The President asked, “Have any of you considered the possibility that the bad guys are actually setting up the gatherings? Anyone on the Internet can claim to have the mark.”
George Collins answered, “Good point. If no one is working on it from that angle, we’ll get on it.”
“Same here,” Margo replied.
The LCD map of Europe on the status table changed to reflect a flashing yellow circle in the Middle East, catching their attention. Looking closely, Margo could see that it centered on Jerusalem. One of the intelligence operators, who was seated at a console, got up and walked to the group. Addressing Dick Williams, he said, “We’ve got something from Jerusalem. There has been a major explosion on the Temple Mount. Apparently, Al-Aqsa Mosque has been destroyed.”
“Oh, my God,” said Clayton. “Another mosque!”
“Not just another mosque…the mosque,” said Margo. She went on to explain, “The Al-Aqsa was built on the ground that once held the Temple of Solomon. It’s the site Leo Schmidt was referring to when he said that the Bible foretells the Jews rebuilding their own temple on the site before God will return to Earth.”
“Was this done by the Jews?” asked Dick Williams.
Collins replied, “Of course we don’t know anything yet, but my guess is probably not. A small group of Jews have plotted to do this for years to actually hasten the return, but they’ve never gotten anywhere close to putting together a plan. No…it just doesn’t feel like them.”
“The Muslims are going to blame them,” said the President.
“Absolutely,” answered the CIA Director. “My guess is…that’s probably the point.”
“It might tie in with the killings earlier this evening,” added Clayton.
“You mean somebody’s trying to stir the pot?” asked Williams.
“Could be. Trying to turn all of the religious groups against one another.”
“Obviously,” said the President. “The question is…who?”
א
It was after 1:00 a.m. when Margo left the Situation Room and was driving back to the Hoover Building. She punched a speed dial and listened to the phone ring once before Bill Burke answered, “What’s up, Margo?”
“You gotta love caller ID. Bill, I’m really sorry to bother you, but there is some serious stuff happening, and I thought you might want to know….”
She filled him in on the details as she drove through the still surprisingly busy D.C. streets. By the time she finished, he agreed to meet her at the office, and they disconnected. Suddenly changing her mind, she made a turn and drove to the State Department instead of her office.
א
They had moved Elohim into one of the private quarters within the building. Margo knocked on the hallway door which opened before she could complete a third rap.
“Margo. Please, come in.”
“I was almost to my office, when I remembered that You never sleep.”
“Not quite true, but sufficient for this conversation.”
As he held open the door, she walked in and stopped at a wingback chair, waiting to sit.
“Please, Margo. You’re tired. Have a seat.”
She dropped into the comfortable stuffing of the seat, saying, “I guess I don’t need to fill You in on what’s happening out there.”
“No…you do not. It is most sad.” Elohim circled her chair and sat on the sofa across from her. “But, then again, you did not come here to brief me.”
Looking sheepish, she admitted, “I feel like I would be cheating or something.”
Elohim smiled, saying, “You’re assuming I’ll help you.”
Startled, Margo said, “You won’t?”
“Margo, if I were to intervene…would I have not done so hours ago? As you already know from the discussions I’ve had, I don’t interfere.”
“That’s not true…You interfered on the steps…with Lynn Sheffield.”
“That was not interfering. I could have stopped him before anyone was shot. I knew of his plan…I knew he had the gun…I recognized him in the crowd. Had I chosen differently, none of you would have known his intent. However, had I chosen differently, your friend Bill Burke would not have had the opportunity to redeem himself. The chain of events had run its course before I stepped in. All of the good and all of the bad had been wrought. And that is as it should be. A boatswain and master carpenter does not care for his fleet by keeping them safe in the harbor; he repairs them when they return from the storm.”
“Don’t You feel responsible? It appears that most of this is happening as a result of Your arrival.”
Elohim stared at Margo for what felt to her like minutes before answering. “Do you not find that a strange question to ask me?”
“What do You mean?”
“If I am the Creator, as you yourself believe, am I not responsible for all that happens?”
Margo thought to herself that her head hurt too much for verbal jousting with Elohim. “It is Your intent that evil people do harm to others?”
“Margo, this is my third visit. Each previous time has been followed by horrendous events: events that were attributed to me although they were committed by those left behind, events that included the horrible suffering and deaths of many, events that caused me such pain and sorrow that I have attempted on the second and now on my third visit to perform my task in a way that would stimulate as little strife as possible. Unfortunately, the process of judgment brings out the worst in so many.
“Indeed, it would be a glorious day if I could come to Earth and return with all who live here. And so, to answer your question, it is my intent that all people fulfill their destiny. It is my wish that the destiny they endeavor to fulfill is a good one.”
Margo rubbed her eyes vigorously, trying to stimulate her brain. “Why the five days…why drag this out? Doesn’t it make things worse? And You’re right about the judgment thing…it’s like setting off a bomb.”
“The five days are for the reasons I have already described. Those who are chosen need time to decide if they wish to go. I also found that in past visits when I did not grant the time, it contributed to the chaos that followed. Yours is an interconnected society: debts must be settled; some secrets must be revealed; and some tasks, if not completed, at least must be turned over to another who is worthy to complete them. The departure of the Chosen need not trigger harm to those who remain, when a few days can smooth the transition.
“Informing all people of the judgment is critical if those who remain are to learn from the mistakes that led them to their plight. It is my hope that each visit plants seeds for the future, that each visit removes the uncertainty of faith and replaces it with the certainty of judgment. Surely you must acknowledge that many who stray do so because they do not believe. Not all will embrace the belief five days and more hence; indeed, most will not if the past remains true, and yet some will. Those who do will re-establish the righteous lineage that suddenly will be deprived of the presence of the Chosen.”
Elohim paused momentarily, then continued thoughtfully, “Margo, I believe we have a problem of perspective. Allow me to pose a question. In the past there have been Marines who have been a disgrace to the uniform, have there not?”
“Yes.”
“And, as a Marine, how did you feel when you either witnessed their deeds or learned of them?”
“Horrible. And angry.”
“Why do you think it happened?”
“They were bad apples.”
“By that you mean to say they should have never worn the uniform?”
“Absolutely.”
“Why do you think they, the bad apples, made it through the selection process?”
“Because the process wasn’t tough enough; it didn’t test them under sufficiently rigorous conditions…and I see Your point.”
Smiling, Elohim said, “Go on.”
“That’s what You’re doing…obviously. You’ve told us this several times. Life on Earth is supposed to be
tough. We’re supposed to face adversity and temptations and challenges…and if we don’t meet them head-on…and if we don’t handle them properly…we’re washed out. If You ran around behind us, cleaning up our messes, and heading off our disasters before they struck, we would never be tested.”
“You need to remember, Margo, that the goal of all people should not be a perfect life on Earth. It should be attaining an eternal life in Heaven. Leading a perfect life would be leading a life without a test.”
With a dejected look, Margo said, “So, the monsters mowing people down tonight are serving a purpose?”
Sighing heavily, Elohim answered, “I would not design events such as these…and yet I clearly fashioned those who commit the acts. Their deeds show me their souls with unarguable certainty. Yet their unspeakable acts will also cause others to rise against them…to help those who are hurt…to change the tide. Those wondrous souls will be revealed, as well.”
Margo was exhausted, and it showed on her face. With deep sadness in her eyes, she said, “It just feels wrong. I’m not used to knowing that something can be stopped and doing nothing.”
“Margo, you will not do ‘nothing.’ You and your people will do much to ameliorate these things. No matter if you stop them or not, be assured that these men will face me one day, and their actions today have sealed their fate for an eternity.”
Forcing a wry smile, Margo said, “In the meantime, ‘Leave unto Caesar those things that are Caesar’s….’”
“And leave unto me that which is mine.”
א
Bill Burke was waiting for Margo when she arrived at his office.
“I thought you’d beat me here,” he said.
“I made a stop. I went to see Elohim.”
“Good choice. Did He give you any help?”
“Nope. We’re on our own.”
Burke was momentarily taken aback, concern playing across his face.
“We talked about it,” Margo explained. “All this…everything we deal with…is just part of His test, I guess.”
Bill shrugged. “I guess He figures that the training wheels are supposed to be off.”
“Well,” she said, slumping into a chair, “any ideas?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. Believe it or not, it came to me just before you got here. I was checking e-mails, and look!”
Burke turned his monitor around so that both he and Margo could see it. It had the same Department of Justice header as hers. “Bill, I must be exhausted. I don’t see anything helpful.”
Burke pointed at the in-box on the screen. “Margo, c’mon. With what’s been going on the last few days, I haven’t checked e-mail. Look at my in-box.”
She forced her eyes to focus. Sighing, she said, “It’s just crap…spam.”
“Right! Even with all of our fancy filters that we install, it still gets through. There must be a hundred of them. Viagra…stock tips…uh…enlargers….”
“Bill, I get the picture.”
“Okay, how are all of the events being set up…the events for the Chosen that are being used to target them?”
Margo sat up, feeling the slight adrenaline rush of understanding. “The Internet…e-mails…blogs.”
“Exactly.”
“We don’t have the time to chase down all of the blogs…get their lists.”
“No,” said Burke, smiling, “we don’t. But we do have time to spam them! Them and everybody else.”
“Warn them. Tell them not to go to any meetings, not to get together with any groups.”
“We could also tell them that having the mark is not that popular of a thing right now, that they should remain low-key about it…I don’t know…wear a glove.”
“That won’t work,” said Margo. “They’ll just target people wearing gloves.”
“Well, we’ll figure that out later. Right now we need to get the warning out. I’ve got one of the web guys from Ft. Detrick coming over. He told me on the phone that we’ve already got everything we need to do this.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
The Gulfstream spun up on the dark tarmac at Reagan National Airport, the pilot and copilot visible inside the lighted cockpit, running through their preflight checklist. Sunrise was expected in thirty minutes, and they were instructed to have their passengers off the ground before then. The copilot glanced up from the clipboard and thought he could see four figures heading for the ramp; this was confirmed a minute later as they approached close enough to be illuminated by the exterior lighting on the jet. “Will,” he said to the pilot, his voice low and steady, “you’re not going to believe who it is we’re carrying.”
The pilot looked out the windscreen and saw the unmistakable face of Elohim. “I guess,” he replied, “we know why we’re going to Rome.”
Elohim, Reese, Reynolds, and McWilliams climbed the short flight of steps into the plane. Reese was the only one who looked groggy this early in the morning. With the previous day’s events on their minds and their training kicking in, the two federal agents were alert and watchful, not relaxing their vigilance until they were all through the cabin hatch. Reynolds stood near the opening and watched the attendant assist in stowing the steps and closing the cabin door. He double-checked the lock lever himself. Pressing the button on his transmitter, Reynolds informed the ground escort that they were on board and secured.
Even though he knew that the advance detail had thoroughly checked out the plane before he arrived, not letting it out of their sight, Nicholas still performed his own check, from one end to the other, including looking under the toilet lids and even lying down to check beneath the seats. He finished in the cockpit, where he introduced himself to the crew and attendant, visually matching their faces to the pictures on their ID badges which were suspended from neck straps. Ever cautious, Reynolds carefully fingered the laminate on the IDs, trying to detect an alteration. Next, trying to make it sound like friendly chatter, he quizzed each of the three on personal matters: their spouses, their kids, cities they had lived in, and schools they had attended. He had studied the facts of their lives earlier in the morning and was satisfied with their answers.
Finished, he returned to the cabin and took the seat across the aisle from Elohim. Craig said, “Did they pass the Hot Dog John’s test?”
Reese, rubbing his eyes, asked, “Hot Dog John’s?”
Reynolds explained, “Several years ago, when a Secret Service detail was escorting Hubert Humphrey, the briefing papers said the pilot was from Toledo, born and raised. So one of the agents was casually quizzing the guy, acting as if he also had briefly lived in Toledo, mentioning all the regular stuff…the kind of facts you could get out of a chamber of commerce brochure…which is where the briefing team had obtained them…when he remembered a fact on his own. Apparently his father-in-law had lived there for several years and raved about the best hot dogs being made at a restaurant called Hot Dog John’s. The agent worked it into the conversation, and the pilot looked blank…hadn’t heard of the place…so the agent, trusting his gut, stopped the takeoff, took the pilot off the plane and back into the terminal. The pilot was an imposter. Since then, it has been the Hot Dog John’s test.”
“Wait a minute, finish the story. Was he planning on crashing the plane or something?” asked Reese, curious.
“No. The scheduled pilot was drunk and didn’t want to get fired. The guy we busted was his best friend and had been his copilot for years. He was covering for him. We didn’t use photo ID tags then. He knew the basic stuff from all of their hours of flying together.”
“I guess they never discussed hot dogs.”
Reynolds chuckled. “No. We found out later that the pilot from Toledo actually hated hot dogs.”
The pilot’s voice informed them that they were departing. Immediately, they all felt the engine thrust, and the plane began to roll to the taxi lane. All preceding flights were long departed from the cleared airspace, and no other planes would be allowed upon the runway and taxi areas un
til this takeoff was completed. After the low-altitude window of vulnerability was passed, the aircraft quieted as the landing gear was raised and the rate of ascent was reduced to a more reasonable level. Two military fighter jets fell into an escort mode around the Gulfstream at a discreet distance. Bill Burke and Margo Jackson had decided to take no chances with their guest.
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