* * * *
BENEATH THE STREETS of Paris, the anti-Christ laughed maniacally, his laughter echoing over the earth.
* * * *
THE ROCKET REACHED its zenith and began its fateful descent. Angelino and the Knights remained embraced in their circle of power within the Temple. They heard the whistle as the rocket descended. Then, five thousand feet directly above the Temple of Solomon, the warhead detonated.
The fiery mushrooming cloud billowed up into the eerie darkness. The ground beneath was illuminated with the light of a thousand suns, while above the darkness dissipated the light into patterns of horrifying beauty. Soon, the dazzling light dimmed, and a wave of fire blasted its way through the city of Jerusalem, instantly vaporizing everything in its path. A rippling maelstrom of pure nuclear energy rolled along, the thundering deep boom of the blast finally catching up to the brilliant flash of light. The rolling, blazing thunder blasted its way through everything, without resistance, until it finally spent itself twenty-five miles from the epicenter of the blast—the site of the ancient Temple of Solomon.
The mushroom cloud rose higher and higher into the dark sky, spreading itself out over the entire region. When the thunder had faded into haunting silence, the Temple of Solomon and the holy City of Jerusalem were no more.
Chapter 30
SUSAN AWOKE WITH a start. Raji was sitting beside her on the bed, shaking her gently.
"Susan, wake up,” he said gently.
It took a moment to orient herself. Her sleep had been very deep.
"What is it, Raji,” she said sleepily, “is something wrong?"
"We have just received some news you need to hear. Please get dressed and join us in the other room.” Raji's tone was grave. He left the room to allow Susan to get dressed.
A few minutes later, she emerged from the bedroom to see a roomful of serious faces. Gertrude Goldstein, who had just arrived the day before, was crying and being comforted by Terianna. MacArthur was staring at the floor, looking pale and lost.
"Where is Maribella?” she asked.
"She prefers to grieve in private,” Raji explained sadly.
"Will somebody please tell me what's happened?” Susan said, somewhat exasperated.
Raji stepped over to her and took her hand consolingly. “Please sit down, Susan."
She obeyed without objection, seeing the sadness in his eyes.
"Angelino and the rest of the Knights have been destroyed, along with the ancient city of Jerusalem. They are all dead.” He went on to explain about the detonation of the nuclear bomb over Jerusalem.
"You are certain they were there at the time?"
Raji nodded.
"I see,” Susan said thoughtfully. She sat quietly for a few minutes, her face not betraying any emotion. She closed her eyes for a few moments, apparently in deep meditation, then she rose and looked over the sad faces.
"Thank you, Raji,” she said calmly, and stepped outside.
Raji moved over to the door and watched as Susan walked slowly and thoughtfully toward the outskirts of the city. There she stood and looked out over the horizon.
Terianna stepped to his side and said, “Her reaction is very odd."
"She's in denial,” MacArthur volunteered. “I've seen that reaction many times. She cannot accept the death of Angelino. He's been so close to her all these many months."
"I'm not so certain,” Raji replied. “I, too, have seen denial. There is something different in her reaction. It is almost as if she expected this."
In the background, Gertrude Goldstein was sobbing, repeating her husband's name over and over again, “Oh, Samuel. Samuel. Samuel. Why?” she wailed. Terianna went back to comfort her while Raji and MacArthur watched Susan. The wind was blowing softly through her long blonde hair. The sun was lowering on the horizon, silhouetting her in a bright golden light. She remained motionless, lost in her own depths.
* * * *
"Things are not always as they appear.” Angelino's words echoed through Susan's mind as she watched the sun continue its slow descent. She should be stricken with grief, yet she was not. Instead, her soul was filled with a sense of pure peace and contentment, as if somehow unconsciously understanding something that her conscious mind was oblivious to.
"Oh, Angelino,” she said softly. “What am I supposed to do now?"
There was no answer.
* * * *
"Do you think one of us should go to her, Raji?” Terianna asked.
He shook his head. “No. Leave her to deal with this in her own way. She will come to us if she needs us."
* * * *
THE COUNCIL OF Most Highs reacted with jubilance when the news of the destruction of Jerusalem, and along with it, the Twelve Knights of the Ascension, reached them.
The anti-Christ, his face etched with malevolent satisfaction, laughed with unfettered glee.
"Angelino, you crafty bastard,” he gloated aloud. “You were a worthy adversary, but you never had a chance of winning. Too late, you have finally come to realize the power of evil will always win over the power of your God.” He spat the name of the deity with scorn.
The six other Council members hooted with delight, giddy with the intoxicating joy of total victory. The world was theirs. Their Lord and Master had been victorious. The total power and all the worldly benefits that would follow filled them with a sense of invulnerability. For two thousand years The Council had set the stage for this day, and now, at last, it had come.
"My children,” the anti-Christ addressed them. “You have done your duty and you shall enjoy the rewards you have earned. Each of you will be given a zone of rulership. No longer will you need to lurk in the shadows. You will be free to emerge and govern your provinces with pride and honor. The New Order will change the face of the world completely. I will be there behind all of you, channeling the power of my Father to each of you. The world is ours."
For the next hour, the anti-Christ outlined the new political order. To maintain the semblance of an orderly transition the existing governments would remain in place, but their power would, in fact, be held by an overlord who was a Council member.
Europe would go to Number Six, Gerrard de Charny, while Asia would be under the control of Number Three, Chang Zhung. Number Four, Andre Korsovach, would get the Russian territories. Africa would fall to the Englishman, Roland St. James. Australia would become the domain of native son Paul Morrison. The biggest prize—North and South America—was given to Number One, David Warrenger. The anti-Christ would be the Overlord of overlords since all power flowed from him.
A period of chaos would be allowed to continue for several months to prepare the people for strong central leadership. Only when the people realized the entire social fabric had been destroyed—when all hope had been drained from them—would they be willing to accept the strong central control the anti-Christ and his legions would offer them. Loyalty of the people was always given to leaders who gave them security and material prosperity. Never was such leadership more welcome than after a major calamity. Adolph Hitler and Franklin Delano Roosevelt had demonstrated that the most dramatically in the last century. Each, in his own way, had expanded the power of their respective governments—at the expense of personal liberties—in the wake of financial collapse. The Great Depression had been orchestrated as a dress rehearsal for centralizing power under the pretext of serving the people. The lessons learned from that experiment would be applied to the current situation.
* * * *
EVERYWHERE, THE MAD chaotic destruction had yielded to a state of quiet exhaustion, as the people, drained by the steady influx of adrenaline that had fueled their frenzied rampage, fell into a state of quiet even more frightening than their rage. Steven Hamilton, seeing the madness had subsided, finally emerged from his hiding place behind a large trash receptacle in a dark alley. He and John had become separated by the crush of rioters during the first night. Somehow, the mass insanity that had possessed the others had not a
ffected him. John, on the other hand, was on the verge of succumbing to it just as they had been separated.
What Steven saw caused him to grow weak. Everywhere lay the bodies of the dead and wounded. Those who were not killed or injured seemed to be in some sort of dazed trance, oblivious to each other and to the destruction that stretched out as far as the eye could see.
Fires burned in buildings everywhere. In the distance, a constant wail of sirens, which had been strangely missing the night before, now pierced the air, as local firefighters rushed to bring under control what was beyond controlling. The pungent odor of burning flesh burned Steven's nostrils. He leaned against a building as the combination of sights and smells hammered at his awareness. Not able to stop himself, he vomited until he felt his stomach was about to turn inside out.
Could this all be his fault? He had watched with horror over the past several weeks as the anti-Christ had whipped the fears and hatreds of the masses into a frenzy that had culminated in a night of madness unlike anything he could have imagined.
He walked haltingly into the open, his mind disoriented. Maybe he could find John. That would give him an anchor of reality.
"John!” he called out. “John Barber.” He staggered for blocks, calling out the name of his friend and colleague. He avoided the eyes of the wounded and those who were overcome by shock. He didn't want to see their pain, lest it cause his own to break through the defensive shield of numbness his psyche had constructed.
It seemed like he'd walked miles when he came across a bloodstained figure lying on the ground. He ran and knelt beside it.
"John,” he said, rolling him over slowly, panic-stricken at the thought of his friend's death. John's face was covered in blood, which created a horrifying experience for Steven. He leaned over to see if he could detect breathing. At that moment, John gave out a low, deep moan. He was alive!
"John,” he said, cradling him in his arms. “John. It's me, Steven."
John's eyes slowly opened into small slits.
"Steven?” he rasped.
Then Steven noticed the bullet wound in his friend's upper chest.
"Oh my God!” he gasped. “Don't move, John. I'm here now. I'll take care of you."
Steven choked back tears. There would be time for that later. John lapsed back into unconsciousness. Steven thought frantically. Judging by the deep pool of crimson surrounding them, it was clear John had lost a lot of blood. He had to stop the bleeding somehow. Maybe it wasn't too late.
He ripped his shirt off and hastily tore it into long strips. He needed something thick and absorbent for a dressing. He quickly pulled off his shoes then removed his socks and laid them together to form a double thickness. Next, he tore John's shirt open around the wound. He had to fight back the urge to vomit again at the sight of the open gash in his friend's chest. He shook off his queasiness, and struggled to remain in control. It occurred to him the socks were not clean, but what choice did he have? He was convinced he was fighting a losing battle for his friend's life anyway. He placed the socks over the wound and wrapped the strips of cloth tightly around them, binding them in place. The rest was in God's hands.
How odd, he thought, he would put it that way. Not that long ago, he had discounted God's existence as a matter of faith. Watching the anti-Christ spin his weave of deception so masterfully over the past year, however, had curiously forced him to consider spiritual issues in a way he never before would have. Angelino had a great deal to do with that as well. How rare was the man who lived as he believed. Angelino was such a man, and it was hard to discount the amazing abilities he had demonstrated. If faith and belief in God created men like Angelino, it would have been foolish, strictly from a scientific perspective, to not consider the causal relationship between the beliefs and the acts those beliefs made possible. He also remembered the aphorism, ‘There are no atheists in foxholes.'
"Well, my friend,” he said with resignation. “I've done all I can for you."
John looked pale. He had lost a great deal of blood. Steven was not a medical doctor, but he sadly concluded his friend was not going to survive. He wondered if he might be able to get him to a hospital,
He was startled by a voice calling out to him from a dark-blue car that drove up to where he and John were sitting.
"Doctor Hamilton, is that you?"
Steven recognized Ray's voice. Ray stopped the car and he, Arnold, and Harold stepped out. Arnold had his pistol drawn and was looking around vigilantly for anyone who intended any trouble.
Ray sized up the situation with John quickly.
"Oh, man. He's in bad shape, Doctor Hamilton."
"Yeah, I know,” Steven acknowledged. “I just found him here a few minutes ago. We were separated during the riots last night."
Ray knelt down next to John and inspected the makeshift bandage. He realized John had lost a great deal of blood.
"Do you think you can help me get him to a hospital, Ray?"
"I'm not sure that'll do you much good. We drove past the hospital and it's overrun with injured and dying."
"I can't just let him die,” Steven insisted.
Ray had no response.
John began to gasp for air. His body convulsed in short, abrupt jerks. Ray's thought back to the day in Italy when he had watched Susan dying in her hospital bed until Angelino ... he interrupted his own thoughts. Dare I presume? John gasped one last time and then a long, slow final expulsion of air emptied his lungs. There was nothing to lose.
Ray closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. Then he took John's hand, as he had seen Angelino take Susan's in the hospital. Now what? he thought.
"John!” Steven cried out. “Oh, God, no!"
Ray felt his heart wrench with pain for Steven. His heart filled with a love unlike anything he had ever experienced before. Then his entire body became charged with energy. He felt the energy pulsating throughout. He instinctively directed it into John. The source of the energy seemed to come from all around him. He felt the flow of energy coursing through him and into John, like a supercharged current of electricity. He was longer the initiator of the energy, but a conduit for it. Faster and faster the energy flowed through him into John.
John gasped, and his body shuddered. Steven stepped back, stunned. Arnold and Harold watched with amazement. In a few moments, John was breathing normally again. His eyes opened and he looked around dazedly.
"What's going on?” he asked softly.
Steven could barely contain his joy.
"John, we thought we'd lost you there for a moment."
"You should be so lucky,” John managed to smile weakly.
Steven, smiling broadly now, wrapped his arms around his friend emotionally.
"Hey, don't be going queer on me, Steven."
Steven said to Ray, gratefully, “Thank you, Ray. How in the hell did you do that?"
Ray seemed as dazed and surprised as the others. He simply responded, “I have no idea, Doctor Hamilton."
Ray suddenly felt drained and he began to fall over, nearly passing out. Arnold managed to stop his fall just in time.
"Listen, I don't want to alarm anyone,” Harold said, “but I think we better find somewhere else for this happy reunion. I don't know how long these people are going to remain quiet like this. I don't want to get caught up in another mob."
"The Senator's right,” Arnold concurred. “Everybody into the car."
As Steven and Ray helped John to his feet, John winced slightly. Although Ray had brought him back to life, his wounds were not fully healed. He saw the look of concern in Steven's eyes.
"It's okay, Steven. Let's get the hell out of here.” As he stood, he caught sight of the pool of blood.
"Is all of that mine?” he asked with amazement.
"Sure is,” Steven answered.
John whistled. “I didn't know I had that much in me."
"I'm surprised there isn't a huge pile of shit next to it, John, seeing as you've always been so full of it."
John smiled. Ray and the others chuckled.
"You're such a funny guy, Steven,” John said facetiously.
"I think he's going to be okay,” Harold laughed.
"Ok, enough you guys,” Arnold said seriously. “Into the car."
* * * *
"DO YOU THINK I should talk to her, Raji?” Terianna asked with concern. Susan had been staring out over the horizon for several hours and they were all growing worried about her state of mind. She had treasured Angelino and Nicoleespecially, but they knew she felt a great kinship for all of the Knights, simply because of what they represented. How devastating it must be for her, knowing two thousand years of devoted planning to fight the anti-Christ had evaporated in one instant in a fireball over Israel. It was devastating for all of them but Susan more than the others had been left isolated by the tragedy.
"No, my dear. Leave her to grieve in her own way. She is a strong woman. She will work through it."
"Oh, Raji,” Terianna said with sadness. “What are we to do now?"
Raji did not answer. Indeed, the question troubled his own mind. Each of them was handling the shock in their own way. Maribella cried unceasingly. MacArthur said little, but his eyes were filled with pain and regret. Raji did his best to remain strong for the benefit of the others, but he had known Angelino the longest. He had known all the Knights except Nicole for many decades. It was he who had trained them all in the occult arts and spiritual development. His loss was greater personally than that of all the others, but he did his best to hide the ache in his heart. It was not just for the Knights and himself he grieved, but for mankind. How was the anti-Christ to be defeated now?
The reports of rioting and mass insanity that had erupted all over the globe had reached Indore. Even though expected, its suddenness had been surprising to Raji. Jesus had masterfully tapped the collective primal fears and hatred of people undisciplined in thought. This was the vast majority of the human race. The Council had laid the groundwork masterfully, keeping people numb by poverty and hunger in the third world, and opulent prosperity in the developed nations. In both cases, the outcome was the one desired by the Council—people inured to the inevitability of the conquest of evil over minds seduced by materialism.
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