“But you say that you support it,” countered Ngordon, who then added the caveat, “at least I suppose you do in principle. And yet clearly the plan calls for your region to contribute every bit as much as Europe. Are you not, therefore, in a similar position to Ambassador Goodman: eager to give away a part of your region’s wealth?”
“Indeed,” Rashid answered. “But with one very important distinction: It is in my region’s interest that the rest of the world recover. We depend on them for goods and services. And, of course, there is also,” he noted the obvious with only a little reluctance, “that when the world suffers, oil prices suffer. But what is the interest of Ambassador Goodman? Europe does not need to have India or China or the Americas recover in order for Europe to prosper. Europe has nearly all that it needs: natural resources, industry, agriculture, a skilled workforce, and a ready market for what it produces. And they stand to benefit most from cheap oil. What little they do lack can be bought at a far lower price than the amount Ambassador Goodman offers to give away. Europe is poised, if it chooses, to become the predominant technical, agricultural, and economic world power, and yet their representative on the Security Council not only refuses to take the power, but is doing all that he can to give it away.” Abduhl Rashid took another bite of roast lamb, and then concluded. “I do not understand such a man and, therefore, I do not trust him.”
“I understand,” Ngordon nodded, “but I believe that you will find Christopher Goodman to be exactly as he appears. He is one of those rare men in government who places the good of all before the benefit of his own region.”
“Well,” Ambassador Rashid said, gesturing freely with his hands, “we shall see.” The mention of Christopher Goodman’s character gave Ambassador Rashid an opportunity to ask Ngordon about another matter. “But tell me,” he began, “I have heard some very strange stories about Ambassador Goodman. Curious things. That he has the power to heal.”
“Merely rumors,” Ngordon answered, shaking his head and brushing off the suggestion authoritatively. “I have known Christopher Goodman since he was no more than twenty, and I have never seen him do anything unusual. Who knows how such stories get started? I just ignore them.”
Ngordon looked at his watch. It was ten minutes until six. In twelve minutes the sun would begin setting — one of the five times each day when devout Muslims face Qiblah, the direction of the Ka’bah in Mecca, and offer Salah (prayer). Ngordon and Rashid left the table and after performing the ceremonial ablution, or Wudu, Ngordon showed his guest to a room on the eastern side of the apartment that had a balcony overlooking Central Park. The temperature outside was in the upper forties and while the warmer areas of the Northern Hemisphere were still plagued by attacks from locusts, the cooler days had kept the insects away from New York for nearly two weeks. Ambassador Ngordon was therefore confident that it was safe to open the double balcony doors that faced east toward Mecca.
Placing their prayer rugs on the floor, the two men began. The prayer would last about fifteen minutes, until the red glow of the sun disappeared from the western horizon. Being in the middle of New York City and on the eastern side of the building, Ngordon would, of course, have to depend on his watch to know when that occurred.
Unnoticed by the men as they spoke the prayers of the Salah over the sounds of the city below, a small swarm of about twenty locusts flew in through the open balcony doors.
* * * * *
Christopher Goodman walked into his office. Though it was just nine o’clock, he was later than usual, having had breakfast with Decker Hawthorne. “Will you get Ambassador Ngordon on the phone?” he asked Jackie Hansen.
“Both Ambassador Ngordon and Ambassador Rashid were stung by locusts last night,” Jackie answered. Christopher’s face registered shock.
“How bad?” he asked.
“I haven’t heard yet.”
“Well, find out for me as quickly as you can,” he directed. “Oh, and find out . . .” he paused for a moment, “. . . find out where they’re being treated.”
“Also,” Jackie added, “Secretary Milner called. He asked that you call back as soon as possible.”
“Okay, get him on the phone,” Christopher said, and then walked into his office and closed the door behind him.
“Good morning, Bob,” Christopher said when Jackie put the call through. “What’s up?”
“Good morning, Christopher,” Milner responded in a rushed manner — there was obvious concern in his voice. “I assume you’ve heard about what happened to Ambassadors Ngordon and Rashid.”
“Jackie just told me.”
“What does this mean for the vote on the CAP?” Milner asked.
“I’m afraid it’s not good.” Christopher said. “Ambassadors Khalid and Khaton are both resolutely opposed to the package,” he explained, referring to the alternates who would be standing in for Ngordon and Rashid. “I’m certain they’ll vote against it.”
“Can the vote be delayed until Ngordon and Rashid return?”
“No. It’s definitely set for this afternoon’s session.”
“We must do something,” Milner said. “The CAP must pass.”
“I agree with you, of course,” Christopher said. “But the vote can’t be delayed.”
There was a pause of about ten seconds and then Milner spoke again. His voice conveyed either inspiration or that he had come to a difficult decision — it was hard to be sure which. “Where are Ngordon and Rashid?” he asked. “Are they in a hospital?”
“I don’t know. I’ve asked Jackie to find out.”
“You’ve got to go to them.”
There was another long pause, and then Christopher asked, “Are you sure about this?”
“They must be there for the vote.”
“But . . .”
“I know what I said, but we’re going to have to make an exception.”
* * * * *
Four hours later, as the meeting of the Security Council was called to order, German Ambassador Hella Winkler, who served as the alternate from Europe, found herself unexpectedly filling in for Ambassador Christopher Goodman of Italy. He hadn’t indicated that he planned to miss the meeting, and it seemed unimaginable that he would do so with such an important vote scheduled. But the rules of procedure were clear. If a primary wasn’t in attendance, the alternate was to fill the primary’s position until the primary either returned or until such time as a new primary was elected. So it was that, of those who sat in voting positions around the table today, three were alternates, including Winkler, the ambassador from Uganda, who served in place of Ambassador Ngordon, and the ambassador from Syria, who served in the place of Ambassador Rashid.
A few minutes after the meeting was called to order, Christopher quietly entered the room. Ambassador Winkler didn’t see him enter and so remained in her place until Christopher came and tapped her on the shoulder. Looking around, she gave Christopher a smile and relinquished her place. “Just keeping your seat warm,” she whispered to him.
“Thanks,” he said and returned the smile.
Fifteen minutes later, as the Security Council listened to a summary report on agricultural production, Ambassadors Ngordon and Rashid entered the room together. Their entrance didn’t go nearly so unnoticed as had Christopher’s. Nor were their alternates nearly so quick to give up their positions at the inner circle, but their stalling could only last a few seconds. Ngordon and Rashid took their places, and the vote on the CAP was guaranteed. More than a few eyes stole a glance at Christopher when the two men came in, but Christopher showed nothing except pleasure that Ngordon and Rashid were there for the vote, and Ngordon and Rashid gave no hint that Christopher had anything to do with their presence.
Christopher’s powers were becoming a poorly kept secret, but it wasn’t yet to the point that anyone was ready to openly question him about the strange stories.
Chapter 12
What He Must Do
Ten weeks later
Washingt
on, D.C.
At the UN World Meteorological Organization, Ed Rifkin scratched his head and then rechecked the orientation of his equipment. “Come look at this,” he called to his supervisor when he was sure there was no error.
“What is it?” asked Jeff Burke, Rifkin’s supervisor.
“I’m not sure. A moment ago I was tracking swarm 237a over Northern Africa. Now they’ve just vanished. It’s like they just fell out of the air.”
“They’re probably feeding,” Burke responded.
“No, sir. I don’t think so. I’ve seen them drop to feed too many times. This was different.”
“I’ve got the same thing over Mar del Plata, Argentina,” said another tracker.
“Ditto that over Sydney,” said someone else.
“Same thing over Miami.”
“Somebody get me some answers,” Jeff Burke demanded. “I want a check of every swarm and trackable sub-swarm. I want to know what’s going on now!”
All over the world, after five hellacious months, the locusts were suddenly dying. Millions, simply fell from the sky.[48] The swarm that fell over Sydney, Australia was so large that the carcasses would remain on beaches, streets, and rooftops for weeks, even with the help of hundreds of thousands of gorging seagulls. Other areas had similar accumulations. As quickly as it had come, it was over.
It was a time to celebrate. But the celebration would be short-lived.
Eight weeks later
Jerusalem
It was the last thing anyone wanted to hear. They were back. And again they brought with them a message of wrath on the people of the Earth. As before, they walked the streets of Jerusalem shouting their message until they came to the Temple. Then, standing at the steps, John and Cohen declared their newest prophecy.
The sixth angel sounded his trumpet, and I heard a voice coming from the horns of the golden altar that is before God. It said to the sixth angel who had the trumpet, “Release the four angels who are bound at the great river Euphrates.” And the four angels who had been kept ready for this very hour and day and month and year were released to kill a third of mankind. The number of the mounted troops was two hundred million. I heard their number.[49]
Three weeks later
New York
Christopher stole a glance at his watch and let out a soft sigh. It had been a long day, and the meeting of the Security Council was finally coming to a close. Christopher, whose turn in rotation it was to be acting president of the Security Council, was about to adjourn when Ambassador Yuri Kruszkegin sought to be recognized. Kruszkegin was one of the most senior and respected people in the entire United Nations, having served in the UN since the days of the old Russian Federation.
“Mr. President,” Kruszkegin began, “for more than four years this body has functioned in a manner other than that envisioned by its founders. Specifically, I refer to the fact that for fifty-two months we have been without a secretary-general. For a while — after the untimely death of Jon Hansen — this body tried, without success, to fill that post, but we were too divided to reach a consensus on a nominee.
“Since that time, we have operated on a rotating basis with the president of the Security Council carrying out most of the functions of an acting secretary-general. I am certain, Mr. President, we would all agree that this body and the United Nations as a whole operates in a far more productive and efficient manner when those responsibilities are carried out by a single person serving as secretary-general for the prescribed five-year term. Too often, important matters have been delayed or have simply fallen through the cracks as the responsibilities of secretary-general are handed off each month from one member of the Security Council to another.
“I believe we would also all agree that the recent tragedies throughout the world, as terrible as they have been and continue to be, have nevertheless served to unify the members of the Council into a more cohesive body. Mr. President, I believe that through this adversity this body has now achieved a level of mutual trust and cooperation such that we should again set about the business of selecting a person to fill the post of secretary-general.
“Admittedly, the position requires the talents and attention of a very uncommon person — someone who will not place the needs of his own region above the needs of other regions. Jon Hansen was such a man. I believe another man of similar disposition has emerged as a leader in this body.
“Mr. President and fellow members of the Security Council, I therefore wish to place into nomination for the position of secretary-general a man who has repeatedly shown himself to be a selfless servant of the United Nations and the people of the world, a man who single-handedly forged a consensus among the nations of his region to provide the lion’s share of the financial and technical support needed to implement the Consolidated Aid Package and then worked with every other member of the Security Council to ensure not only its passage but its optimum functionality for all regions; a man who would bring to the position of secretary-general a rare insight and ability as well as wise judgment; a man who exposed the heinous intentions of Albert Faure, thus sparing the world the rule of a dictator on par with Adolph Hitler and Joseph Stalin.
“Mr. President, I place in nomination for secretary-general the distinguished ambassador from Italy, the man who has served his region and the world so well, Ambassador Christopher Goodman.”
Ambassador Toréos of Chilé, the primary member representing South America, and whose wife Christopher had healed, quickly and enthusiastically seconded. Ambassador Ngordon called the motion without debate, and it appeared the matter would be brought to a vote before Christopher could even say anything. Finally, however, even though it wasn’t entirely in accordance with rules of order, Christopher had a chance to speak.
“I’m not sure what to say. I appreciate this show of support, but I’m not sure I agree that . . . Um, could we just take a brief recess so I can have a few minutes to think this over?”
The Security Council agreed to a thirty-minute break, and Christopher went very quickly to his office to make a private phone call. The meeting of the Security Council was carried live on closed-circuit television, so news of the nomination had already spread throughout the United Nations. As he made his way out of the UN and across the street to his office in the Italian Mission, people offered their congratulations. Jackie Hansen applauded when he arrived at his office.
“Oh please, Jackie. Not you, too.”
“Sorry, Mr. Secretary. I just couldn’t help myself,” she responded.
“Don’t start calling me that just yet,” he said. “I haven’t even decided to accept.”
“But you can’t refuse. It’s your rightful place. It’s your duty; your destiny.”
Christopher shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said sounding concerned. “I’m not sure the timing on this is right. Look, I need you to get Decker and Secretary Milner on the phone for a conference call immediately.”
Decker had been in a meeting when Kruszkegin made his nomination. He was quickly informed of it by a member of his staff and excused himself to watch the proceedings. When the recess was taken, Decker correctly guessed that Christopher would be going to his office. He arrived there just as Christopher was telling Jackie to call him.
“Decker,” Christopher said, “thank you for coming. I assume you have heard.”
“I saw it in my office. This is great!” Decker hugged Christopher and patted him on the back. “I am so proud of you!”
“Well, thank you. But I’m not sure about this. According to Secretary Milner, this wasn’t supposed to happen for at least a few more months.” Christopher and Decker went into his office and closed the door while Jackie tried to locate Milner and get him on the phone.
“Decker, I need your counsel on this. What should I do?”
Decker laughed. “I appreciate that you would ask me,” he said, “but I’m not much of a substitute for Secretary Milner when it comes to matters of prophetic timetables.”
“No, but you have something that Bob Milner lacks. You look at things from a real-life perspective that Bob can’t.” Decker was justifiably flattered. “I don’t want to know what you think about prophecy; I want to know what your gut instinct is.”
“Well,” Decker replied, taking a deep breath and raising his eyebrows as if to see more clearly into the future, “I think you should accept.” Then he added with a grin, “And do it quickly before they change their minds!”
Christopher smiled. “Of course, it’s not even certain that I’ll be nominated,” he reminded. “Remember, it takes a unanimous vote by the Security Council for the nomination to pass, and then I’d still need to go before the General Assembly for a vote.”
“Well, I think the fact that there was no discussion on the matter is a good sign; no one appeared to have any objections. And the fact that there was unanimous consent for a thirty-minute recess is also a positive sign. If someone intended to vote against you, they could have saved everybody some time by just indicating they intended to vote no. That would have kept the matter short and sweet. I think you have a pretty good shot at this. But like you said, you still have to be approved by the General Assembly.”
“And there could be the rub,” Christopher cautioned.
The phone rang and Christopher answered as Jackie transferred the call with Robert Milner.
“Bob, something unexpected has just happened here and I need your guidance,” Christopher began.
“Go ahead. What’s the matter?”
“The uh . . .” Christopher stammered. “I’ve just been nominated to become secretary-general, and it appears there may be unanimous support.”
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