Fire Of Heaven Book III Fire of Heaven

by Bill Myers

  “But” — the driver motioned toward the guard — “the man …”

  “Hurry! Hurry!”

  Muttering something in Arabic, he put the car into gear.

  “Now, let’s go!”

  They started forward.

  Hearing the movement, the guard finally turned. “Hey, wait a minute. Wait a minute!”

  “Go!” Katherine shouted. “Go!”

  “But —”

  “I’m paying the fare, not him. Let’s go!”

  More than a little frustrated, the driver accelerated. He looked nervously through the rearview mirror as the guard started after them.

  “Keep going!” Katherine cried. “Keep going!”

  The driver cursed in Arabic but continued driving. They headed up and around the building. Katherine stole a look over her shoulder. The guard was squinting to read their cab I.D. number and shouting back into his sleeve.

  The cab pulled up to King David Road and the driver started to turn right. This would take them past the hotel’s entrance and ensure certain capture.

  “No!” Katherine shouted. “Turn left! Turn left!”

  “But the hospital, it is —”

  “Left!”

  Throwing up his hands in frustration, the driver uttered another oath and turned left, causing more than one driver in the opposing lane to slam on his brakes, giving opportunity for the driver to curse even more.

  Katherine looked over her shoulder.

  “Where to now, lady?”

  She gave no answer, continuing to look out the back window as they headed down the hill until the hotel disappeared from sight. When she turned back she recognized they were heading toward the same area she and Sarah had walked the night before.

  “Lady … you still want hospital?”

  “No, uh …” She looked around. “No, drop us off here.”

  “What?”

  “Here, right here!”

  “But we have not —”

  “I’ll pay you full fare, just drop us off here. Now! Stop the car and drop us off!”

  As she hoped, her anger got her way. He swerved toward the right curb near the bottom of the hill. The cab barely stopped before she jumped out, grabbed Eric, and threw a handful of bills at the driver. Then, with minimal help from Eric, they crossed the busy street against the light and headed east, toward the Valley of Hinnom.

  The Temple Mount was packed. The area of paved limestone north and east of the Dome of the Rock, the expansive park of cypress and olive trees north of that, even the rooftops that surrounded this twenty-five-plus acres of the most hotly contested real estate in the world were crammed with people trying to see the ceremonies on the stage which was located less than a hundred yards from the Golden Gate. And if they couldn’t see the stage, there were always the two Jumbotron video screens rising high into the air on either side.

  Brandon stood and watched the opening ceremonies upon the stairs called the Scales of Souls. These were a series of steps directly under the stone arches where Muslims believed men’s souls would be weighed on Judgment Day. To his immediate right, on the stone pavement, was an area many believed to have been the site of the original temple, and just past that was the famous gold-roofed Dome of the Rock, one of the most holy sites in all of Islam. Inside was the rock upon which Jews, Christians, and Muslims believed Abraham had offered Isaac up to the Lord. The Mount was a somber, reverent place, and it seemed that everywhere Brandon looked some major religious event had occurred.

  He had a strong sense that those events weren’t entirely over.

  He directed his attention back to the stage where an orchestra was playing various national anthems as country after country marched forward presenting their flags. Lucas Ponte sat onstage surrounded by nearly a hundred dignitaries. He watched the ceremony with the perfect mixture of strength and humility, nodding graciously to each flag bearer who placed their flags into one of the hundreds of holders surrounding the stage.

  Brandon turned to look out over the crowd, searching the sea of faces for Sarah. She should have been there by now, but he saw no sign of her.

  A cheer rose up and he turned back to the stage. The last of the flags had been presented and the music had changed to something noble and stirring as a video clip on the life of Lucas Ponte appeared up on the Jumbotrons. It covered everything from his humble beginnings as a grandson of Italian immigrants in Chicago, to photos of his valedictorian speech, to his emerging social consciousness at Notre Dame, to his stint in the Peace Corps, to his political career which started locally, then rose to Illinois governor, culminating in his illustrious career as president of the United States. It included the tragedy of losing his wife to cancer and yet his determination to fill out his second term for the good of the country, followed by his decision to continue serving the world through his work with the Cartel. It spoke of the organization’s struggles to usher in world peace and their recent cure for the Scorpion virus. The piece was stirring and worked the crowd into such excited anticipation that the entire Mount roared in appreciation as Lucas Ponte was finally introduced and approached the lectern.

  Brandon turned back to the crowd. They shouted, they cheered, they clapped, many wiped tears from their eyes. He’d never seen anything like it. And still the roar continued. A full minute passed, and then another as, up on the screen, Ponte smiled in both appreciation and humility, while wiping away a tear or two of his own. It was quite a performance.

  “Brandon … Brandon …”

  He turned to see Sarah working her way through the crowd toward him. When she arrived he shouted over the noise, “Are you okay?”

  She nodded.

  “Did you talk to him?”

  She leaned forward. “What?”

  “Did you talk to him? What did he say?”

  “He said yes.”

  Brandon’s heart sank and soared.

  “It won’t be for long,” she shouted. “Just enough to call you up onstage — to use you as an example of his ‘accessibility’ and ‘open-mindedness.’ ”

  “He hasn’t missed a trick, has he?”

  “He doesn’t think so.”

  The cheers started to subside. They turned back toward the stage. Several more seconds passed before the applause quieted down enough for Ponte to begin.

  “Friends …”

  But that was all it took before the crowd started up again. Brandon turned back to scan the cheering, shouting, tear-stained faces. And he was expected to go up against this? Was he crazy? They’d rip him apart!

  That’s when he felt Sarah take his hand. He looked at her. She smiled, doing her best to appear encouraging.

  When the crowd finally settled, Ponte resumed. “Standing before you this day, upon this sacred and holy site, I can only say that I am overwhelmed. Humbled and overwhelmed.”

  More applause. When it ceased he continued. “Jerusalem … the city of peace. Yet, for how many centuries, no, for how many millennia has that name been scorned and mocked. Jerusalem … she who has been destroyed and rebuilt eighteen times. Jerusalem … she who has changed religions eleven times. Jerusalem … she who has never been a city of peace … but the symbol of seething hatred and unspeakable violence.”

  A hush fell over the Mount. A quarter million people grew very, very still. Ponte said nothing, holding the pause for as long as possible before he continued. “But all that is about to change. Starting today, Jerusalem will finally become all that she was destined to be. Starting today, Jerusalem will be a city of hope, of understanding, and most importantly, a city of peace!”

  The crowd clapped and cheered.

  “But not just a city of peace. Starting from this moment forward she will become the symbol of humankind’s ability to overcome our barbaric past, the symbol of our entrance into a new age, the center of a new world order whose one and only theme is … peace!”

  More cheers.

  “Peace!”

  Still more.

  “Peace!�
��

  Once again the roar was deafening. Brandon looked down and shook his head, marveling. But when he glanced back up, something above the stage caught his attention. A cloud of mist had begun to form. And as the crowd cheered and Ponte resumed, it continued to grow.

  “And why are we entering that peace? It is not because of anything I have accomplished.” He motioned to the dignitaries behind him. “It is not because of anything my friends, your leaders, have accomplished. No.” He pushed up his glasses and continued. “It is simply because our time has arrived. Just as seasons come and go, so do the seasons of human history.”

  The cloud began to condense, slowing taking the shape Brandon had seen far too often.

  “And now we are entering into a brand-new season. The season of humankind. A season where we will no longer focus upon our differences in race, in nationality, and perhaps even more importantly, our differences in religion — for, as this city can attest, it is differences in religion which have proven the most dangerous of all.”

  “Brandon …”

  He threw Sarah a glance. She was staring straight ahead. “You see it, too?” he asked.

  “I see something.”

  “This is the day, perhaps the first since the glory of Rome, that we will be able to throw off the yoke of religious division, that we will no longer allow it to manipulate and control our destiny … ”

  A tightness began to grip Brandon’s gut. He suddenly felt very, very cold — not only about what he was hearing, but about what he was seeing. For there, hovering over the stage, with Lucas Ponte directly below it, was the head of the serpent.

  At the mouth of the Hinnom Valley lay a grassy park. Despite the ceremony on the Mount two miles away, a Palestinian family sat under one of the many pine trees enjoying a picnic lunch. They seemed the quintessential family — a husband, wife, two beautiful children. They ate and teased, shouted and laughed, obviously enjoying each other’s company. Katherine couldn’t help but stare as she and Eric made their way across the narrow ravine to the dirt road leading up the other side. That’s all she had ever wanted, a family like that.

  And she’d nearly had it, too … until her husband’s murder, until her father’s death, until her bout with alcohol. And then, just when everything looked hopeless, Michael Coleman came upon the scene. Like her father and Sarah and a dozen others, Michael had also spoken of faith and of God’s love. And then, just when she was starting to believe that there might really be some goodness in life, that there might really be a God of love, Michael was also taken. End of topic. End of discussion. End of hope.

  Now there was only Eric.

  The drug had barely started to wear off. She thought of giving him another injection, but Sarah’s earlier words about free will and that he could still denounce Heylel rang in her ears. As far as she could tell, that was his last remaining chance. And, since it’s hard to make a freewill decision doped up out of your mind, she decided to let more of it wear off.

  They continued climbing the ridge.

  “Whar we goin’?” His speech was still slurred, but he was definitely more coherent. “Whar you takin’ us?”

  “Just a little farther, sweetheart. See those nice cliffs over there?” She pointed to where the Hinnom and Kidron Valleys met. “I thought maybe we could sit there and talk.”

  “Talk?”

  “Yeah, you know, like we used to. Just the two of us.”

  “Wha abou Lucas … an Heylel. Whar’s Heylel?”

  “They’re busy, sweetheart. Right now it’s just you and me. Just you and me …”

  “But those of you who know me, who know what I have been striving to accomplish these many years, know of my insistence upon tolerance and mutual respect.”

  The crowd applauded in agreement.

  Brandon looked on, his mouth bone dry, as he watched the serpent’s head condense over the stage.

  Sarah turned to him. “That’s what killed your father — what attacked you?”

  He nodded.

  “Just because we do not agree with any one person does not give us the right to deprive that person of their voice. Just because their views are extreme, or even hurtful, does not give us the right to silence them. That is not the mutual respect and love for which I have worked so long and hard. Despite our disagreements, they are still our brothers and sisters, they are still part of our unique oneness. Because we are all one, my friends. We are one people … we are one community … we are one planet!”

  The applause grew more enthusiastic.

  Brandon threw another look at Sarah. Her eyes were riveted to the serpent’s head. She appeared even more frightened than he was. He reached out and put an arm around her. She barely noticed.

  “That is why I have personally invited a dissenting voice to come and briefly share our platform. You may disagree with what he has to say, perhaps even find it repulsive. Some would insist that his narrow religious thinking is a throwback to the very hatred and intolerance we are eliminating here today. Others may see him as a symbol of what has crippled and shackled our human spirit for so many centuries. So why do I invite him? Because he still deserves the right to be heard, because he is still my brother, he is still part of our human family.”

  By now the image of the head was so clear Brandon could see the tongue flicking in and out … just as it had in his visions, just as it had in his father’s church … moments before it had opened its mouth and consumed him.

  “Many of you from the West may remember the televised event featuring our good friend, Reverend Jimmy Tyler.” Ponte turned to those onstage behind him and acknowledged the man in the wheelchair. With great effort, Jimmy Tyler raised his hand in a wave. “That was when this young man I am about to introduce first came to the world’s attention. But for those of you unfamiliar with him, a news crew has assembled a brief video that should serve as an adequate introduction before he comes forward.”

  “All right, Tanya,” Sarah whispered.

  Brandon nodded.

  “In it you will hear statements that may strike you as outrageous, even offensive. You will see things that may defy science and the laws of physics. Do I believe such things are possible? What I believe is of no consequence. All I ask is for you to listen to his claims, look at the world around us, and draw your own conclusions. Ask yourself if his views are not the embodiment of the chains that have enslaved our planet since the beginning of time. Ask yourself if the writhing our planet is currently undergoing is nothing but a final effort to, once and for all, throw off those shackles.”

  Brandon lowered his head. He was being set up. Even now, even with world opinion on Heylel’s side, even with the prophecies clearly stating the people would follow him, he was still stacking the deck.

  “And let me apologize in advance for any bias you may note in this videotaped introduction. Although the news team tried to be objective, it was obvious they found the material deeply disturbing, and like the rest of us, they are only human …”

  Ponte stepped back, motioned to the screens, and Brandon and Sarah joined the rest of the world in watching.

  The narrator’s voice was unfamiliar to him, but the images were crystal clear.

  “Born of religious parents, Brandon Martus was raised in a strict fundamentalist Christian household …”

  A series of photos flashed upon the screen. Seeing his parents displayed before the world filled Brandon with both anger and sorrow. Was there nothing this man would not stoop to?

  “But it wasn’t until the death of his sister in an auto accident for which he was responsible that Martus began to experience the deeper aspects of guilt and condemnation for which his faith is known.”

  The screen showed photos of him with his little sister — images that brought instant tears to his eyes. He had to look down. A moment later he felt Sarah moving closer to him for support.

  But it was only the beginning. Soon the video was discussing his “so-called psychic powers,” replaying portions o
f the older report Tanya had broadcast that included interviews of angry and disappointed patients. Next came the photos of Sarah and mention of their “sexual repressions” and “failed marriage.”

  He glanced at Sarah. She was taking it no better than he.

  After that came clips from Jimmy Tyler’s TV rally. Images of Brandon shouting, Brandon screaming, Brandon approaching Tyler and yelling, “The blood of the sheep will be upon the head of the shepherd!” This was followed by the pitcher of blood, the shattering glass, Tyler choking and coughing helplessly as Brandon, appearing out of control, shrieked, “The hand of the Lord is upon you, and you shall no longer be able to speak or spread your deceit in my name!” All of this was intercut with shots of the Los Angeles audience booing and throwing things onstage … as the live audience on the Mount also grew more and more agitated over what they saw.

  New images began. A video of a party with plenty of drinking, dancing, carousing. At first Brandon didn’t recognize it, until he caught a glimpse of Salman. This was the party he had thrown at Thyatira. There were other shots, angles of half-naked men and women which may or may not have been part of the party, but which definitely gave it every appearance of an orgy.

  Now they were back in L.A. with Brandon onstage shouting: “Surely as a wife treacherously departs from her husband so have you dealt treacherously with me!”

  Now, back to the party — shots of young Banu snuggling into Brandon’s arms with the narrator explaining, “But such hypocrisy cannot be hidden for long …” A close-up of the intoxicated girl. “… especially when it comes to underaged children, no more than fourteen or fifteen years old.”

  The anger and disapproval of the Temple Mount grew louder.

  More angles of Brandon screaming onstage, “You have played the harlot with many lovers!”

  Back to Brandon at the orgy where he was seen abusing the child by throwing her across the room into the table, sending glass and booze crashing all around her.

  By now the Mount’s anger had turned to audible boos and hissing. And still the video continued …

  “But I don’t wan’ things diff’ren’!”