The Sealing

by Patrick Higgins

  “A blue Armani pinstriped suit. A man came to our suite the night we checked in to take my measurements. Cost two-thousand dollars. Insane, I know. It was Hana’s idea…”

  Braxton whistled, “You got that right!”

  But for Nigel Jones, that price range was almost in his neighborhood. Not quite there, but close. At least, the old Nigel Jones.

  “What color tie?”

  “I think I chose a blue and white striped tie.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Yogesh nodded yes. “Why do you ask?”

  Nigel said, “The two men in the tent with me will be Middle Eastern Christians who have been recruited to help you escape. Both are the same height as you and have dark skin. I’ll make sure they’re wearing similar suits and ties, only they won’t be nearly as expensive as yours…

  “Once you reach the tent, you’ll remove your suit jacket and put on a safari hat and sunglasses. They will do the same. Time will be of the essence. The goal will be to get you in and out as quickly as possible. The three of you will rush off in different directions, to hopefully buy us a few more seconds. We must assume that many will be out looking for you.”

  Yogesh gulped hard but kept listening.

  Braxton said, “Nigel will point you in my direction. I’ll be wearing a yellow T-shirt and baseball cap with smiley faces on them.” He shot a quick glance at Nigel, “I know, doesn’t exactly fit my personality, right?”

  Jones wanted to burst out in laughter. Never in a million years did he think Rice would wear such things. But this wasn’t the time or the place.

  “I decided on bright colors because it will be nighttime. Anyway,” Braxton went on, “Once you reach my canopy tent, roughly a hundred meters ahead, you’ll strip out of your clothing and disguise yourself as a Muslim woman...”

  Yogesh was taking a sip of green tea and nearly spit it out of his mouth, “You can’t be serious?”

  “Do you want to escape?”

  Yogesh nodded yes, “Sorry. Please go on.”

  “A black burqa will cover you from head to toe. Only your eyes will be exposed. You’ll even have fake breasts underneath. Three more Middle Eastern Christians matching your size and description will already be wearing black burqas. They will form a circle around you when you change.

  “After pointing you to the getaway vehicle, they’ll scatter off in opposite directions like the first two men to hopefully keep the enemy off your scent a few seconds more. Every minute will count. The car you’ll be looking for is a white Audi SUV. You’ll look for a bright pink ‘I Love Dubai’ baseball cap on the dashboard.

  “Get in as quickly as you can and pray you weren’t spotted. Since we’ll be in enemy territory, we’ll be flying blind, so to speak.”

  When Yogesh looked confused, Nigel Jones said, “No mobile phones or anything that can be traced and monitored. You’ll need to get rid of your phone or leave it in your hotel suite. Just make sure all sensitive materials have first been deleted, in case it ends up in the wrong hands.”

  Yogesh sighed, “I understand.”

  Rice let his eyes wander over the coffee shop. This meeting needed to end soon. “This is as simple as we can make it for you, Yogesh. The key is executing the plan from start to finish. There will be no room for error. No do overs so to speak. The first step is leaving from the right exit and going to the first canopy tent as quickly as you can. We’ll point you in the right direction from there. Any questions?”

  “Not at this time. I understand the plan. Like you said, it’s simple.”

  “That’s what I like to hear…”

  Yogesh raised his face mask to take the final sip of green tea. His hands shook so much that he had to rest his elbows on the table. “Any final advice for me, gentlemen?”

  Braxton eyeballed Yogesh, “Yeah. No matter what happens, keep the main thing the main thing.” When Yogesh raised an eyebrow, Rice said, “The goal is to bear witness to Jesus and point others to Him, right?”

  Sweat was visible on Yogesh’s forehead. “That’s the plan.”

  “I know Salvador Romanero will be there, not to mention your wife and daughter, but what matters most is testifying for our Lord. When the whole arena turns on you, which they will, you must find a way to block it all out and remain focused until you finish saying what God put on your heart! Everything else will just be noise.”

  Yogesh said, “Hope I don’t let you down.”

  “Let us down?” Braxton eyeballed Yogesh, “No matter what happens tomorrow, brother, you’re already my hero. Soon, you’ll be a hero to many. You inspire me more can you can imagine…”

  Nigel Jones became teary-eyed, “I couldn’t be prouder of you, mate. Take it from this billionaire; your impact will be greater than any business deal I’ve ever orchestrated! So much so that a thousand years from now, a million years, we’ll still be talking about how the Most High used you greatly for His glory.”

  “That’s deep, Nigel.”

  “And one hundred percent true. I wish more people had your guts.”

  Yogesh wanted to smile, but he was too frightened. He wanted to ask one of them to change places with him. Instead he said, “Please pray for me, brothers…”

  “I assure you many will be praying for you from this moment on, especially when you’re inside the arena. Let that comfort you.”

  Once they were outside, Nigel Jones said, “Keep fighting the Good fight, Yogesh. Pray for us as we pray for you. God is with us.”

  At that, they went their separate ways…

  28

  ONE YEAR AFTER THE RAPTURE

  FOR MANY, THE ONE-year remembrance of the disappearances was full of mixed emotions. They fluctuated from solemn to celebratory.

  On this Day of New Beginnings—the second of three new international holidays proclaimed by Salvador Romanero—the day began for many by attending memorial services honoring those who’d vanished from the face of the earth, without warning, last November.

  Everyone was a year older and had new deaths to mourn and families to re-patch together again. They were still trying to adjust to this new and ever-changing world, a world that barely resembled life on the planet twelve months ago. The hope was that this day of new beginnings would be just that: a solid step in the right direction.

  With three months to recuperate from the disastrous ‘Universal Children’s Day’ celebration, the first 100 mothers to give birth since the disappearances were in Dubai.

  The first 89, anyway; the other eleven were merely pinch hitting for mothers who should have been here but weren’t. They were no longer welcome. At any rate, everyone hoped this second international holiday would go more smoothly than the last one had. It was desperately needed.

  With so many world leaders, dignitaries, business moguls, celebrities, world-class athletes and ecumenical spiritualists occupying every seat inside the largest indoor arena in the Middle East, Dubai World Trade Centre Arena was the center of the universe.

  After rubbing elbows with the rich and famous at dinners, luncheons and social gatherings all week, the 100 “special” women were assembled up on stage for the awarding ceremony. On top of receiving numerous cards and expensive gifts from the powerful elite, each new mother found a gift bag on their seats full of items valued at U.S. $10,000.

  Needless to say, all were giddy with excitement.

  As the first woman to give birth, Hana Patel had the dubious honor of being seated next to the Miracle Maker. Try as she might, her mind still couldn’t grasp that the man for whom her daughter was named, who’d made her a wealthy woman practically overnight would soon be seated next to her. Even more remarkable was that he was only a few years older than she was.

  To Hana’s left was the 22-year-old woman from Brazil who was the second to give birth, Paula Gomes.

  Next to her was the third woman from China who gave birth in Tokyo, Japan, after a massive earthquake leveled much of her hometown of Beijing.

  Two seats away from he
rs was the fifth woman to give birth to the first American child, Salvador Rodriguez, from Seattle Washington.

  Not present in the front row, or in the arena for that matter, was the fourth woman to give birth, from Nigeria, Africa. She was killed along with her husband. What sealed her fate initially was, while most new mothers chose to name their children after their fearless leader, she refused to name her son, Salvador, not even as a middle name.

  Not that Romanero needed another reason, but if he did, her husband was later linked to the massive terrorist group that wreaked havoc in America and all throughout the Western Hemisphere, which resulted in the deaths of many pregnant women.

  He travelled to America on a Chinese cargo ship carrying the deadly agents used in the explosions on Universal Children’s Day. When the ship docked in Boston, Massachusetts he managed to slip away into the night.

  After the explosions, he narrowly escaped capture in the U.S. When he returned to Africa, global police were there waiting for him. He was shot dead in the front yard of the couple’s small house.

  When the okay was given for mothers to go home and start life anew with their children, the Nigerian woman never left the hospital.

  After being told the fate of her husband, she was given a strong sedative, then suffocated with a pillow until the last breath was sucked out of her comatose body.

  Her son was flown to Dubai on a private jet and given to a surrogate mother to raise in the Global Community. After being properly vetted, Yasamin Dabiri, a 26-year-old, glitzy-eyed Iranian woman was the lucky recipient. The young woman was raised Muslim, but quietly identified as a closet atheist to her many online friends, before the disappearances.

  After trying unsuccessfully to conceive with her husband for many years before the disappearances, she felt blessed to finally be with child, even if it didn’t come from her womb.

  Strangely enough, her husband was one of more than a million who were among the disappearances in Iran. She had no idea he was even a Christ follower. Needless to say, it rocked her world.

  Yasamin mourned the loss of her husband for many months before finally coming to grips with it. She was fortunate to escape Tehran shortly before it was destroyed in the earthquake and relocate to Dubai.

  After hoping and wishing for a child, the Miracle Maker answered her prayer. He quickly became Yasamin’s new religion. The first thing she did as the child’s new guardian was to rename her son, “Salvador”.

  Dabiri occupied the fourth seat in the front row on behalf of the Nigerian woman and would be awarded all gifts intended for the original mother, including the $100K monetary card. She was also given keys to a high-rise luxury apartment in the heart of Dubai, free of charge.

  Everyone knew she wasn’t the real mother. The fact that she was so light skinned with a dark-skinned baby on her lap, dictated that much.

  But no one questioned it. The sheer optics spoke volumes: apparently not even new mothers were above the law. Even they could be replaced if they became insubordinate to the GC.

  It was a sobering realization…

  Four rows of seats were set up behind the front row for the other 95 mothers. Some were breastfeeding hungry children. Others consoled crying infants. All babies wore surgical masks.

  Regardless of row or seat, all 100 women felt honored knowing they would soon share the stage with Salvador Romanero and the Pope.

  This was especially true for the ten “replacement” mothers, who just missed being part of the first 100.

  Suddenly, their financial struggles appeared to be over...

  Before leaving the hotel for the arena, the women about to be honored were told to remove all things religious and leave them in their suites. Crosses worn by women “identifying” as Christians had to be removed.

  Burqas and hijabs had to be removed. After nearly a billion Muslims were killed, most, fearing for their lives, stopped wearing them long ago.

  In Hana Patel’s case, it was the black tilak on the center of her forehead. In normal times, she would never agree to such a notion.

  But these weren’t normal times and she wasn’t the same woman she used to be. In Hinduism, the forehead or “third eye” signified spirituality. Hence, a tilak (or tilaka), was intended to take the individual’s thoughts towards spirituality, which was the main purpose of any religious act.

  Before traveling to the Middle East, Hana always had a red dot on her forehead. Red dots were commonly worn by married women. When she suddenly switched it for a black dot, it angered Yogesh.

  Even after explaining to her husband that she did it to ward off bad luck, so the good karma in their lives wouldn’t suddenly change to bad, Yogesh took this as the ultimate sign of disrespect.

  Sitting in the front row a short distance from the stage, Yogesh stared at his wife looking all aglow in her $5K gold sequin gown, very much resembling the elite company she now kept. The dress alone cost more than the old shack they’d recently vacated.

  He had the sudden urge to cry. The expensive gown had nothing to do with it. His sadness stemmed from knowing the glow on Hana’s face wouldn’t be there a short while from now. The very thought of what he was about to do, caused his stomach to twist in agony.

  Hana willed herself not to glance in her husband’s direction until the ceremony was over. As it was, she was still angry after the argument they’d had in their hotel suite before leaving for the arena. They seldom argued before Salvadora was born. Now it seemed that’s all they did.

  Hana knew it had nothing to do with the baby. It all came down to his Christian faith…And Salvador Romanero.

  After a one-hour massage, followed by a two-hour session with one of Dubai’s elite make-up artists, the last thing Hana wanted was to cry tears all over the masterful job he did on her face. She felt her husband’s negative energy all the way up on stage and felt no particular need to glance his way for now.

  Her last words before getting out of the limousine were, “Just because you’re uneasy with Salvador Romanero gives you no right to ruin this moment for me! If not for him, we’d still be living in a shack, completely dirt poor. Is that what you want? If so, you’re doing a good job.

  “You’ve already embarrassed me in front of so many friends and other people we have no business meeting in the first place. You couldn’t have looked any less impressed in their presence.”

  “Do you think they would still be your friends if you hadn’t won the contest?”

  “That’s not the point, Yogesh. What matters most is they love me, and I love them!”

  The way Hana said it made Yogesh cringe. This was the first time Hana ever made him feel as if they were more important to her than he was. He felt like an outsider, belittled and totally disrespected.

  “You’re right. We have no business meeting them because you and I both know you were pregnant before the contest was ever announced.”

  “Shh! I never want to hear you speak those words again! Why can’t you just accept the good fortune we’ve been blessed with? Please don’t ruin the award ceremony by dragging me down to your level of misery! Have you forgotten about the million dollars we will receive tonight?

  “You, not me…”

  “What do you mean by that?” It looks could kill…

  “Come on, Hana, you’re not blind. You see what’s going on…”

  “Think what you will. I plan on enjoying myself with my friends, even if you don’t.”

  Yogesh knew it was spiritual warfare, so he did his best to remain silent. But knowing the eternal consequences involved made it difficult.

  The one thing he overlooked among the hustle and bustle was the possibility of listening devices being planted in the limousine they rode to the arena, or in their hotel suite. As it turned out, every spoken word between them was recorded and would be analyzed later.

  This would bode well for Hana. She always defended Romanero, and really was one of his biggest and most loyal supporters.

  But not Yogesh. Totally
oblivious to it all, the only thing on his mind was what would soon become of him?

  Will I ever see my family again after today?

  29

  THE HOUSE LIGHTS WERE dimmed, and the soft futuristic instrumental music slowly faded, until silence fell upon the arena.

  The audience erupted when four large Hollywood-like spotlights up in the rafters were turned on and trumpets blared as the Pope and Salvador Romanero emerged on stage, to a rousing ovation.

  Everyone in the arena jumped out of their seats. The power flowing through the two men was so strong, it nearly knocked them over.

  Romanero was dressed in his now customary brilliant white suit. The bright lights glaring down on him made him glow even more. As per usual, every strand of his soft brown hair was perfectly in place. His dark brown eyes were fully aglow. His radiant olive skin made him look like an angel of light. It was hard to find a blemish on the man.

  After everyone had settled down, the Miracle Maker took a seat, as the Pope, wearing the same outfit he wore on the day Israel fell under attack, blessed each mother and child one by one in Salvador Romanero’s name. The Miracle Maker watched and nodded his approval.

  Romanero shat a quick glance at Hana. She was so excited, she started shaking uncontrollably and nearly fainted.

  At precisely 8:01 p.m. Dubai time—12:01 p.m., EST—all eyes were on Dubai World Trade Centre, as a moment of silence was recognized at the precise time at which the disappearances happened a year ago.

  The hundreds of thousands unable to get inside the arena grew silent with the rest of the world. Many shed tears and clung to photographs of departed loved ones who’d vanished from the planet, or were killed a year ago. They circled the arena hoping to meet royalty, dignitaries, celebrities and the rich and famous, as they came and went.

  After what happened on the original day of the peace treaty signing in Israel, when bombs suddenly started falling from the sky killing many in the streets of Jerusalem, and the numerous explosions on Universal Children’s Day killing tens of millions more, many outside Dubai World Trade Centre silently wished they were inside where it was much safer.