by Liam Fialkov
“OK Stewart, I get the picture,” Michael conceded, and checked the time in his cell phone.
“Michael,” McPherson said, still looking somber. “It’s not just your family that I’m asking you to separate from.”
“Who else?” Michael asked in a weary tone of voice.
“Me,” McPherson said. From now on we shouldn’t be seen together.”
“How will we communicate?”
“There will be someone who will meet you every now and then, and transfer messages between us. You should even erase my name from your phone book.”
Chapter 14
Tired, upset, and angry, Michael was not in a good mood on his way home to Brooklyn. What will I say to Melany? He fell asleep in the underground train and missed his station. Might as well, he thought to himself. After the short sleep, he felt better, like he managed to regenerate his strength to an extent.
After returning to his neighborhood by bus, he stopped at a corner coffee shop and had a cup of espresso and a bagel with cream cheese.
Melany was sitting on the Sofa, reading a story to Linda. “Hi Michael,” she greeted him. “Hi daddy,” said Linda. He tried to smile at them, and he could feel how Melany was reading him, knowing something had happened.
“Had a bad day?” Melany asked later, after they ate and Linda was already asleep. They sat across from each other, around the kitchen table, having tea.
He took a deep breath and sighed. “Melany,” he said, “do you know that I love you?”
“Michael,” she responded. “I love you a whole bunch.”
Michael’s smile was gloomy. “You asked if I had a bad day,” he said. My bad day is only starting.”
For a moment, she recalled when she fell in love with him. At the time, Michael was a trainee at the television network where her father was a senior producer, and he also played in her father’s amateur rock band. One evening, her father, who was fond of Michael, invited him to dinner at his home and asked him to play and sing a song that Michael had written. Melany remembered how the song, along with Michael’s guitar playing and singing, had touched a deep core inside of her. Later, she asked her father for Michael’s phone number, so she could ask him to go out with her. Over the years, she’d asked Michael to sing that song for her on numerous occasions, and it never failed to move her.
Now she looked at him with affection and waited.
“I met with Stewart McPherson today,” he said. “I already told you that I’m doing an assignment for him.”
“Yes,” she said, “about Newton.”
“Obviously, Newton has been dead for nearly 300 years,” Michael said. “But now there is a cult, organized, sophisticated, and well-funded, that wants to promote and follow on some of his mystical ideas.”
“In what way?” Melany sounded curious.
“By resurrecting the temple of Solomon.” Michael responded.
“Did Newton ever intended to do that?” She asked.
“I don’t know,” Michael responded. “But he believed that the temple would be rebuilt in Jerusalem, and will be even more magnificent than the original, and that will happen when Christ will return to reign on earth.
“Wow,” Melany was amazed. “If I understand what you’re telling me, then it’s quite a volatile situation. From their perspective, rebuilding the temple, would make possible the return of Christ.
“You got it,” Michael said. “McPherson fears, and it’s not an unfounded fear, that they plan to blow up the Muslim’s Dome of the Rock, on the Temple Mount in Jerusalem.”
“But that’s crazy!” Melany said.
“It’s insane,” Michael said, “but they are religious fanatics. “When I checked their internet site, I saw discussions on explosives and how to blow up a large structure.”
“Did McPherson tried to alert the authorities?”
“He doesn’t think they will interfere, you see, Bishop, the leader of the cult is a true American war hero and a billionaire. He’s got a huge land in Washington state, and McPherson thinks that the local media and politicians will not do anything against him, unless of course, if we’ll provide hard evidence.”
“Let me guess,” Melany said, “Stewart wants you to infiltrate the cult and get the evidences.”
“More or less,” Michael said. “But Melany, here comes the hard part…”
She looked into his eyes and waited.
“I can’t do it as a happily married family man, it just won’t work. They would have to believe that I had serious marital issues and decided to separate from my family. I would come as a lost soul who is looking for answers…”
Michael stopped talking, and Melany didn’t respond.
A heavy silence descended between them. Melany looked away from him, into a place behind him that he couldn’t see.
“And you,” Melany finally spoke, “what do you intend to do? I guess you’ve already decided…”
He detected anger in her last sentence.
“I did,” he said. “I decided that I’m not going anywhere without your consent. Don’t think for one minute that I like this plan, but if Stewart is right, then I would have a chance to prevent a horrible war…”
She took her time pondering his words. “How long are we talking about?” She asked.
“Not very long, I hope,” he said. “I think it could be a couple of months.”
“And Linda?”
“I could come to see my daughter,” he said. “The rest of the time—daddy is at work.”
Melany got up, walked over to him and embraced him. “Oh Michael,” she said, “why did I have to marry such a righteous and moral person?” she stroked his hair. “Now you’re going to save the world, ha?”
“Only if you let me.” He had his head over her belly, and he could hear heart beating.
They remained in a loving embrace for several minutes.
Chapter 15
For the event of things predicted many ages before, will then be a convincing argument that the world is governed by providence. For as the few and obscure Prophecies concerning Christ's first coming were for setting up the Christian religion, which all nations have since corrupted; so the many and clear Prophecies concerning the things to be done at Christ's second coming, are not only for predicting but also for effecting a recovery and re-establishment of the long-lost truth, and setting up a kingdom wherein dwells righteousness.
— Issac Newton, Observations upon the Prophecies of Daniel and the Apocalypse of St. John.
Michael moved to a low-cost apartment hotel. He remained in Brooklyn so he could be close to his home and be able to visit his loved ones. He continued to log onto the group’s site and participate in discussions.
On the “His Time,” site, Santa Catarina continued to remind people that the momentous day is coming soon. But she gave no indication as to when that might be.
Michael spent much of his time reading Newton books and other Christian related prophecies. At nights he went to bars, drank beers by himself and then went back to his hotel. He stopped shaving and just trimmed his beard occasionally with scissors.
He played blues on his guitar, went to church—where he sat in the back seats, and he wondered if anybody would even care to follow him.
One night he went to a bar not far from his hotel. He’s been there before and liked the place because it was relatively quiet, without annoying loud music. He ordered a large glass of beer, taking his time, drinking on the counter. He looked around and sensed the despair in most of the bar visitors. They tried to look happy but they weren’t.
After about an hour, he noticed a young lady sitting on the other side of the counter. She smiled at him, but he didn’t bother smiling back. He couldn’t help hearing her talking to the bar tender. She was loud and apparently drunk, occasionally laughing for no reason. He glanced at her direction and thought she was a good-looking lady, perhaps in her mid-twenties. Michael noted a contradiction between the lady’s sleezy behavior, and her modest
appearance. She had a long blond hair, was well dressed, and didn’t wear cheap tacky makeup. Why would such a lady come to a place like this and get drunk? He wondered. Perhaps she broke up with her boyfriend? He couldn’t help but thinking about her—what else was there to focus on, it that gloomy smoke-filled bar.
He checked the time and saw that it was quite late. He then paid what he owed and turned to go, but the young lady stood in his path and blocked his way.
“Already leaving?” She asked and smiled in a naughty way. “Such a handsome man shouldn’t spend the night alone.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, trying not to be rude, “I really have to go now.”
“Well, at least let me give you my phone number,” she chirped, “just in case, you know, you might get bored.” She searched in her handbag. “By the way,” she said while pulling a notebook and a pen, “my name is Rachel.” She jotted with her pen and handed him the note. “There you go!” she said, somewhat joyfully. “You can call me anytime, day or night.”
Michael took the note from her hand. “See you,” he muttered and headed for the door. I’m not looking for an affair, he reminded himself, I’m a married man. As he passed through the door he quickly glanced at her note, before tossing it away. The written scribble stunned him and made him stop immediately, and turn in her direction. It wasn’t a telephone number that she handed him, but a simple mathematical formula. It read 360x7=2520.
She smiled. “I see that you changed your mind, she said when he approached her.”
“I did,” he grumbled.
“Good decision!” she chirped, and grabbed his arm as he was leaving again. From the corner of his eyes, Michael saw the bar tender smiling and signaling him with a thumbs-up gesture.
Michael waved a taxi, even though he was within walking distance from his hotel. He opened the door for his companion and sat next to her, wondering who sent her. During the short drive, the lady sat quietly at her place and didn’t try to embrace him, as he feared. When they arrived at the hotel and got out of the car, she once again behaved as if she was drunk, and she leaned on him in an uninhibited manner.
He carried her to the elevator and walked into the room, where the lady, once again changed her demeanor. She grabbed on to her hair and removed what was apparently a wig. In the lit room he had a better look at her. She looked in her mid-twenties, slim and athletic, short-haired brunet, slightly freckled, and with lively, playful, green eyes.
“Hi Michael,” she said in a relaxed tone of voice and extended her hand. “Let’s meet again, I work for Stewart McPherson.”
“What’s your name?” He asked and shook her hand.
“Rachel, like I said. I’ll sleep on the sofa.”
“Was all that show necessary?” He wondered.
“Yes,” she said. “I had to introduce myself, and you needed to establish your new status as a separated man.”
“Does Stewart think that anybody is watching me?”
“It is a distinct possibility. It is quite safe to assume that they have access to every camera in town, be it a street camera or a device installed in a store. So, they don’t need to physically follow you.”
“Any news from Stewart?”
“Not right now, he wants you to be extra careful and communicate through me. I’ll be around.”
Chapter 16
Michael returned to his hotel apartment after getting some groceries in the supermarket.
Something felt strange in his room. He couldn’t tell what it was but he sensed how his body tensed. There was another presence in the room. He checked around cautiously and everything seemed in order. The lid of his laptop computer, however, was open. Michael didn’t remember if he’d left it that way. He always closed the lid so the computer would not accumulate dust.
He walked over to the computer when he noticed another anomaly, the camera was on, and he was in a video conferencing mode. Somebody was there, on the screen, a woman, observing his movements, curiously looking at him. He sat in front of her.
“Who are you?” He demanded of her.
“Hi Michael,” she said in a warm tone of voice.
“Who are you? And how did you break into my private computer?”
“I’m Mary,” she said pleasantly.
Michael was angry about the invasion of his privacy—or at least he knew he was supposed to feel angry. He couldn’t help but notice that his invader was a strikingly beautiful woman. She had a dark complexation and hair and clear blue eyes. Though she clearly wasn’t young, she looked exotic.
“Mary,” he said. “What is this about?”
“We’ve communicated before,” she said. “You’ve asked me a question, and I’m here to provide a response.”
“I don’t know you,” Michael started to get annoyed.
“You do,” she said patiently. “It was in our forum, you called yourself Angel Mikhael, while I posed as Saint Miriam.
Michael sensed tingling in his face. So now the cult has contacted him directly, they knew who he was, and they had the means to reach him.
“I don’t remember leaving my computer on,” he muttered.
“You didn’t,” she confirmed. “We know a thing or two about technology, but that’s really not the issue here, so let’s not waist time. You’ve asked a valuable question on our forum. Your question was whether there’s a connection between the measurements of Solomon’s temple and our solar system, as Isaac Newton suggested.
“It’s true,” Michael said. “So, what’s your answer?”
“I’m not here to provide an answer,” she somberly said. “We know that you’ve been lurking on our site for sometime now. We assess that you are a true seeker. We know that you recently separated from your family, and you’ve been drinking and having an affair with a new acquaintance that you’ve picked in a bar. Am I right?”
“Sounds about right,” Michael confirmed.
“Michael,” she said and looked directly into his eyes. “Getting drunk and having non-committed sex isn’t the solution for your soul. If you are prepared to go on the path, you have to get serious, and you must commit to fighting for the truth.”
Her gaze conveyed utter solemnity; and yet, Michael couldn’t help but sense a halo of seduction around her.
“So, if you are not here to answer my question, why are you here?” Michael asked.
“To introduce you to someone who does,” She said. “If you are done with playing games, and you know with every fiber of your being that it’s time to move on, then I’m here to arrange it.”
“I’m ready,” Michael looked at her and hoped he appeared trustworthy.
“Fine,” she said. “Let me tell you that you’re about to meet our leader, the Ark Bishop. He specifically asked to talk to you, which is a great honor. I hope you understand that you are at a turning point in your life. The only thing we ask of you is total sincerity and commitment.”
“I’d be honored to speak with him,” Michael said.
Chapter 17
“Newton regarded the universe as a cryptogram set by the Al-mighty, just as himself wrapped the discovery of the calculus in a cryptogram… He looked on the whole universe and all that is in it as a riddled, as a secret which could be read by applying pure thought to certain evidence, certain mystic clues which God had laid about the world to allow a sort of philosopher’s treasure hunt…”
- John Maynard Keynes[2]
Mary disappeared from the screen, which turned into a 3D animated clip of the solar system in motion. Michael waited as the image faded into what looked like an image of the Temple of Solomon. Peculiarly, Michael had the impression that the temple was different than other models that he’d seen before. Those were either small replicas built according to specifications found in the bible or 3D computerized models. The temple that was now projected, looked like a real film of an actual structure. It looked like it was standing in a large meadow where the trees in the background were gently swaying in the wind.
&n
bsp; After a few seconds, the picture faded, and Michael was now sitting in front of a man who was smiling as he curiously examined him.
“Hello Michael,” he said, “I’m Charles Bishop; I’m glad to meet you finally.”
“It’s an honor,” Michael replied.
“I was told,” Bishop said, “that you are a sincere spiritual seeker.”
“I never defined it that way,” Michael said, “but it’s true. I always searched for the truth.”
“I know that you teach Journalism at a respected university,” Bishop said.
“True,” Michael said, “though recently I’ve been questioning every aspect of my life.”
“Then you came to the right place,” Bishop smiled at him.
“I have questions,” Michael said.
“Of course, we’ll get to your questions in a minute,” Bishop said patiently. “Michael,” he continued, “I have to be honest with you; before I asked for this meeting, I requested a background check on you. I understand that you were adopted and that as a grown man, you searched and found your biological mother.”
“It’s true,” Michael said and looked directly at his interlocutor. Bishop was a good-looking man who seemed to be in his fifty’s. He had a thick and long gray hair and bird, and large green eyes. His gaze conveyed goodness and empathy. But what struck Michael the most was his deep and pleasant voice. He sounded sincere, friendly, and trust inspiring. Michael thought he understood how people could follow this charismatic man wherever he would lead them. Talking about his adoption circumstances used to make him uncomfortable, but not this time. When Bishop mentioned the fact, he did it with utmost caring and compassion; and Michael felt as if he was talking to a spiritual father, or perhaps, to the biological father he’d never known.
“I read some of your articles,” Bishop surprised him, “and I think you present your opinions in a clear, and coherent way.”
