THE DAY: A Novel of America in the Last Days (The End of America Series)

by John Price

  As grim as his message sounded, the Chief Rabbi wasn’t quite finished.

  16

  St. Patrick’s Cathedral

  Manhattan, New York City

  Cardinal Thomas Micah Bolton made it a point to arrive at sunrise on Sundays at St. Patrick’s. His weekly custom was to change into his Vatican mandated formal attire, his red wool cassock and red silk skull cap, well before the morning services were to commence. After being dressed appropriately, he would proceed to the altar at the front of the historic cathedral and pray for what would occur in the historic building later in the morning.

  As the Cardinal prayed, the altar boys, designated priests and other staff busied themselves in the sanctuary, doing their best not to disturb the Cardinal’s prayers. Concluding his prayers, Cardinal Boland genuflected, stood, turned from the altar and looked out at the 2,200 seat Cathedral. It was what he expected to see. What he did not expect to hear, though, was what sounded like loud voices, raised in anger, coming from the Cathedral’s entry doors. The Cardinal walked down the altar steps from the front to the main central aisle, heading towards the source of the increasingly raucous noise, puzzled by what was disturbing the sanctity of this sacred space. He soon learned the source.

  As he was half-way down the central aisle Cardinal Bolton saw several green-uniformed DHS Conservators shoving persons whom the Cardinal recognized as employees of the Cathedral, including two armed plains clothes security officers who worked for the church.

  "You can’t come in here with weapons."

  "Stand back or we will be forced to arrest you."

  "Arrested for what, for defending our church from uninvited, armed men?"

  "We have a warrant. Stand back. This is your last warning."

  "I told you, that you can’t come into the…."

  Two shots exploded into the echo chamber of a sanctuary, reverberating like two thunder claps across the long sanctuary.

  The Cardinal stopped, thirty feet or so from the two church security guards who were now bleeding out on the marble floor of St. Patrick’s. For a brief moment the Cardinal wondered if this was another one of those weird dreams he had been having, of strangers invading the sanctuary. But, his doubt only lasted a moment as he smelled the gunpowder. This was no dream. It soon became a nightmare, as the Cardinal looked up from his fallen employees to see that the men who had just fired their revolvers were now aiming them at him.

  "Whoa there, whoever you are, what do you think you are doing? This is a house of God."

  "Shut up, whoever you are. Oh, so you are Cardinal Whatever? We are the government. We have a warrant. We are here to protect the City of New York. Stand back….Now."

  "A warrant?....By whom?....For what? Do you understand where you are? Do you have any idea how much trouble you are in? I don’t care what government you say you work for, you can’t just shoot peo…."

  "Shut up, old man."

  "Have you no respect for…."

  "Respect? You are harboring terrorists, you silly old man in a red dress. We’re here to shut you down. We protect the City of New York. No more 9/11s, do you understand, old man?"

  "Terrorists?....Terrorists?....How can you seriously say….?"

  "Enough of this….Cuff the old man….Nail this to the entry door….Padlock the doors."

  The armed, uniformed DHS Conservators cuffed Cardinal Bolton, man-handling him out of the cathedral to a black armored DHS detention vehicle parked in front. The large red sign nailed to the ornate front door of St. Patrick’s Cathedral read:

  CLOSED

  UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE

  BY ORDER OF US DISTRICT COURT

  THIS STRUCTURE HAS BEEN DESIGNATED

  AS A POTENTIAL TERRORIST SITE

  IT IS A FELONY TO

  ENTER THESE PREMISES

  By Order of US District Judge Lawrence Barrasso

  17

  Trinity Episcopalian Church

  Bellevue, Washington

  Pastor Mick Kirkland was looking forward to todays’ sermon. He had been working on the text for several weeks. One of his pet peeves was Christian writers and commentators who tried to convince the church that the end times were near. The Pastor’s theology was simple. The Bible was a helpful guide book, though not inerrant by any means. Jesus was a great teacher, but don’t look for Him to somehow come back to earth. People who believed that the Bible accurately prophesied the future undoubtedly also wore tin foil hats to ward off microwaves from the NSA.

  The Pastor kept his sermons short, never more than twelve minutes, as he had learned that his messages tended to encourage his parishioners to nod off if they went much longer. Today’s sermon was to be no exception, including a catchy title, which the Pastor devised each week to attract attention.

  "Today, my dear congregants, I will be addressing the subject of prophecy. The title of my message is PROPHECY – ARE YOU KIDDING ME?" As was their norm, the congregation chuckled upon hearing the title of his sermon. Leaning over his carved stone pulpit, Pastor Mick stared at the people in the pews, then asked, "Does anyone here really believe that God, he or she, can actually know the future?" He waited for his words to sink in. "I mean, certainly a God who is as powerful and all-knowing as our E---vangelical friends would have us believe, might have such a parlor trick ability. But, I’m talking about reality, my friends." He paused for a second round of light laughter. "Come on, folks, don’t forget that our God is a god of love. Since he loves us why would he want to scare us by telling us that all manner of catastrophic events will happen….some….day….in the future? Do you know how many E----vangelicals have been wrong about what they call the end times, or the latter days, the final days, the day of the Lord?

  "Oh, I know that there are some Bible literalists who point to Israel coming back as a nation in 1948 as proof of prophecy. My view is simply that the re-creation of Israel was the world’s way of making up for the bad treatment of Jews in the Second World War. Certainly not some kind of miracle. Don’t get me wrong – I believe in miracles. How else could you explain the Seahawks winning the Super Bowl?" More laughter, stronger this time. As his listeners showed their appreciation for his words, Pastor Kirkland looked out the side window of the sanctuary across Lake Washington. His thoughts briefly went to his comfortable home which was east in Sammamish, an upscale suburb of Seattle. The last thing he would ever do, he pondered, would be to flee what he called his ‘heaven on earth’.

  Pastor Mick continued for the next few minutes bashing Christians who believed that the Bible contained prophetic verses which accurately foretold the future. He was now nearing his wind-up, what he had decided was the favorite part of this sermon. "My dear congregants, there are, I am told, tens of thousands of people, not just here in Washington State, but all over this country, who seriously believe that America is doomed. I’m not just talking about a high level of federal debt, we can all agree that it needs to be trimmed a bit, but they go even further. Much further. You may know some of them. They come in at least two different categories. Some are called ‘preppers’. And others are fleeing our beloved country. Preppers are, may I say this? They are unusual, strange, maybe even wacky folks who store food and ammunition for when the end times arrive. Let me see if I get this….they want Jesus to come back….so they’re storing up hundreds of bullets? I’m sorry, I just don’t get that.

  "The other certifiable folks are those who say that America will be destroyed, claiming that the Bible names our country as Babylon. They throw out verses saying that Christians….and American Jewish residents….must flee the country and move offshore. One verse they use says to flee to avoid participating in her sins. Sins? Sins? What a quaint word. Don’t they know that this is the 21st century?" Snickers and laughter could be heard across the sanctuary. "America isn’t perfect, what nation is? But ‘flee from her sins’? But that’s not the worst of what these extremists preach. For example, I don’t think America will be destroyed, which is what these folks argue, because it won
’t come to Israel’s defense in that dust-up that we’ve all been watching in the media. What difference would it make? It’s just one of a couple hundred nations on the globe, certainly not a ‘chosen nation’ and definitely not God’s ‘chosen people’.

  "I met with a family from our church recently who were in tears, asking me for advice. Why were they upset? The parents of one of the parishioners in my office had decided to move to Central America. Why are they moving, I asked? Because the parents think America is Babylon and will be destroyed once it turns its back on Israel. They think, believe it or not, that the Bible tells them to ‘flee the wicked nation of Babylon/America’. Well, congregants, I told them that before their parents left the country they should consider seeking a court order and have them committed." Applause. "God will never destroy this nation, even if he or she could. We are too important in the grand scheme of things. A little insignificant country like Israel may not survive….who really likes them anyway….but the United States of America will never fall. The media is full of stories about Israel’s neighbors invading them. So what? Israel should have gotten along better with its neighbors, that’s what I say. It’s certainly not worth the lives of any American young men or women to defend them. They can fend for themselves.

  "So the next time a friend or a family member criticizes our great country, and breathes heavy about hoarding food and ammo, or worst yet, leaving the country, just tell them what you just heard from an expert on the Bible. America’s not in the Bible. The Bible doesn’t predict anything about the time in which we live. That’s voodoo Christianity. You have nothing to fear. No destruction. No downfall of America. No reason to hoard nor to flee. Things will continue in our great country just as they have in the past. You heard it from a man of the cloth, so you can count on it. Now, go and be warm and blessed."

  The congregation jumped to its feet, cheering their Pastor’s comforting assurances.

  18

  The Moshe and Sophia Guttman Home

  Petah Tikva, Israel

  At midnight in Israel the Guttman phone rang with a call from Moshe’s brother in northern Virginia. Ben told Moshe that he was able to reach his military client, but that the General didn’t have any knowledge that he could share as to the intentions of the U.S. The General did advise Ben, though, that a morning press briefing was scheduled at the White House, at which it was expected there would be a new announcement concerning the U.S. response to the invasion of Israel.

  Neither Moshe nor Sophia could sleep well for the balance of the night, though their two teens had no problem. Sophia frequently said that youth was wasted on the young. At 4 AM Moshe was tired of tossing in his bed, so he got up, started the coffee and turned on the kitchen TV. He was soon joined by Sophia. They sipped coffee and watched the news of the invasion of their country, while they waited for the morning news conference from the White House. The hours crawled slowly by before it finally came time for video coverage from the Press Room of the White House.

  At just after 3 PM a news bulletin flashed across Israel’s TV screens. It was being reported by the Israeli government that "after several attempts" the Prime Minister had finally gotten through to the US President and that the two leaders were currently in an "extended planning conversation". Upon hearing the news flash Yitzhak and Golda jumped up and shouted in joy. Moshe and Sophia hugged each other. "Such good news", the four said, "such good news". Sophia didn’t share her concerns with her celebrating family, but she was puzzled as to why it took so long for the PM to speak to the President. The invaders crossed into the Golan yesterday at mid-day, she recalled. Why so long?

  Moshe was so cheered by the news, though, that he went to the kitchen and starting cooking an afternoon treat, his famous blintzes, with strawberries, blueberries and red raspberries, which he usually reserved for special occasions. The Guttmans’ conversation was animated, as they enjoyed the sweet afternoon treat and rejoiced over what they believed would be the imminent insertion of U.S. troops and missiles into northern Israel. In the background, television reporters disclosed that the invading force was mostly now past Israeli Highway 91, with the lead units rapidly heading south on Highway 6, the Yitzhak Rabin Highway, one of four major north-south roads in Israel. A reporter on Channel 10 came on the screen, with clouds of black smoke behind him as he spoke into his microphone. Golda saw it from her seat in the kitchen and asked Yitzhak to go turn up the sound.

  Almost out of breath, the Channel 10 reporter, dressed in a desert camo flak jacket with red letters saying MEDIA, said, "….and one IDF source described this invading force as like a cloud covering the land….Based on what we have just seen and been told by IDF sources, we’ve learned that the village of Kfar Tavor, at the foot of Mount Tabor, has been decimated….totally gone….every building either flattened by the force of the artillery or now in flames….It looks like the invading forces went out of their way to run over and destroy the vineyards for which the village is famous….This area is on the route the forces from Russia and Iran have apparently chosen from Damascus into Israel’s heartland….There is no estimate at this time as to the casualty count of the twenty seven hundred residents here, though several apparently dead bodies were spotted lying near the highway out of the village….Hold on….I’m getting a report on my earpiece that….Yes, it appears that the town of Afula, southwest of our location, has also been destroyed by the invading forces on their way to Highway 6….When we can get closer to Afula, we’ll update viewers with what we learn. That’s all we have right now from the war zone."

  The mood in the Guttman kitchen ratcheted down, as they realized that brother and sister Israelis just north of them were being attacked and killed. They left the kitchen to huddle around the television awaiting the news conference from the United States of America, Israel’s military defense treaty partner. Within minutes the station announced that they were switching to their U.S. affiliate for coverage from the White House Press Room.

  The President’s Press Secretary, a diminutive, bespectacled former reporter for the New York Times, strode briskly into the Press Room. He stepped up behind the podium. Sophia noticed that he had no document binder with him, which was his normal approach, as he would consult written talking points in order to answer media questions. The President’s Press Secretary only briefly glanced at the assembled reporters, his eyes looking up at the ceiling.

  He only uttered one sentence, saying in a steady voice, "In spite of enormous pressure on this Administration, there will be no change in the position of the United States regarding the inter-regional disagreement in the Middle East." The President’s Press Secretary turned and walked out of the Press Room without taking any of the several questions shouted at him by reporters.

  Moshe looked over at his family. He could see that Sophia and Golda were both crying. Looking away but wiping his face, Yitzhak was the first to speak, saying in anger, "I can’t believe it. We’re dying here."

  Golda just held her head in her hands. Sophia murmured, "Disagreement?"…."Is the President that dense?....This is a full-scale war with at least three countries, no friends of the US I should add, who are invading your only friend in the Middle East. What does it take to get you to help us before we’re all dead? What?"

  Moshe started to speak, cleared his choked-up throat, then suggested, "It’s time we get ready to go into the safe room. Everybody take a good long hot shower, it’ll be the last one we get for a while. Let’s do a big meal, not a diary meal like we usually have at night. We’ll use up the last of the fresh meat, lettuce, you know, food that’s refrigerated, since we don’t have refrigeration in the safe room. Let’s get busy guys, those troops coming south on Rabin Highway are headed our way….and we’re on their way into Tel Aviv."

  19

  War Room – Israeli Defense Force

  IDF HaKirya Compound, Tel Aviv

  Israel’s Prime Minister slowly placed the red handset back on the crisis phone on the massive table in the Israeli War Room. Al
l twenty of the people in the room, three levels below street level under the HaKirya Compound in Tel Aviv, were carefully watching Israel’s leader. They were all ear witnesses to one side of the Prime Minister’s heated conversation with the President of the United States. Though none heard the words spoken by the leader of the free world, it was painfully obvious that he was offering Israel nothing. No change of mind. No defense. No military assistance. Nothing.

  Israel’s Defense Minister was standing against the wall of the war room. He moved forward, placing his hand on the Prime Minister’s shoulder. "It’s OK, Bebe, you did what you could. We knew when he wouldn’t take your many previous calls that he was going to choke, to refuse to help us. I take it that he’s still sticking with his ‘we won’t interfere in your little local conflict’ line."

  "No, Ben, the U.S. won’t be helping. God help us."

  "I appreciated your conversion of his promise that America ‘had Israel’s back’ into ‘you’re stabbing us in the back’. I take it he didn’t exactly appreciate that, right?"

  "Actually, that’s when he terminated the call. By that point in the conversation I knew it was over, so what harm was it to call it like it is? As he hung up he said he would let me know if there’s any change, but we all know how likely that is."