by Wendy Alec
Chapter Forty-five
Eden, The First Heaven
Nick stared transfixed at the tall, imperial stranger who stood, a lone figure, bathed in the soft white light that hung in the blazing white mists of the Eastern Gardens of Eden.
The stranger pulled his indigo cape tightly around him. His gleaming raven hair, plaited in thick braids and interwoven with diamonds, fell over his broad shoulders, blowing in the soft tempests of Eden. A crown of state rested on his head, and his glistening white silk robes fell to the ground, half concealing his jeweled sandals.
But it was the haunting beauty of the stranger’s face that Nick could hardly take his eyes from: the high imperial cheekbones, the passionate crimson mouth.
Nick watched as a second figure approached from the golden bulrush meadows. The raven-haired stranger turned.
The second figure was of similar height, but his countenance was gentler. His pale gold tresses were plaited with platinum and hung loose down his back over a pale blue frock coat. His ethereal features were flawless, almost pretty: the perfectly carved cheekbones, the regal heart-shaped countenance. His clear gray eyes were gentle yet piercing.
“Gabriel . . . ?” Nick whispered.
Jether walked up slowly behind Nick and placed his hand on his shoulder.
“Yes,” he said softly. “It is Gabriel, chief prince, the Revelator. He meets with his elder brother.”
“Michael?” Nick asked.
Silent, Jether shook his head. They watched as the two brothers bowed to each other in the protocol of the First Heaven.
“No, not Michael,” he said softly.
Jether gazed out at the reflection of the twelve palest-blue moons that glistened on the First Heaven’s horizon, watching the lilac hues shift to a deep majestic indigo.
Nick followed Jether’s gaze, staring up at a soaring gold-columned palace that towered high above the western wall, far in the distance.
“The Palace of Archangels,” Jether said. “The three chief princes, three brothers, dwelt within those walls in harmony and kinship.”
Nick turned back to the two brothers, who were in intense discussion.
“He is mesmerizing, the one Gabriel meets.”
“He was once the fairest, most devoted of all the angelic host. Prince regent, second only to Christos in status.”
Jether turned to Nick, a strange sadness in his pale blue eyes.
“Before the darkening shadows of insurrection fell over the realm of the First Heaven—before he, seraph, great archangel, light bearer, was banished.”
Nick stared down at two towering golden doors engraved with the emblem of the Royal House. They were barred. Jether followed his gaze.
“The majestic West Wing. It has been barred since his banishment, in other worlds long since departed.
“You have seen him once before,” Jether said very softly.
“No.” Nick shook his head. “No, I’ve never seen him. I’d remember.”
“Four years ago. At Mont St. Michel.”
Nick stared at Jether in disbelief.
“You saw him in his earthly guise as a Jesuit priest.”
“There was a special guest,” Nick murmured. “High security. Royalty, Hilde said. The West Wing was off limits to all other visitors. He was standing at the very edge of the balcony of the West Wing, playing the violin. More like a priest than a prince.”
Jether nodded.
“I remember how he played. I had never heard music like that. Each note pierced through to my soul. It was haunting yet, at the same time, beautiful. Exquisite. Poignant. Almost lonely.”
“It is the only thing left to Him of all that once was,” Jether said softly.
“Who is he, Jether?”
“He has many names.” Jether looked at Nick, unsmiling. “None of them pleasant.
“He has deluded many of the Race of Men about his actual existence. In their minds, if he does not exist, neither, perhaps, does Yehovah. The Race of Men’s minds are his willing playground.”
Nick gazed at Lucifer, speechless.
“Yes,” said Jether. “You know him among the Race of Men as the devil, Satan, the Dragon.”
“And yet, standing there in Eden, he looks completely at peace,” Nick said. “You see him today, Lucifer the light bearer. In this world, he has certain immunities, which will be revoked after the war between him and his brother, Michael the Archangel. Even here in Eden, he is but a shadow of what he used to be.”
Jether’s eyes grew distant.
“I was his mentor, Nicholas, as I was to all three brothers. But Lucifer—oh . . . ” Jether sighed. “He was unique, exceptional in every way, except for one minute flaw, which ultimately became his demise. Finally, his pride and arrogance flawed his reasoning.
“Now only melancholy surrounds him. He has no peace. The only peace he has is when he walks in Eden. But he cannot retain it.
“He used to walk hand in hand with Yehovah, along the paths he walks today. They would discuss the universes, the cosmos and its galaxies. He would lay his head on Yehovah’s shoulder in complete adoration.”
“How did he fall, Jether?” Nick whispered. “You who were his mentor—surely you, of all, must know.”
Jether’s eyes were distant.
“In eons past, when Yehovah created the Race of Men, he feared that man would usurp his place with Yehovah. On learning that the Race of Men’s DNA, unlike that of the angelic race, was an exact replica of Yehovah’s own, he became consumed by jealousy. It was like a canker growing inside him. His dislike of the Race of Men became loathing. Loathing became hatred, until he had but one obsession: the destruction of the Race of Men.
“One day, hours before the Race of Men would receive the breath of life, he pleaded desperately with Yehovah to desist in His plan, saying that the Race of Men was folly. That they would break His heart.”
“And yet, in turn, it was Lucifer who broke His heart?”
“For a fleeting moment it seemed so. It was at the inaugural ceremony for the Race of Men that Lucifer and his third of the angelic host stormed Yehovah’s throne. Rebellion that has never been seen before or since in our world.
“Sin cannot stand in the holiness of Yehovah’s all- consuming fire. Lucifer miscalculated. He and a third of his angelic host were burnt beyond recognition, their once exquisite features marred.”
“And yet today he . . . he . . . ”
Jether studied Nick’s face. “You are still awed by his beauty?”
Nick nodded in silence.
“When he is in our world, he recaptures some of what he once was when he was prince regent. The fairest of all the brothers.”
Nick stared in wonder as Lucifer turned. He studied the imperial chiseled face, the passionate ruby mouth, the intelligent, piercing blue eyes framed by gleaming blue-black hair that fell past his shoulders.
He reminds me of . . . of . . . It can’t be.” Nick stared at Jether in shock.
“He reminds you of Adrian,” Jether whispered. Nick looked at Jether.
“He is his son?”
Jether shook his head.
“No. He is his clone. He shares the same genomic code.”
Nick looked at Jether in disbelief.
“We knew Adrian was a clone. But not who his father . . . ”
“Adrian De Vere reigns supreme in the world of men. The Son of Perdition, ruler of ten kingdoms. The Antichrist. But now that the Rapture has taken place, he contends no longer with the prayers of the saints on earth. He will now wage war with the saints who remain.
“Let us walk.” Jether took Nick’s arm in his. “Lawrence . . . ” Nick hesitated. “Lawrence, can I ask you something that has puzzled me?”
Jether smiled at Nick. “Of course.”
“Do you, as an angelic king, have all knowledge of all things past, present, and future?” He hesitated. “Does Lucifer?”
“Nicholas . . . ” Jether closed his eyes. “The angelic, whether fallen as Lucif
er is, or unfallen as two-thirds of the angelic host remain, have knowledge of the past, but we, unlike Yehovah and Christos, are not omnipresent.
“Remember that Lucifer’s antithesis is Michael, not Christos. Only Yehovah is supreme, invincible, and all powerful. He is the Almighty. Lucifer, as I, Michael, and our angelic host, is a created being, even as you are. What you are asking is, do we have knowledge of future events? We are like you, the Race of Men, in that respect. We rely on Gabriel’s reconnaissance activities. You call it intelligence gathering.”
“But you . . . ” Nick stopped.
“I, as an ancient king and elder of the High Council— yes, it is true. Many times, I see further ahead into the future, as does Gabriel, but it is as a seer, Nicholas. I hold no omniscience.
“Only one is omniscient. Only one is omnipresent. Only one is omnipotent. All knowing, everywhere present, all powerful.”
His eyes grew distant.
“There are times when Yehovah chooses to reveal the future to us, His holy elders. But in his omniscient wisdom, there are times when He allows us as his angelic host to discover for ourselves what lies ahead. If we knew all things, Nicholas, we would not need to trust Him. We would not need faith. It is because, like you, we walk by faith, seeing as through a glass darkly, yet still believing, that we, too, as the angelic, please Him, the One we love. The One we serve.
“Today we go to His Garden.” He led Nick through a narrow pearl arbor covered with vines laden with lush silver fruit. Past the heady perfume of the magnificent hanging blossoms of the gardens of fragrance that exuded the aromas of frankincense and spikenard. As they walked, Nick shielded his eyes from the intense shafts of crimson light radiating from far beyond. Finally, they came to an inconspicuous grotto at the very edge of the cliffs of Eden, surrounded by eight ancient olive trees.
“Christos’s garden,” Jether whispered. He pushed open the humble wooden gate.
Gradually, the rays settled, revealing, a hundred feet ahead and across a vast chasm, the colossal Rubied Door, ablaze with light, embedded into the jacinth walls of the tower. The entrance to the throne room. Between the cliff face and the throne room entrance was a sheer drop where the fountains of life flowed from Yehovah’s throne, thousands of leagues downward to the waters of Eden, then north, south, east, and west to water the First Heaven. There was no bridge across.
Jether led the way to a simple bench, carved of olive wood, in the center of the grotto. He watched as Nick stared toward the throne room, his face enraptured.
“He is not here?”
“No,” Jether murmured. “He talks with His Father.”
Nick stared out in wonder at the Rubied Door. Tears filled his eyes.
“When He was on Earth, He said, ‘Blessed are those who have not seen me, and yet believe . . . ’”
Jether’s eyes shone with adoration.
“It was here in this garden that it all began. It was here that Christos shared with Lucifer about the advent of the Race of Men. It was here that his treachery began.”
“But why?” Nick asked. “After his treachery, why is he still allowed here in the First Heaven?”
“For over two millennia, he has had access to the First Heaven. Bringing railing accusations in our great courtrooms, against the Race of Men.
“But the Third Great War, a war between Michael and Lucifer, draws nigh. If he loses, he will be thrown down through one of seven Portals to Earth, never to return to this planet. Never to return to the First Heaven.
“He is here this day because he senses that his time is short.”
Jether sighed.
“Nicholas, I must return.”
“To Earth?”
“Yes, to Earth.”
Nick studied Jether’s face. “It’s Jason, isn’t it?”
Jether sighed. “Jason is in great danger, Nicholas. He enters the valley of the shadow even as we speak. I must alert Michael. We must move swiftly.”
Jether anointed Nick with the sign of the cross.
“Until my return.” Jether kissed Nick on both cheeks, then vanished.
“Jason . . . ,” Nick whispered.
And fell to his knees.
Chapter Forty-six
Jerusalem
Jason ran for his life across the few yards that separated the intersections of King David, Agron, and Mamilla Streets.
He glanced up at the descending Apache helicopters. They were closing in on him. He dived underneath a stream of tracer bullets, into the sheltered entrance of the Waldorf Astoria Hotel, and stopped, gasping for air behind one of the arches in the ornate foyer.
Thank God the 2018 peace agreement had removed the need for the previously rigorous security measures throughout the city.
He took a deep breath, then walked unhindered through the foyer, receiving only a rapid glance of disapproval from the pretty night receptionist on duty at the front desk. She gazed in faint disapproval at the blood and dust on his shirt, then instantly switched on a false smile.
“Shalom, sir.”
“Shalom,” Jason replied brusquely, walking toward the elevator.
He paused, then retraced his steps to the reception desk, took his wallet from his back pocket, and thrust his driver’s license in the receptionist’s face.
She looked down at the license, then back up at Jason in vague recognition. His photo had been splashed over the Jerusalem papers for weeks during his takeover of the Israeli TV cable companies Yes and Hot.
“Jason De Vere?”
“My brother.”
She nodded. “He’s in the presidential suite.”
“He’s expecting me.”
“Of course, Mr. De Vere, sir.”
She passed a magnetic card through a scanner and gestured to a private lift opposite the lobby bar.
“The card unlocks the lift and the presidential suite entrance, Mr. De Vere.”
She placed her hand on the phone. Jason placed his hand on hers and smiled politely.
“A surprise,” he said hoarsely. “For my brother.”
She removed her hand from the phone and smiled broadly. “Of course, Mr. De Vere. We are all honored to host such a distinguished guest.”
Jason walked into the slim gold elevator and placed the card in the reader just as eight militia tore through the hotel entrance. The elevator doors closed.
* * *
There was only one destination. Jason pulled General Assaf’s pistol from his waistband just as the elevator doors slid open.
Jason walked out into the vast expanse of the presidential suite. He looked around him, at the grand piano and the enormous dining table. Guber materialized as if out of nowhere, as did four of Adrian’s security guards. Jason leaned against the marble wall, gun in hand.
Kurt Guber stepped toward him.
Presidential Suite, Waldorf Astoria Hotel, Jerusalem
Adrian walked out of the sauna in a towel, rubbing his jet black hair with a hand towel.
“Your brother is here, sir.” Kurt Guber gave Adrian a knowing look. “He seems somewhat overwrought.”
“I can handle Jason.”
“He has a gun.”
Adrian stopped in mid step, without looking up, a strange smile on his lips.
“Jason has a gun? How curious.”
Adrian walked through two ornately carved doors to the suite.
* * *
“Jason.” He smiled. “Drink?”
Jason shook his head. “Call your thugs off, Adrian,” he said.
Adrian stared straight into the barrel of the semiautomatic pistol, then raised his blue eyes into Jason’s steely gaze.
He waved Guber back. Guber hesitated.
“Guber, lock down the security arrangements for the opening of the Third Temple.”
“I don’t like it, Mr. President, sir.”
“I said lock down the security arrangements,” Adrian said icily.
Guber bowed, then took the exit down the back stairs, followed by Adrian�
�s personal security team.
“Oh, and, Guber . . . ” Adrian didn’t look up from drying his hair. “Travis stays.”
Guber nodded to Neil Travis and two of his agents, then left down the back stairs with the rest of his security team.
Travis stood inside the penthouse’s sitting room door, with two agents behind him. He raised his Beretta, his eyes never leaving Jason’s for a moment. Adrian shook his head.
“My brother is a little . . . emotional right now,” he said. “Understandably so.” Adrian gave the faintest hint of a smile.
“I said call your thugs off.”
Adrian nodded to Neil Travis. “Wait outside. My brother and I require privacy.”
Slowly Travis holstered his gun and walked over to the solid brass penthouse doors, followed by two agents. Adrian watched till the doors clicked shut behind him, then walked over to the wet bar and poured Jason a whisky.
“You seem a little tense.”
He casually held the whisky out to Jason, who took it with his free hand and slugged it down. Then Adrian calmly poured himself a mineral water.
Jason kept the gun trained on Adrian. “You’re going to contravene the “Solomon Concordat,” aren’t you?” he said calmly. “You’re going to betray Israel.”
“Israel?” Adrian slowly turned to face Jason. “Oh, I forgot, you’re actually, technically, a Jew, aren’t you. How ironic. Is this what all this commotion is about? My betraying Israel? I didn’t realize you had such strong political sentiments.”
“I don’t,” Jason said evenly. “You killed Mother, you bastard.”
Adrian sipped at the mineral water, placed his glass down, and continued drying his hair.
“Lawrence had a second autopsy carried out,” Jason continued. “By a top forensic pathologist. Ex MI-Six. One ampoule of potassium chloride—undetectable in an autopsy.”
He raised the gun in line with Adrian’s head. “Unless you’re trained to look for it.”
“Impressive, Jason. Quite the private detective, or maybe I should credit the interfering Professor Lawrence St. Cartier.”
Adrian continued to rub his hair with the towel. “It was quick.” He smiled. “She didn’t suffer.”
“Unlike Nick,” Jason replied.
Adrian froze.
