The Last Day

by Glenn Kleier

  Fischer looked at his watch. “Okay,” he decided. “But I want a written contract to that effect before you shoot a single frame. Deliver it to Mr. Smead in trailer number seven. And keep your people out of the way. No closer than fifteen feet to the Messiah. And absolutely no questions or conversation! Understood?”

  “Perfectly.” Feldman shook Fischer's hand.

  “Granger,” Fischer instructed his guard, “you go with Mr. Feldman and mind that he does exactly as we agreed. Any slipups and you take his camera and videotapes and eject him and his crew!”

  “Yessir, Mr. Fischer.” Granger gave Feldman a hard look, and Feldman quickly jogged back to the helicopter.

  Granger followed close behind, out of bream and red-faced, to assume watch over the WNN operation. He ordered his men back to their posts, charging them to use their handguns, if necessary, to ward off any other landings.

  Feldman trotted up to where Sullivan and Bollinger were anxiously waiting.

  “I hope I didn't overstep my bounds,” Feldman explained, “but I committed us to a buyout exclusive of this event for three hundred grand.”

  Bollinger gasped. “You did what?”

  Sullivan waved him off. “You did fine, Jon. It's worth ten times that amount to us. The closest any competitor is going to get is the fence!”

  However, for the other unfortunate media on hand today, even that second-class vantage point was unattainable. The steadily massing, elbow-to-elbow crowd was packed right up against the yellow warning barricades to within a few feet of the electrified chain link, jealously guarding their space. WNN's frustrated competitors were relegated to hovering helicopters or the rooftops of distant cars.

  Behind him, Feldman noticed a rosy pallor creeping along the eastern edge of the mountain range. Dawn was only minutes away now. He took up his position on the stage just below the altar.

  There were metal stairs starting at the very back of the stage, at ground level, and rising steeply in the direction of the audience. Passing through the center of the main platform, the flight extended all the way up to the elevated altar. At this time, a dozen individuals began filing up the steps toward the seating section on Feldman's level. These officiants comprised the Samaritan Leadership Council hierarchy, including a beaming Richard Fischer, who nodded airily to Feldman as he passed. The Messiah was not among them.

  From loudspeakers, music began to play. Softly at first, then louder. A heavenly, glorious aria from some obscure opera Feldman had heard before but couldn't identify. While he realized this precisely timed and elaborately orchestrated performance was a contrived effort to instill awe and wonder, he nevertheless had to acknowledge its effectiveness. The entire atmosphere was charged and eminently supernatural.

  Hunter assumed his primary camera position on the ground, head-on with the stage, capturing the altar in silhouette against the increasing dawn. Bollinger gave Feldman the high sign and the reporter called down over his headset, “Okay, let's go live and set the scene.”

  Hardly had he begun his intro, however, than the huge halogen floodlights illuminating the hillside were abruptly switched off and the volume of the music increased. The crowd became hushed as the sun suddenly broke the jagged crest of a distant mountaintop behind the stage, casting a single, golden beam directly upon the back of the altar.

  As if ascending into a tunnel of light, a small, slender figure rose steadily up the center stairway, continuing all the way to the top where it halted and stood motionless behind the altar.

  Feldman held his breath.

  The Lord is come!

  31

  Mount of the Beatitudes, Israel 6:21 A.M., Thursday, January 6, 2000

  The massive audience was absolutely immobilized by the ethereal scene, and remained so for a full sixty seconds while the celestial music crescendoed to its finale.

  The slender Messiah was dressed in a loose, hooded, full-length white robe, trimmed with red and purple piping. The head was bowed, the face completely shadowed by the hood in the dawning sunlight behind.

  Feldman, the TV crew, and the millions of breathless spectators watched, spellbound, as the mysterious form appeared to slowly unfurl itself. The head tilted back. The slim arms rose steadily from its side, upward to the sky. The sleeves slid gracefully down to unveil thin, opalescent arms. Arms that extended to small, clenched fists which petaled open to display fine, outstretched, alabaster fingers.

  And at last the hood dropped away, revealing an unearthly, radiant, alluring, upturned face of an angel. Innocent, unpretentious, childlike and beautiful. Yet purposeful and wise. The eyes were closed and the mouth opened wide, exposing straight and perfectly white teeth.

  Feldman was taken aback, then charmed to realize that this transfixing, commanding display had been, in actuality, nothing more than an early morning stretch and yawn. Although, because of the contrast of sunlight and shadows, and the distance of the crowd, Feldman doubted anyone but he could tell.

  While this was most certainly the same arresting face Feldman had seen in the crude Millennium Eve video, its impact on him now was entirely different There was no semblance of the pain, rage or anguish that had exuded from the dark TV monitor. Perhaps it was the inexactness of the computer enhancement, but this face had none of the intensity. It even appeared less angular now. Softened. Sweetened.

  Yet, it had lost none of the otherworldliness that gave it its divinity. This was an amazing creature. The skin was so completely smooth, unblemished and literally vibrant in its pure, radiant whiteness. The face was perfect in its symmetry, with large, wide-set dark eyes rimmed with long black lashes. The jawline was chiseled, firm. The nose prominent Roman-godly. Entirely appropriate.

  The only physical imperfection to mar this compelling, flawless visage was the appearance of odd red welts that were visible in small, scalped patches in the Messiah's unruly, raven hair. A very bad haircut.

  But if this were indeed the face of a Messiah, God had played a cruel joke on His anointed one. This strange and surreal appearance wasn't that of a boy, but of a young woman. And when Feldman heard her speak, he was certain of it.

  Looking over the crowd, the Messiah called out in a clear, engrossing, authoritative, but entirely feminine voice:

  “Vasheim aboteinu tovu lisanecha,” she announced in perfect Hebrew, which Feldman did not comprehend.

  “Bism Elah atty laka,” she intoned in perfect Arabic, which was also lost on the reporter.

  “In the Name of the Father, I come to you,” she said in perfect English, and Feldman realized the Messiah was repeating the same phrases in a variety of languages.

  “Au Nom de Dieu notre Père, je viens à vous,” she continued in French.

  She repeated the process in German, Spanish, Russian, Chinese, Italian and Japanese, picking up the pace in a rhythmic chant that physically moved the crowd. Ten separate languages in all, recorded on tape, and her accent, in each instance, was perfect. Finishing one circuit, the Messiah began a new phrase, starting the rhythmic translation process all over again. She punctuated her oration with decisive movements of her arms and body.

  The world received its first sermon from the new prophetess. A short speech that came to be known as the New Beatitudes:

  In the name of the Father, I come to you.

  In the name of Truth, I come to you.

  In the name of Revelation, I come to you.

  Blessed are you who listen, for you shall understand.

  Blessed are you who see, for the New Light shall shine upon you.

  Blessed are you who resist convention for the sake of righteousness, for you shall be vindicated.

  Blessed are you who seek the Answer within you, for you shall know the mind of God.

  Blessed are you who defy the powerful in My name, for you shall be called courageous.

  Blessed are you who are selfless, for your compensation shall be immeasurable.

  Blessed are you who are tolerant, for you shall attain Unity.


  Blessed are you who safeguard the defenseless, for you shall gain life everlasting.

  Blessed are the secure of heart, for you shall find comfort in yourself.

  Rejoice and exult, because your reward is great in heaven; for so did they persecute the prophets who came before. (Apotheosis 4:6-19)

  There was one point near the end where the Messiah, in her sweeping scope of the crowd, brought her eyes to rest on Feldman's. Only for an instant, only in passing, but there was a connect. And even in the briefest of glances, her dark, serene, multihued blue eyes penetrated him unnervingly.

  He felt simultaneously dizzy, confused and invaded. But he had no opportunity to reflect on the experience. The Messiah's hands rose to the heavens as if bestowing a blessing upon the crowd. And then the slender figure turned abruptly, arms dropping, and calmly descended the steps as the crowd erupted.

  The massive audience was in ecstasy. Laughing, crying, praying, fully sated and taken with the rapture of this religious moment. Feldman was fearful that at any second the insensate, joyous mob would surge forward and shock divine sense into some of the more unfortunate faithful near the electric fence, providing Hunter with a little anecdotal footage. But the assembly remained respectful of itself and there was never any danger.

  Feldman believed that most of the crowd had been prepared from the onset to accept this Messiah figure as their Savior, regardless of her newly revealed sex. That she did such an effective job surpassing expectations, however, was what sent her audience into this prolonged state of euphoria.

  But not all her audience. There were some here who did not come to welcome a new religious icon. Particularly a female one. And they left this encounter with skepticism, scorn and displeasure.

  Yet, to all who personally witnessed this unprecedented event, there was no denial that something very extraordinary had happened here.

  32

  WNN headquarters, Jerusalem, Israel 8:06 A.M., Thursday, January 6, 2000

  There you are!” an aide called out with relief, spying Feldman at a coffee cart. “We've been looking all over for you. Sullivan's called a special strategy session in conference room four.”

  Leaving his coffee mug behind, a tired-looking Feldman hustled off down the corridor, only to be intercepted by another staff member who stuck her head out a door and called hesitantly to him.

  “I—I don't know if I should even bother you with this one,” she second-guessed herself, noting the harried look on Feldman's face, “but I have a long-distance call from Japan—some guy who insists he knows you and has some important news. I can barely understand his accent.” She looked at the scrawled message in her hand. “A Dr. Omato?”

  “I'll take it.” Feldman braked, stepping inside the door to accept the phone from her outstretched hand.

  “Hello, Dr. Omato, how are you? You're back in Japan now?”

  “Hello, Mr. Feldman. Fine. Yes, IDF deport us after we appear on TV.”

  “I'm sorry to hear that, sir.”

  “No problem. Our work finished. But I have more important news for you now. About Messiah!”

  Feldman had been jotting unrelated notes in his pad, but now the astronomer had his full attention.

  “You have new information about the Messiah?”

  “Yes, Mr. Feldman! Messiah is woman!”

  Feldman sighed inwardly, returning his mind to his notepad. “Yes, that seems to be the consensus.”

  “No, Mr. Feldman, I mean, Messiah is woman from meteorite crash. She survivor in desert!”

  Feldman's pen point tore the page and he jolted upright.

  “What!”

  “Yes, we see her on TV. She survivor we help after meteorite crash.”

  “Are you certain, Dr. Omato? It was dark. You said the woman was injured.”

  “Yes, positive. Dr. Hirasuma also agree. Dr. Somu also. We positive.”

  “Okay, excellent. That's a great help. You've been very helpful. Can I have someone from our Japanese bureau get a statement from you?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Excellent, thank you. Hold for my assistant, please!”

  Feldman passed the phone back to the staff member, leaving her with instructions, and headed off to the strategy meeting, his mind churning.

  “Good, Jon, you're here!” Sullivan addressed him as he joined the session in progress. “Just to let you know, we're trying to arrange another appointment with Richard Fischer. He returned to his hotel with the Messiah in a rental helicopter a short while ago.”

  Feldman found a place at the table between Cissy and another female staffer.

  “The Samaritans control the entire hotel grounds now,” Sullivan continued. “It's fenced and heavily guarded and they're not letting anyone enter. If we can get a message through, we're going to offer a handsome sum for a private interview with the Messiah, which we'll want you to conduct, naturally.”

  Feldman nodded.

  “Right-o.” Sullivan switched topics. “Now let's get back to our concepts for an alternative, backup story tonight. If everyone prefers the idea of developing an analysis of the Messiah's sermon, I'd tike to suggest, Jon, that you consider a co-anchored report with Erin Cross. As our expert on religious issues, Erin has some nice angles to suggest.”

  Erin and Hunter were beaming.

  “Sure,” Feldman agreed, and noticed Cissy shifting in her chair.

  “Let's get to work, then.” Sullivan rubbed his palms together. “Any questions before we begin?”

  Feldman raised a hand slightly. “Maybe this is a moot point now, Nigel, but are we all in agreement, the Messiah is a she?”

  Sullivan shrugged his shoulders above a wave of bobbing heads and murmured affirmatives. “There doesn't seem to be much argument about that.” He smiled. “And quite attractive, to boot! Perhaps a trifle eccentric, but striking nonetheless, wouldn't you say?”

  “But who is she and where in heaven's name did she come from?” Bollinger posed the core question.

  “I think I know where she came from,” Feldman offered, and all eyes quickly focused on him. “I got a call a few minutes ago from Dr. Omato, the Japanese astronomer who assisted us before. He and his colleagues are convinced our little Messiah is the missing survivor from the Negev disaster, the injured woman they found in the desert. I'm having our Japanese bureau get their statements.”

  “Damn!” Hunter broke the stunned silence. “A shell-shocked, mad scientist with a messiah complex!”

  “Or,” Bollinger had been following a similar train of thought, “possibly an amnesia victim caught up in the millenarian brouhaha.”

  “Or,” Cissy extrapolated, “an amnesia victim, manipulated by the Samaritans.”

  “I think we're on to something here,” Sullivan concurred. “Well done, Jon. Let's resurrect the investigation of the Negev laboratory. Put both teams three and four on it together. And let's keep a lid on the Messiah/survivor story until we see what we can turn up, shall we?”

  “Try for a list of personnel working at the institute that night,” Bollinger suggested. “Names, ages, description. Anything to help us identify her.”

  “Cock your ears,” Sullivan urged. “Surely someone who knows her true identity has recognized her face from the newscasts by this time. She's not exactly common-looking, now is she?”

  There was no disagreement on that score.

  “Okay, now on to the matter of a follow-up report on yesterday's sermon.” Sullivan turned to Erin Cross. “Erin, would you be so kind as to share some of your key insights with Jon?”

  “Gladly, Nigel.” Erin accepted the floor, fixed her bright smile on Feldman and approached a pull-down screen on the wall behind her.

  “I spent the better part of last night doing a comprehensive comparison of the New Beatitudes with the originals,” she explained, scrolling open the screen to reveal a large, side-by-side printout of both sermons. “For now, I'll spare you some of the more technical evaluations, of which there are many—”
>
  “Thank God!” Cissy hissed under her breath, loud enough for it to register with most of the table.

  “—and summarize what I consider to be the essential, underlying points.

  “It's important to note how these New Beatitudes differ in their intent from the originals. Christ's Beatitudes are designed to inspire and comfort the downtrodden and to promote passivity, humility. The New Beatitudes, however, appear to lead us in a very different direction. The New Messiah encourages open-mindedness, independence, self-reliance, assertiveness and selflessness. A more proactive stance, I would say.

  “If there is a key to where the Messiah is going with all this, I believe it occurs in the third line of her introduction.” Erin pointed to the screen and read the verse aloud: “’In the name of Revelation, I come to you.’

  “It's the use of this word, ‘Revelation,’ that I find so intriguing. It's possible that in using this term, the Messiah may be referring to John the Apostle's Book of Revelation, which, of course, contains the apocalyptic messages describing the end of the world and the Second Coming of Christ.

  “On the other hand, by ‘Revelation’ the Messiah could simply be implying that she intends to reveal something of special, spiritual significance in the future. If so, what this special ‘Revelation’ might be is also left unclear.

  “Despite the tide the Samaritans have given her, it's impossible to determine yet what this woman actually considers herself to be. Does she really believe she's a true Messiah—that is, a spiritual leader personally anointed by God? Or does she merely think herself a prophetess, inspired by God to provide insights into the future? In any event, there's no denying that she has convinced herself she's some sort of an emissary from God.”