by Tim LaHaye
“Apparently you haven’t been reading AmeriNews,” Abigail said. “That’s the only information source on the web that’s covering it.”
“All thanks to Mom, by the way,” Cal said. “She chased that FCC commissioner’s limo down I-66 just to get his attention.”
Abigail chuckled. “Actually, it was God’s doing. A miracle, the way it all transpired. But when Tulrude succeeded Corland, she appointed one of her cronies as the new chairman of that federal agency. Now AmeriNews is the only show in town in terms of alternate communications and news. Until we get another president, of course, which is what we are praying for and working toward.”
“Well, as much as I appreciate the political science lesson, I still don’t get it. These pictures. Where are you going with this?”
Abigail nodded. “Okay, so you know where Coliquin is now.”
“Sure. He’s secretary-general of the United Nations.”
“And very much supported by President Tulrude,” Abigail noted.
Cal had wandered off into the kitchenette to look for a snack in the fridge. He yelled out to them, “They’re like kissing cousins.”
Abigail nodded. “The point is that Coliquin is dropping obvious endorsements in the press for Tulrude, saying that if Tulrude wins the upcoming election it will not only be good for America, but for international peace, security, unity, and environmental safety around the world. The fact is, Tulrude’s victory in November is a political necessity for Coliquin — it will be the glue that holds together the global power base that he’s built for his agenda.”
Deborah pointed back to the enlarged photo of Coliquin’s hand. She waited for the punch-line. “And this picture?”
“Okay,” Abigail continued, “look at the ring on Coliquin’s left hand. Very unusual. I’ve checked the design on it in several anthropology texts. It’s based on an ancient Egyptian design. Full of occult, pagan symbolism. Belltether must have thought this was highly significant because he obviously snapped the picture when Coliquin wasn’t looking. Then he enlarged it. The article he sent us documented the corruption — even allegations of conspiracy and murder — involving Coliquin back in his native Romania. Now that Belltether is dead, the AmeriNews staff is working overtime, double-checking his sources so we can publish it. But Belltether also included a note in the packet. He said he planned on a second exposé against Coliquin, a story he thought would have, in his words, ‘even more astounding revelations.’ But with his murder, we may never know what he had in mind.”
“Okay,” Deborah shot back, “maybe Coliquin’s a bad actor. So what?”
“Listen carefully to what I’m about to tell you,” Abigail said, “and then decide if you can do what I’m going to ask you to do.”
She had Deborah’s attention. Her daughter had her head forward, eyes glued on her mother.
“Senator Hank Hewbright is in jeopardy. There’s evidence that he’s threatened, and I mean personally. I’m talking assassination. His chief campaign manager in Wichita was murdered. John Gallagher has heard rumors of Hewbright’s Allfone being hacked.”
When Abigail paused momentarily, Deborah cut in. “That’s all you have? That’s pretty sketchy.”
“No. There’s more. One of Hewbright’s closest advisors may be a fraud.” Deborah cocked her head and waited. Abigail finished the thought. “The name the traitor goes by is Zeta Milla. She’s an attractive foreign-policy expert on Hewbright’s campaign,” Abigail explained. “Supposedly a refugee from communist Cuba as a child, escaping with her family on a small boat. After I met her in Colorado following one of Hewbright’s speeches, I asked Gallagher to do some background investigation into the records down in Miami. There were news reports back then about a family escaping Cuba on a little rowboat with a makeshift sail. The parents died on the trip over, but a young girl survived. Her name was kept out of the article because she was a minor.”
“Okay, so it checked out?”
“Not really. John told me he found a death certificate online in the Miami-Dade records for a young girl of Cuban descent, of the same age, who died about a week after the article was published. She was listed as ‘Jane Doe.’ The cause of death was listed as exposure, but John kept digging and found out that the birth certificate was a double. The original had the name of the girl on it, but someone had it destroyed and replaced it with Jane Doe.”
“All right,” Deborah shot back, “let’s say this Zeta Milla stole the identity of this dead Cuban girl and used the story for her own purposes. Even assuming that’s the case, it may prove she’s dishonest, but not that she’s a threat to Hewbright.”
“When I met Zeta Milla in Denver,” Abigail said, “I noticed something.” Abigail held up the enlarged photo of Coliquin’s hand. “She was wearing the same ring that Coliquin is wearing in Belltether’s photo. I think these two are part of the same little club.”
Deborah took the photo from her mother’s hand, a look of shock on her face. “Okay … I see. Right. What do you want me to do?”
“I need you to contact a friend of mine named Pack McHenry. He runs a private counterintelligence group, the Patriots. You’ve heard Dad and me speak highly of him. He has super-secret security clearance and has worked with American intelligence services.” Deborah nodded slowly. “First, you need him to supply you with a fake ID. Let’s call you Deborah Shelly. Use your middle name as your last.”
“Mom, what’s going on?”
“I need you to get close to someone important.”
“But I’m already BIDTagged. A fake ID won’t match my bio in the BIDTag system.”
“Another reason you need to contact McHenry. While his computer guys haven’t been able to duplicate the actual BIDTag laser process — to our knowledge there is only one person in the world who has managed to achieve that — Pack’s IT team can do the next best thing — they can substitute personal data information in your government database. Look, Deb, the people you are going to be dealing with can’t know you’re part of the Jordan family. That’s crucial. Now, when you get hold of Pack McHenry, you also have to ask him something else. We need him to access the passport records of this Zeta Milla. See if she has a history of travel to Romania while Coliquin was ambassador.”
“And if she did?”
“Deb, I need you to undertake a dangerous assignment, and it can’t wait. I would do it myself, but for the next forty-eight hours I’m going to be otherwise occupied.”
“Occupied? Doing what?”
Abigail and her son gave each other a knowing nod. Cal filled in the blanks.
“Backpacking in the Northwest. Locating rebels.”
TWENTY-NINE
Jerusalem
At the outdoor café Ethan was tilting up the little cup of Turkish espresso to catch the last drop, but in the process he caught a mouth full of grounds. He made a face as he swallowed them, then took a swig from his water bottle. “Josh,” he said, “I know there must be a way to drink that stuff without swallowing the grit, but I still haven’t learned it.”
Joshua pointed to his cup of tea. “I’ll have to convert you to this stuff, just like Abigail did for me. I used to be a coffee addict, but Abigail kept after me — even from the other side of the planet — to change my diet, food, drink, everything. I think she wants me to live to a hundred! Frankly, I think I won’t make it — because I have the feeling Jesus is coming any day now.” He swallowed the rest of his Madagascar tea, set down his cup, and pointed a finger at Ethan. “And when that happens, if you haven’t put your faith in Christ, while I’m up there with Him, you’re still going to be down here picking up the pieces — living in a shattered world that’ll be run by the Devil himself. Something to think about.”
Ethan tossed his boss a halfhearted smile. By now he was used to Joshua exaggerating about religious stuff — particularly the “Jesus is about to rapture his church” bit. Since they were both living in a kind of exile now in Israel, at least until Joshua’s legal case got straigh
tened out, it was almost a daily occurrence. Something was constantly grabbing Joshua’s attention — a news item in the online Haaretz or Jerusalem Post or an archaeological discovery or just the sight of some tourist spot ‘where Jesus once walked’ — that’s all that it would take to launch his mentor into a full-length sermon. When Ethan accepted the offer to work as the personal assistant to Joshua Jordan — world-class spy-plane pilot, engineering genius, and American hero — he never expected to be accompanying a traveling evangelist.
But that wasn’t the only thing on Ethan’s mind. As Joshua got up and rather stiffly reached his arm around to grab his wallet and pay the bill, Ethan was struggling with something in his own head. Maybe this gig isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. I’ve been in Israel for months. What am I really doing here? My job description changes every day. It’s almost like Josh wants me close to him, but why, I don’t know. Okay, so maybe he has to stay here because he’s got a hairy criminal case hanging over his head. But not me. I’m free to go back — anytime I want to.
I wonder if it’s time to head back to the good old U.S.A. Spruce up my résumé. See if Raytheon is hiring again. I’ll think it over. Start breaking it to Josh slowly.
Joshua pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket with the same rigid movement that Ethan knew well — the shoulders seemed to limit his movement. “My grocery list,” Joshua said waving the emailed note. “Abigail’s got me on this Mediterranean diet of vegetables and fruit. Says she thinks maybe it’s going to help my headaches and the other stuff.”
Yeah, Ethan had witnessed the “other stuff.” The injuries Josh had received at the hands of his sadistic Iranian captors two years before were still apparent.
“Let’s head over to the Souk,” Joshua said, pointing across the street to the Mahame Yehuda Market. “I’ll pick up some veggies.”
“Just don’t invite me over for dinner,” Ethan said. “I’m still a meat-and-potatoes guy. And I’ve developed a taste for Argentinean beef over here.”
As they approached the entrance of the open-air market, flanked by trucks that were unloading, Ethan’s Allfone vibrated. It was a text. He opened it up, surprised to see that it was from Deborah Jordan.
Hi, Ethan. Deborah here. Been meaning to connect. How’s life in Israel? Maybe we can talk sometime. Catch up on your life. Is my dad keeping you in line? Ha. Ha. DJ
“Huh,” Ethan muttered under his breath as they walked. Joshua gave him a quick glance but didn’t ask about it. Ethan slipped the Allfone back in his pocket. Ten seconds later, it vibrated again. Was this another message from Deborah? Man, she must really be thinking about me, Ethan thought.
As the two of them entered the noisy crush of local shoppers meandering through the long single aisle of the outdoor market with food stands on each side, he read the newest text. But it wasn’t from Deborah.
Two Shin Bet agents coming to arrest Joshua. Then extradite him to USA. Get out quick.
He tapped the Source function to see who sent it.
Sender not identified.
Ethan pushed the tab on his Allfone for a special application and turned on the function that said, “All Sender Data Fields.” But the screen read:
Sender’s identity is hyper-blocked.
At the vegetable stand, Joshua had a plastic bag in his hand and was putting an eggplant and a few green peppers in it. Ethan stepped up next to him, his heart pounding and his adrenaline pumping.
“We got to get out of here, Josh,” he said quietly.
“What’s the problem?”
“Just keep cool. I got a text from an anonymous source, telling me two agents from Shin Bet are coming to arrest you, to extradite you back to the U.S.”
“Must be a mistake —”
“I get the feeling it’s not. And it’s my job to protect you.”
“But my relationship with the Israelis has been good here.”
“You mean — like the meeting you told me about with Prime Minister Bensky, when you insulted his favorite peace plan right to his face?”
Joshua stepped over to the vendor and paid him a couple of shekels. Ethan scanned the market in all directions. “Let’s not take any chances. Okay? Gotta go now. Quickest way is the entrance we came in.”
But as they turned, Ethan spotted two broad-shouldered men in sunglasses, one a bald guy wearing a black T-shirt and a tan suit, and the other, a muscular guy in jeans and a tank top. He turned to Joshua. “I think I’ve spotted them. They don’t exactly look like French chefs doing their grocery shopping,” Ethan whispered. “We need to get down to the other end — fast.”
Joshua tried to look casual as he picked up the speed, but soon he and Ethan were jostling customers as they made their way through the congested market.
“Switch on the afterburners,” Ethan grunted, “they’re getting closer.” Ethan half-glanced to the side and noticed that the men were about twenty yards behind them, coming straight in their direction. “Run!” Ethan yelled. They sprinted down the aisle toward the daylight at the end of the market ahead of them. Ethan could hear the commotion behind him as Ram and his other Shin Bet agent were barreling through customers, knocking them to the ground and tipping over trays of spices and tomatoes as they went.
The two agents were now ten yards away and closing fast. Ethan spotted a truck at the end of the market, just beyond the big metal door that was being rolled down by a food manager. Next to that was a small entrance doorway leading to the outside. A forklift was parked out front.
At the end of the Souk, Ethan shoved Joshua through the open doorway and turned to look behind him. He caught a glimpse of a young female in a green grocer’s apron and a scarf wrapped around her head. She looked so familiar he could only ask in that instant — Could it be?
The woman was carrying a large tray of fish heads swimming in juice. She tossed the slimy contents onto the ground in front of the two agents. Their feet flew up into the air as they landed on their backsides on the slippery walkway.
Outside, the engine of the produce truck revved up, and Ethan pointed to the empty cargo hold in the back and yelled to Joshua, “Jump in!”
While Joshua climbed stiffly into the back of the truck, Ethan hopped onto the forklift, hit the start button, shifted it into gear, and rammed it into the door opening, blocking it completely. Then he sprinted after the truck as it started to rumble down the street. Joshua was holding on to the metal tie-off loop on the side of the truck with one hand while leaning out of the back of the truck with his other hand outstretched.
He was yelling to Ethan. “Faster!”
Ethan was pumping his legs like a machine, until he reached out and felt Joshua’s hand. Joshua yanked hard. Ethan pulled himself up into the truck while Joshua bit the side of his lip and gave a wincing grimace of pain. They pulled the two canvas tarps down over the back of the truck and peeked out through the space between them.
Ram and the other Shin Bet agent had rolled up the big metal door by then. They were now standing in the middle of the alley staring at the truck as it picked up speed and headed out onto Jaffa Street, in the direction of Allenby Square.
On a folding chair on the driveway, on the other side of the door leading into the market where the two angry agents had now disappeared, a food vendor was taking a break. On a table he had his tiny wireless Internet TV tuned to the news. A reporter was standing outside of the Knesset building in Jerusalem. The man turned up the volume. “It was just announced today,” the reporter said, “that in a show of political brinksmanship, Prime Minister Sol Bensky has mustered his coalition behind the multifaceted United Nations peace plan for Israel, the Palestinians, and the Arab states. The treaty will be signed tonight in an historic ceremony in the prime minister’s residence …”
The reporter glanced down at his notes, raised his face to the camera again, and concluded. “United Nations Secretary-General Alexander Coliquin has said that the signing of his treaty proposal by Israel marks a new era of peace and prosperit
y — not only for Israel — but for the entire planet.”
THIRTY
Edinburgh, Scotland
Bishop Dibold Kora was at the podium in the outdoor arena, just off of the Royal Mile and within a stone’s throw of Edinburgh Castle, the dark medieval structure perched up high on a solid rock cliff, overlooking the city.
On the dais behind him was the Archbishop of Canterbury and the head of the Church of Scotland, along with the young Dalai Lama, two Hindu priests, a special emissary from the Vatican, an American Indian chief, the president of Wiccans International, several representatives from tribal South American and African religious groups, and the Chancellor of the Gnostic Church of the European Union. Seated directly behind the podium was the head mufti of the Waqf, the Islamic trust that had, up to that day at least, exclusively controlled the Temple Mount plateau in Jerusalem.
The arena was filled. Special box seats had been constructed for royalty from Jordan, Saudi Arabia, England, Morocco, Belgium, and a dozen other nations. The international press was granted access to the first ten rows. Two television platforms had been set up to accommodate the Internet television coverage that was being disseminated, live, over every network on the globe.
Kora, the special advisor to Coliquin, was finishing his introductory comments.
“Last night, Israel signed the historic peace treaty that has been painstakingly forged by my hero and my good friend — Alexander Coliquin, secretary-general of the United Nations. This was an astounding achievement of historic proportions: Israel, the Palestinian Authority, and the entire Arab League, all in agreement, all in good faith, walking together, into a future of peace. But as significant as that is, the Charter of Common Belief signed here at Edinburgh Castle today is equally monumental — a document that will go down in history as a stunning, evolutionary development — a Magna Carta, if you will — of jointly held values. A pledge of the world’s religions to preserve earth from the ravages of carbon emissions that cause global warming; to insure the rich will be held accountable to provide for the poor through an internationally uniform system of enforced cooperation and equalized property ownership; to oppose the spread and dissemination of absolutist religious dogmas and rigid doctrinal beliefs that damage the spiritual harmony of our world; and most importantly, to rejoice because we have discovered a common god that everyone, everywhere, can now worship in peace and tranquility.”
