The
Lawless One
and the End of Time
Lonnie Pacelli
Published by Pacelli Publishing
Bellevue, Washington
The Lawless One
and the End of Time
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical including photocopying, recording or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2018 by Lonnie Pacelli, All Rights Reserved
Published by Pacelli Publishing
9905 Lake Washington Blvd. NE, #D-103
Bellevue, Washington 98004
PacelliPublishing.com
Cover design by Rachel Ronan | Kiwi Creative
Interior design by Pacelli Publishing
Author photo by Trevor Pacelli | TrevorsViewonPhotography.com
Printed in the United States of America
ISBN-10: 1-933750-93-6
ISBN-13: 978-1-933750-93-4
“And then the Lawless One will be revealed…”
2 Thessalonians 2:8
B y 2030, American culture had permeated the rest of the world in its pop art, lingo, fashion, education structure. English had become the primary language among the world’s inhabitants, native tongues being less popular with younger generations. Older generations tried to keep their customs alive, but youth wanted everything American.
Since the 1950s, scientists and politicians had debated the existence and effect of global warming. The debate raged into the 21st century on whether global warming was real and its impact on the world. In 2020 the world got its answer. Rice, wheat, corn and soy production began dropping due to increased carbon dioxide, heat, and ozone exposure. By 2022, production had dropped by 20 percent, triggering worldwide panic over food supplies. The member nations of the Group of Ten (G10), assembled to discuss how to solve the dwindling food supply problem. The G10 arrived at two conclusions: food rationing was necessary to ensure the survivability of all people groups; and a singular world currency was necessary to ensure individual currency fluctuations didn’t create unfair rationing.
The G10 proposed consolidating the 196 countries into ten ethnarchies: Africa, Asia, China, Caribbean, Central America, Europe, North America, Russia, Oceania, and South America. Each ethnarchy elected a chairperson to manage the transition from a sovereign country to an ethnarchy, ensure fair food-rationing within and across ethnarchies, and manage the transition to a single world currency. The second recommendation, a singular world currency, was no easier to implement. The United States wanted the dollar, Europe the euro, China the yuan, and Russia the ruble. Because there was no compromise reached on an existing currency to use, the G10 decided upon a new currency, the hera. The G10 set a timeline of January 1, 2025 for the ethnarchy consolidation and hera conversion to be complete, with one hera worth one U.S. dollar. The ethnarchy consolidation and single world currency was unpopular with most of the countries but was also viewed as necessary for equitable world survival. Both went into effect in 2025 as planned.
Some countries ultimately came to accept the consolidation, others harbored bitterness. Those troubled with the consolidation never forgot it and vowed to right what they saw as a great injustice. Making matters worse was a polarizing chairperson loved by millions of followers but despised by his enemies. His actions, foretold by scripture, would usher in the end of time.
Three Shot
2066
T he Israeli-Palestine peace treaty had been in place for three and a half years. With Israel and the Palestinian countries of Jordan, Syria, Lebanon, and Egypt’s Sinai Peninsula under Europe’s control, a peace was realized that hadn’t existed since Israel’s establishment as a state in 1948. Europe established its embassy in Jerusalem which was regularly visited by world dignitaries and leaders.
It was a rainy day on March 1, 2066, not the best weather for the dedication that was to follow later in the day. A motorcade of four black cars stopped in front of the embassy. From the third car, three of Europe’s highest-ranking officials emerged and began walking up the stairs to the embassy. The sideways rain blew to their backs, the security detail pointing their open umbrellas into the wind to keep them from blowing inside-out. Then came the muffled thump thump thump of bullets hitting flesh, the three collapsed on the stairs, those near them splattered with blood. No gunshot sounds contributed to the confusion of the stunned onlookers as they watched the men drop. Paramedics reached the men in moments. Two of the three lay face down on the steps, bleeding from the head, the third sitting on the steps, bleeding from the arm.
A paramedic approached the man on the left, face down on the stairs, his body already soaked from the rain. What was left of his jaw was in a bloody mass a meter away from his body on the wet steps--bone fragments, teeth, and flesh left in a trail from the man to his mandible. He turned the man onto his back.
“Can you hear me sir?” the paramedic asked.
The paramedic saw his chest heave, then heard a gurgling sound, the air from his lungs flowing across the little bit of his tongue that he had left. Another paramedic came to him to prepare the man for transport while a third gathered what he could of the man’s jaw.
Another paramedic approached the man in the middle, face down on the steps and unconscious. Blood flowed from a single bullet hole above his right ear. The paramedic pressed on his carotid, feeling for a pulse.
“He’s still alive!” he yelled.
Two more paramedics carrying a stretcher ran to the man. They’d seen injuries like these before and fully expected the man would be dead within an hour, but they proceeded undeterred despite the odds.
A paramedic approached the man on the left, sitting on the stairs, bleeding from his right forearm. He was alert but bewildered at the commotion and the sight of the other two men on the ground.
“Sir, can you hear me?” The paramedic asked.
The man just stared at him.
“Sir?” The paramedic asked again.
“My arm,” he said as he looked at the wound on his arm. He then looked at the other two men. “Are they alright?” he asked.
“We’re gonna take care of them,” the paramedic said.
“Take care of them first.”
“We are.”
The man watched as the other two were put on stretchers and transported to waiting ambulances. He looked at the wet bloody steps, where the men’s bodies lay just seconds ago. Those who came to see him and his two colleagues had cleared the area, and Israeli Defense Force and embassy security swarmed the area looking for any clues as to who the shooter was. He watched the two ambulances leave the area, sirens blaring, racing to Jerusalem Health.
The paramedic put a triangle bandage on the man’s forearm.
“Let’s get you to the hospital,” the paramedic said.
The man got up and walked on his own to the waiting ambulance, got in, then saw a man in a suit follow him onto the ambulance before he heard the loud slam of the ambulance doors close.
“Sir, are you OK?” The man in the suit asked.
“Yes.”
“Any idea who did this?”
“I’ve got a good idea,” the man said, blood beginning to soak through his bandage.
Sal Carlotta
2030
A t 14,
Sal Carlotta was already six feet tall with a lean swimmer’s physique. His facial features were perfectly symmetrical with piercing blue eyes, angular chin, high cheekbones. His hair was uniformly short, and he sported a neatly trimmed five o’clock shadow with no bald patches. He easily passed for someone much older, an advantage he exploited when hooking up with girls.
His father, Gene, was born in Naples, Italy. He graduated with a 4.0 grade point average in finance from Harvard University. He was recruited by nine companies after graduation, choosing to work at investment banking firm Miconal as a financial analyst. He steadily rose through the ranks to become its youngest chief financial officer at 35. His drive and determination permeated his entire life. Whether it was business, sports, or politics, Gene viewed his relationship with others as, “For me to win you must lose.” He craved being a winner, wanting his son to be just like him.
Sal’s mother, Marie, was born in Dublin, Ireland and met her husband at Harvard where she also maintained a 4.0 grade point average as a finance major. She had fiery red shoulder-length hair, sky-blue eyes, a milky white complexion, and freckles that gathered around her nose. Marie and Gene started dating while at Harvard and married just before graduating. Like her husband, she was heavily recruited by several companies, choosing Miconal for both the career opportunity and to be close to Gene. She saw them working, living, and loving together as the ideal marriage. Feeling threatened by her at work, Gene treated her as if she was a competitor first and lover second. Marie didn’t want to compete, she wanted to be adored by a loving husband. When she got pregnant with Sal, she decided to leave Miconal and be a stay-at-home mom to escape the stress Gene was creating in their marriage. While she enjoyed her role as primary caretaker for Sal, she also felt bitterness toward her husband for selfishly putting his career aspirations over hers. After Sal was born, she poured herself into him as his nurturer and protector. Their relationship was very close, much closer than either had with Gene.
Gene and Marie decided to enroll Sal at Naples Academy in central Naples. The Academy was renowned for its disciplined approach to learning, top-shelf academics, and reputation at colleges worldwide for churning out the highest-quality students. Gene wanted Sal to prove himself as the best of the best, while Marie wanted Sal to have a well-rounded educational experience. Sal was never asked what he wanted, but he accepted the school choice because it would help him prove himself to his father. He also knew that if his father were happy there would be less stress on his mother, which further motivated Sal to excel.
Sal got up at 6:30 each morning and began with push-ups, sit-ups, squats, and lunges, then held a plank position for five minutes, looking at himself in the full-length mirror during his routine. Then a quick shower and back to his bedroom which looked like a well-stocked trophy shop, filled with his academic and athletic achievements. Despite his age, Sal had amassed more awards than most received in a lifetime. Competing to win was his modus operandi. And there were never enough trophies for him.
He reached into his closet, pulled out some of his favorite clothes, every one having some designer label. His outer appearance needed to exude confidence, it was how he masked is inward insecurities that were fueled by his father’s sky-high expectations of him.
He gave his trophies a quick glance, took one last look at himself in the mirror and made his way down the hallway to the kitchen. Marie had yogurt and croissants already at the breakfast table. It was an identical breakfast every day, just as his father liked. Gene was on a conference call with Miconal’s senior management team. Another breakfast with conference calls, where Gene was physically present but mentally and emotionally somewhere else. For Sal, seeing his father there but ignoring him was worse than him not being there at all. Yet another reminder that Sal was not a priority to Gene. Marie was sitting at the table sipping her Americano. He heard her throwing up through the night, something she’d been doing a lot over the past month. He kissed her good morning and sat.
Gene finished his conference call, put down his phone, and continued to eat breakfast. Sal searched for something to say to his father to get his attention.
“Problems at work, Dad?” Sal asked.
“There’s always problems,” Gene said. “What classes are you taking?”
This was the fourth time in the past two weeks Gene asked about Sal’s classes. Whether he forgot the answer or wasn’t listening didn’t matter to Sal or Marie. Not remembering was indication that Gene didn’t care.
“Gene he’s already told you three times about his classes,” Marie said, which only agitated him.
“So tell me again.”
“Calculus, advanced placement history, chemistry, world literature, and football,” Sal said.
“You’re capable of more,” Gene responded.
“Gene, he’s already got a full workload,” Marie said in defense of her son. Already not feeling well, her eyes welled up with the escalating conversation.
“Those classes are for average students. Top-notch colleges don’t accept average. Step up your game.”
Sal knew to keep quiet. His father would rant for a minute then get preoccupied with something else. Marie wasn’t having it.
“Stop already!” Marie got up and went to the sink, her back to the kitchen table. Her outburst was out of character, surprising Sal. Gene picked up his phone again, not wanting to deal with Marie’s flare-up. Sal got up from his chair and went up to his mother.
“Mom what’s wrong?” Sal asked as he put his hand on her shoulder.
“I’m OK, you need to get off to school.” Sal knew that she wasn’t OK, but it was clear she didn’t want to talk or be consoled. He looked back at Gene who was already engrossed in something on his phone.
“I love you Mom,” Sal said as he kissed his mother on the cheek. He looked back at Gene, still staring at his phone, his thumb swiping up and down on the screen, oblivious to Marie’s distress.
Sal grabbed his backpack, kissed his mother again, gave his father a polite good-bye, and left the apartment for the 15-minute walk to the Academy bus stop. The Carlottas lived in an exclusive apartment building in the Naples highlands with expansive views of the Bay of Naples. Scooters, pedestrians, and litter filled the narrow streets. Naples’ city infrastructure had been crumbling for years, with graffiti and garbage overtaking the once-charming landscape. Its residents simply got used to it; living, working, and shopping like any normal city. Sal made it a point to walk by his favorite pasticceria each morning where freshly-made tiramisu, sfogliatella riccia, and cannolis caught the attention of each passer-by. Sal’s favorite was the sfogliatella, with its stacked, flaky pastry layers and sweet creamy ricotta cheese filling. Some mornings he would stop and get one to enjoy on his walk. On this particular morning, not even his favorite pastry could lift his mood: inadequacy in the eyes of his father, feeling like he would never be able to meet his astronomical expectations; fear of being anything less than number one; pity for his mother and her unhappiness in her marriage; gratefulness to her for standing up for him against his father; concern over Marie’s frequent puking, then her atypical outburst. And then there was her yellowing skin and getting so skinny. His mother always kept a slim figure, but she’d never been gaunt like this. She never spoke of it, and Gene never seemed to notice.
Sal saw the empty bus stop ahead, still thinking about his mother as he walked. “Is she sick?” he thought as he reached the bus stop.
Paul Ambrosi
2030
P aul Ambrosi learned to read at the age of three. Despite being only 14, he had read books on topics such as macroeconomics, game theory, political history, and mathematics. His father, Joseph, was a fifth-generation Ambrosi living in Naples. He owned and operated a family supermarket which was passed down from his father. Despite working hard at the supermarket, he always managed to find time for his wife Ida and children Paul, Alberto and Anna. Whether it was a school musical, football game, or parent-teacher meeting, Joseph was always the
re lending an encouraging hand to his family. He and Ida went on dates every Friday, frequenting nearly every restaurant in Naples, saving up two-for-one coupons to enjoy inexpensive dinners together. What or where they ate wasn’t as important as spending time together. Just as important for Joseph was that he set an example of how his sons should love and respect a woman, which he modeled to a tee.
Ida was raised in Athens, Greece and met Joseph at just 13 when her family was vacationing in Sorrento. The two met on a ferry ride from Sorrento to Naples, talking non-stop as if they were long-time friends. Joseph told her of the family supermarket which she visited the next day with her parents. They exchanged phone numbers before Ida and her family left to go back to Athens. Ida and Joseph kept in regular contact, including Joseph going to Athens each summer to spend time with Ida. When they were both 18, Ida came to Naples and married Joseph. She seamlessly fit into the family supermarket business, no job too hard or too beneath her. At age 20 she gave birth to Alberto, then to Paul at 22, followed by Anna at 24. Even with three small children under the age of five she managed an orderly home, worked at the supermarket, and kept family blowups to a minimum.
At five-foot-eleven with a slim build, Paul looked like a boy that most any girl would want to take home to meet the parents. He was a bit on the quiet side but was inwardly comfortable in his own skin and exuded an air of humble confidence rarely seen in a 14-year-old. Despite his confidence, he was uncomfortable around girls and made no effort to build relationships with them beyond platonic chit-chat.
Joseph and Ida transferred Paul to Naples Academy after one of Paul’s teachers talked with them about the Academy’s program for gifted students. Academy tuition would be a huge financial drain, but they felt it was important to give their son the opportunity to fulfill his potential. Several of Joseph’s well-off long-time customers heard of Joseph’s financial struggle to send Paul to Academy and banded together to pay for a large portion of the tuition. With the supplemental funds, Joseph and Ida were able to send Paul to Academy without the other children having to sacrifice. What Paul didn’t know at the time was the impact one of the customers would have on him later in life.
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