed. “My staff will stay to lead whatever resistance we can muster. I do have several non-clergy who I’ve encouraged to go. Be sure your people take good care of them.”

  “Certainly, I will.” Pendleton entered the Pope’s quarters and edged into a leather armchair, simple in style and color. “Keeping this low key has been stressful. Luckily, Ammad is busy preparing to defeat me in the election and not trying to blow up space transports.”

  Pope Peter grunted as he lowered himself onto his wing-backed chair. “Arthritis,” he said, “an easier condition to keep secret than your plan to evacuate the Christian population.”

  “Probably so.”

  Nothing was easy anymore. What would the populace do—riot, refuse to go, comply? Maybe there wouldn’t be a need. Laverna’s previous visions came true. So, maybe the people would be taken to heaven before any evacuation was necessary.

  “I can’t worry about anyone’s reaction to our plans. I can only do what God said.”

  “A wise decision.” The Pope grinned. “You truly are helpless when it comes to outcomes. All you can do is what you’re told. That’s how God works.” Peter leaned forward. “My sources say Ammad is holding a meeting with the Israelis. He’s presenting them with a plan to rebuild their temple. Sound like something you’ve heard before. Huh? Like in the Book of Daniel?”

  #

  Ammad peered out the window of his transport as it sped toward the Tel Aviv Complex. The temperature exceeded 120 degrees Fahrenheit. Not a soul could be seen outside along the road. The Jewish Complexes housed 99.4% of the native Jewish population. Only a few nomads refused shelter under the Global Realm.

  The Tel Aviv Complex looked like a Star of David from Earth Orbit. A part of him admired the splendor of the towers at each point of the Star. The Global Realm emblem graced the main entrance, a two-headed eagle etched in gold and black. As a compromise, the former emblem of Israel emblazoned in blue and white was encased within the Realm’s emblem.

  Another part of Ammad trembled in anticipation of the coming meeting. His plan to unify the Sons of Abraham and their ancient Persian conquerors might be the very move needed to win the election, now only two days away. As his entourage entered Tel Aviv, they were met by Rabbi Levinson of the Greater Sanhedrin from the Tiberius Complex.

  “Welcome Chairman al-Sistani.” Rabbi Thomas Levinson, eighty-two years old and still a figure of good health, greeted Ammad. “We speak for the Greater Sanhedrin and hence for the true Sons of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. We wish to preserve our heritage and rebuild our holy sites, especially the Temple Mount. Thank God it still stands.”

  “I bring you greetings from the Sons of Ishmael, Esau, and Kourosh.” Ammad answered. “Arabs and Persians alike. All as you. Children of the Book.”

  Behind Levinson stood sixty-nine other rabbis all from Tiberius of Galilee. Anxious to rebuild their temple and bring back the old religion to its former greatness, Ammad saw these fools as the means to win control over the entire Middle East vote.

  A broad smile formed on Levinson’s face. “We greet them as well. Let us move to a more secure location and discuss how a union might be possible. Remember we have a reputation for negotiating a lot of extras.” He shrugged. “We’re rusty in this Global Realm. No room to Gentile anyone out of their money. There isn’t any money.”

  Levinson’s comment amused Ammad. Truly, the man was an idiot. He and his delegation followed the Greater Sanhedrin into the complex to a reserved meeting room. The sign outside said, Welcome Pacification of the Non-Citizen World Committee. A good way to hide the true purpose of the meeting, Ammad thought.

  Strange to see so many Muslims inside a Jewish Complex. The average citizen might have suspicions. The meeting room divided into three sections, Levinson and three of his top people sat on the far side of a rectangular conference table. Ammad and Akbari sat on the other side. Behind Levinson, the rest of the Sanhedrin filed into chairs. The five remaining members of Ammad’s delegation sat in a row of chairs behind him. At each corner, a legal secretary was seated to record the proceedings.

  “What is most important to you, Rabbi Levinson?” Akbari asked.

  “That our temple be rebuilt and that we may practice our faith in the place of its birth.” Levinson pointed a finger at Ammad. “Are you a man of peace? Or, are you a liar?”

  “What man isn’t a liar? The question is am I lying now? The answer is no.”

  “Let me be blunt.” Levinson pounded the table. “Either you’re using us to gain power, only to betray us. Or, you’re using us to convince your followers you are the great peacemaker. Convince me I’m wrong.”

  Ammad’s insides boiled at these statements, but he managed a contrite smile and responded. “I understand your distrust. Millenniums of strife between our people are embedded in our genes. I offer peace. If I win the election, you can receive the go-ahead to rebuilt Herod’s temple using the remaining wall as an anchor point.”

  Akbari reached into a suitcase he’d place under the table. He pulled out ten copies of a peace proposal already signed by himself and Ammad. Ammad watched the eyes of his adversaries scouring the document. They’ll ask for time, but they’re intrigued.

  Levinson and two of his advisors looked over the papers and consulted together. Then Levinson said, “Give us until after the election to read the fine print.” Levinson neatly reassembled the papers he had rearranged while reading them. “You agree that the Jerusalem Complex will be a free zone available to the Jews as well as the Muslims? No preferential treatment.”

  “With no other religions having entrance,” Ammad said. “When you read closer, you’ll discover this is true for all remaining holy sites of our people worldwide.” Now Ammad pointed a finger back at Levinson. “Signing the agreement is a formality. I want to leave here knowing we have one. So you have until tomorrow morning at nine o’clock. I give my address to the world then, and what I say will depend on your agreement.”

  Levinson rose abruptly. “Then we have no time to sit here talking. You’ll have your answer by eight o’clock.” He waved to a security detail in the back of the meeting room. “Marshall Perez will see you and your delegate to your quarters.”

  “I want tomorrow’s broadcast to be well attended.”

  “I’ll see to that, and we’ll broadcast from the Tel Aviv Global Event Center. It’s Romanesque.”

  Ammad nodded. “How delightfully to my liking.”

  #

  The leader of the Teheran Complex and the Organization of Persian’s for Islam grunted audibly over the phone. “On face value, your pact with the Israelis looks like we’re giving in to their demands. How do I sell this?”

  “Are you uncomfortable, Sadaam?” Ammad asked. “Let me put this in perspective for you. I will defeat Pendleton. I will destroy Chui. But we must speak of peace first. I can replace you when this is over. Or you can sell this prog
ram. Say, ‘Trust Ammad. Think long-term. One day the Jews will bow to him without hesitation.’”

  Ammad relished the fearful silence. In it, he could feel the sweat running down Sadaam’s face. “I understand.”

  His raspy voice attempted to hide his terror.

  “I’ll have Akbari pray for you in person,” Ammad whispered. That statement alone should seal Sadaam’s loyalty, he thought.

  “Not necessary. I’m a willing servant.”

  “I made them this offer yesterday, and I’m giving my speech soon. So, that is our offer.” Ammad licked his lips. Challenges to his authority irked him. These idiots didn’t understand the big picture. “Rest assured, a few years from now, the pact’s merit will be fully understood.”

  He hung up. Having Akbari prey upon you—too horrible to comprehend. A knock at the door disrupted his thoughts. “Yes.”

  “Their delegation’s waiting.” A pause. “Levinson made two corrections.”

  Only two? They were more eager to agree than Ammad anticipated. “I’m coming.”

  He glanced in the gold-framed bathroom mirror one last time. Hair worn per Shia standards. Dressed in white from head to foot, he admired his image in the mirror.

  Akbari’s voice cut off his self-adulation. “Coming?”

  Through the doorway he went, then lost his breath for an instant. Atash Akbari, his green robes draping over his outstretched arms, embraced his master with a bear hug. “Give them the speech of your life, Allah’s Chosen One.”

  On Akbari’s robes, every symbol of Islam, the star and crescent moon in emerald and in gold and the name of Allah written in Farsi, gave him the appearance of an ancient Magi, with powers behind the King.

  “Follow me,” he said to Ammad and bowed low.

  “Lead on.”

  As he walked behind his mentor, Ammad wondered at Akbari’s open revelation. “Is it too soon to announce me?”

  “To the whole world, yes. To the wise among our followers, no.” Akbari didn’t miss a stride. His words rang clear in the hallways. “Your appearance alone says who you are.”

  Into the conference room strode Ammad. Levinson and his delegation, already seated, rose to greet him.

  “Welcome, Chairman,” Levinson said.

  “Let’s get down to business. I’m scheduled to give my address in two hours, and I hope to have good news.”

  Ammad scanned the faces in the room. Zealous Jews wore their votes in their eyes. Of The Seventy, the majority gathered favored Levinson’s position. But a small group of twelve stone faced men, Hasidic in background, sat away from the others, eyes scowling at Ammad as he approached.

  One cleared his throat and said, “I will not agree to this, unless the construction begins immediately, grounds are cleared and the foundation put in.”

  “As a show of good faith?” Ammad asked.

  “You might say so,” he said.

  “You know what they say about the Children of Abraham,” Akbari said.

  A silence followed. Finally the man said, “What do they say?”

  “That you have big noses because air is free.”

  Raucous laughter followed.

  One day I’ll make this man pay for his insolence, Ammad thought, but not today. “You have my word. The moment I become First Citizen. I will sign the order to break ground.”

  “Rabbi Shamir,” Levinson said, his face still reddened from the man’s outburst. “I have the votes to sign this agreement without your demands.”

  Ammad seized the opportunity to feign peaceful intensions. “Peace, brothers.” He sighed as if their dispute pained him. “We are all bullheaded we sons of Shem—you, the offspring of Arphaxad, and we the offspring of Aram. One thing Pendleton did to unite us was to destroy our key holy places. He showed his disdain for both our beliefs. When he could not settle disputes between us, I settled them, and not all in favor of Muslim groups. To have peace we must have trust. Tell me your demands.”

  The Hasidic acquiesced.

  Levinson spoke with his hands palm up as one accepting a gift. “We have a hand carved cornerstone. Moses Law demands this. We ask that stone be the first stone lain. And…” a hush fell on the Israeli delegation.

  Ammad waited, keeping an even countenance.

  “Jerusalem, and particularly East Jerusalem, must not belong to any people. It must be The Lord’s City.”

  Levinson swallowed and sat quietly. The tremor in his hands showed he didn’t believe Ammad would agree.

  Ammad laughed so loud his voice echoed around him. “After 25 years of unsettled peace, these are all your demands?”

  He tossed a map onto the table. Levinson and his counselors reviewed it. The Hasidics hovered over it.

  “We don’t understand the circles within circles. They overlap the whole eastern side from north to south.”

  “From Herod’s Gate to the Dung Gate and eastward shall be God’s State.” Ammad rose to his full height, towering over the assembly. “How you explain this to your people is up to you. God will show Himself one day. If the God of the Hebrews shows up, I will personally submit to Him. If Allah through his prophet shows up, you will submit yourselves. Until then, God as we believe in Him shall rule, either in the Temple or in the Dome of the Rock. As to the complex of Jerusalem, The Global Realm shall provide for its citizens in a free zone.”

  “Let me hear your vote, one by one,” Levinson said.

  Akbari counted the votes as Levinson polled his delegation. Of The Seventy, all but three voted in favor. The three Hasidic men, beards trimmed, hair braided, and wearing black dresses, declared as one, “Never shall we agree to equality with an Iranian.”

  “Then I strip you of your position in the Sanhedrin!” Levinson scowled.

  “We resign.” They were out of the meeting room in less than a minute.

  “Jews,” Levinson quipped. “You can’t fire them.”

  Ammad handed a pen to Levinson. “You sign first. I have a Realm photographer here for such a time.” He waited until all had signed, then took the pen and signed his name. “This day will change the history of our people.”

  He flashed a huge smile and the photographer snapped photos. A surge of energy ran through him. He stood and shook hands with each signer saying, “Peace between the Sons of Shem,” until Akbari tapped him on the shoulder. “Your broadcast is in fifteen minutes.”

  Chapter 17

  As First Citizen, Pendleton would speak to the world last. He scrutinized his notes again. The brightest minds in the world prepared the talking points for him. But these weren’t the words he wished to say. He scribbled a one-page list of key points and slumped forward, hands pressed against his forehead. The love of his achievements had blinded him to the reality of deception. He’d basked in the adulation of his own circle of friends and ignored his critics. So he had to accept his failure and rely on God. Ruling a sinful world was an impossible job.

  Regional Governor Chui wrapped up his speech in forty minutes. He spoke in English, translated into Mandarin for those whose primary language was Chinese. Well liked, polite, Chui extolled Pendleton’s virtues, pointing out the huge accomplishments of mankind in 25 years by working as a team. He praised the First Citizen’s role in abolishing money and cleaning up the oceans and the air.

  Chui defended his own capabilities and the successes within his Region, which led the world in almost every measurable category. He never mentioned Ammad. But his closing statement threw a knife directly at him. “Arthur Pendleton keeps his word. He did what he said he’d do. But his time is at an end. If he wins, I will continue my support of him. But do not be misled by flowery words and promises. Do not be swayed by false statements and pipedreams too good to be true. Rely on your intellect when you vote, not your emotions.”

  Dressed in his gold and black Global Realm uniform, Chui waved at the camera and the feed from the Beijing Complex ceased.

  “Score from Edison,” Pendleton whispered to Van Meer.

  Van Meer
raised a hand. “One moment.” Then his eyebrows furrowed. “Ninety-two percent effective. The best since your speech in twelve years ago. In fact the best rating ever.”

  “Let’s hope the people don’t think like computers,” Pendleton said.

  The feed connected in from the Tel Aviv Complex, and Ammad al-Sistani appeared. Relaxed, self-confident, he spoke words of comfort and peace. In the first fifteen minutes, he used the word reconciliation eight times. “I forgive Arthur Pendleton and Global Realm personnel for their attack on Muslim Space Complexes,” he said. “And apologize for any unintended damage in response.”

  “Pope Peter is on the line for you,” Duarte called from the doorway.

  Van Meer handed Pendleton his cell.

  “Yes.”

  “The Devil speaks of peace with the Jews. Listen to the tone. His words are sweet as honey, but laced with arsenic. He hasn’t mentioned you except to allude that it was you whose attacks killed people when the altercation occurred. He’s speaking to only Muslims and Jews. It is as though the rest of the world doesn’t exist.”

  “He’s getting to us. But I’m not sure what he’ll say.”

  He heard Peter sigh. “Nothing good. Prepare to flee if you lose, my dear friend. And may God have mercy upon us all.”

  Ammad went on, “I have a message for my Christian citizens. The hour of decision is upon you. Life in the Global Realm will not change under my rule. The only exception will be emphasis on finding common agreement in our faiths, as the Jews and I have arrived at.”

  The cameras rose a bit, showing Akbari in his green robes, arms stretched wide in a welcoming pose.

  “Together, the Sons of Shem will work for a common purpose, even rebuilding the Temple in Jerusalem.” Ammad matched Akbari’s pose. “We extend the same offering of peace to our Christian brothers of the Book. I personally will take up residence in Rome and allow for the reopening of the Vatican as a separate State as to sovereignty. Rome will be as Jerusalem will be. Ruled by God. The God who shows Himself true shall be adored in both.”