“When I was twelve years old, my cousin Maryam came to live with us. She had lost both her father and mother to the fighting in the South, and she was full of sadness. Maryam and I were the same age, and, even though we had not met before, we instantly became like sisters. I knew that God had sent her to me so that we could take away each other’s loneliness. Maryam had the same love for Jesus that I held in my heart, and we soon began to plan how one day we would go together to tell the people of Iran about our faith.
“When we were sixteen, Maryam and I began to leave the house without permission and go into the streets where we talked to people about Jesus. The first time my mother cried and begged us not to go again, but I told her that God had called me to serve Him, and I must obey. Maryam said the same things to her, and, finally, my mother agreed that we must obey God. She was still very much afraid for us, but after that she did not try to stop us.
“Nearly every day Maryam and I ventured into the streets, and when we were not arrested, we grew bolder. By the time we were nineteen, we were openly proclaiming the Gospel to anyone who would listen.
“One afternoon as we ministered to a group of women and children, the police appeared from out of nowhere and arrested us. I was more afraid of being separated from Maryam than I was of being arrested, and I prayed and asked God to let us stay together. He answered my prayer, and Maryam and I were put into the same cell where we were to wait to stand trial for prostitution.
“I was always strong, but Maryam was frail, and she soon developed a fever and a cough. As the days passed, I knew that she was getting weaker, and I prayed fervently for her to become well. I prayed that we would be released so that we could return to our family, but many days passed and we were still locked in our hot, filthy cell.
“Maryam and I were without knowledge of men. We had never been alone with a man, and we knew nothing of the ways of a man with a woman. We were unprepared for the cruelty of the prison guards. They called us horrible names and said disgraceful things to us. Often they beat us—sometimes with their bare hands and sometimes with a rod. Every time they subjected us to such cruelty they would taunt us and ask us where was our Jesus now? Why did He not come to save us?
“Maryam did not become bitter. She prayed for our captors and asked Jesus to forgive them and help them accept Him as their Lord and Savior. I was not like Maryam; I felt myself become bitter. When she would return to our cell bruised and bloodied, her body covered with running sores, I would feel hatred burning in my chest. I wanted to kill those men for what they had done to us.
“In Iran there is a saying that if we are bitten enough times by the snakes of this world, we are filled with poison, and we become like them. In Iran revenge and unforgiveness are believed to be virtues, so this saying is often repeated. It is the Iranian way of saying, ‘If you harm me, I will turn on you and sink my fangs into your body and fill you with my deadly poison!’
“One day as I tried to wash Maryam’s sores with the little water we had been given, I repeated this saying to her, and she began to cry. ‘Do not do this!’ she begged. ‘If you do not forgive these men, you will become like them. You will be filled with the poison that will drive Jesus from your heart, and you will become the servant of the evil one.
“‘No, Fatema, I beg of you; do not let this thing happen. Forgive these men so that their poison cannot make you into a poisonous snake. God has much work for you to do. That is why the devil has attacked us. Last night God spoke to me in a dream and told me that I will not leave this place, but He will deliver you from the hands of the enemy so that your work can continue. If you allow yourself to hate these men, they have won. Forgiveness will deliver you from their grip.’
“Eleven months after we were arrested I gave birth on the dirt floor of that tiny cell. It is a miracle that the baby and I survived. We had no water to wash, and we had no one to help us deliver the child. No guards came to discover the cause of my screams as I suffered hours of blinding pain.
“During all that time Maryam was very brave. As she looked at my tiny baby girl her face shone with joy, and for the first time since we had been arrested I thought that Maryam seemed stronger. At that moment I was certain that she would survive our ordeal. ‘A gift from God,’ she said as she held my daughter up for me to see.
“The next morning Maryam did not awaken; I named the baby after her and made a promise to God that I would not allow the poison of my captors to infect me. I would live for Him and for my child.
“Three days later I was released from prison. My attorney had kept our case before the public, and Maryam and I had many people all over the world praying and petitioning for our release. The official story was that we had been arrested for prostitution, but all who knew us knew that this was not true. Since I had been in prison for eleven months when my child was born, they could not say that I was pregnant as a result of prostitution. I had simply become an embarrassment to the government of Iran, so the prison door was thrown open, and I was pushed out into the street with my baby in my arms. Neither my attorney nor my family had been notified that I was to be released. I walked to the home of a Christian family that I knew held secret church meetings in their house, and they took me to my mother.
“Some people from the United States helped me to leave Iran with my mother and baby—the only family I had left to me. They offered for me to come to America, but I could not do that. I knew that God had called me to bring Christ to the Muslim nations so I came here to Dubai and joined Yeshua Ministries.
“It was here that I met my husband Saeed. I did not believe that I would ever be able to marry. I felt disgraced, and I had learned to fear men, but when I met Saeed, I knew at once that God had sent him to me. He is gentle and good—a true man of God. And he loves my daughter as if she were his own child.
“My body has healed, and my mind has also healed. But most important, my spirit has healed. The poison is gone from my veins, and I am filled with the joy and peace and love of the Holy Spirit. I refuse to hate those who hate me. I refuse to be stung by them. I choose forgiveness; I choose life; I choose to serve Jesus.”
Chapter 15
Through the towering, multi-story windows, the nine-hundred foot lighted fountains of the Burj Khalifa appeared to dance magically to Middle-Eastern music. Against the deep darkness, the sparkling lighted waters took on the quality of spirits or water genies out of A Thousand and One Arabian Nights. A crowd was gathered outside to watch them, as they did every night, but from this special, private meeting room at the world’s most exclusive hotel in the heart of downtown Dubai, the spectators could watch the show while enjoying their meal.
Amanda Sutton had a spectacular view of the fountains from her table, and though she was transfixed by their beauty, she was also acutely aware that her fascination with the fountains was irritating her date for the evening.
She had met this strange man just this afternoon after she arrived in Dubai. Amanda was supposed to be here for a private party at the club Armani, followed by a fashion show the next day, but when she had met Josef at his apartment that afternoon he had told her that there had been a change of plans, and the party was being held in a private meeting room there at the hotel and that she would be his companion for the evening. The way he stroked her hair and her shoulders left no doubt as to exactly what he meant by ‘companion’, but he had promised that he would introduce her to Francesca Giovanni, the current head of the house of Armani. Amanda was no prude; she knew that in the fashion world sometimes a girl has to play along to get ahead. Still, the loathing she felt for this man at first sight had made his offer a hard one to accept—if she had not been thousands of miles from home in a strange country she might have actually refused him.
In her beaded, shell-pink dress she was a vision. Amanda had been amazed when the concierge had delivered it to her hotel room; it fit as if it had been made for her. The dress was knee length and showed off her beautiful, tanned legs, which were further accentu
ated by the metallic stiletto heels. She wore only one piece of jewelry—her pavé zirconia “good luck” ring which everyone assumed was diamonds. The Dubai Tower Salon had coiffed her hair into a sophisticated upsweep which showed off her eyes to their best advantage. Her softly-applied makeup was flawless, and the touch of pink on her lips was the exact shade of her dress. When she entered the room on Josef’s arm, every man turned to look at her, and many of them continued staring throughout the evening.
Josef was reveling in the attention. His own suit was custom-made by the house of Armani especially for this occasion. Amanda and he were seated at the head table, and he was surveying the room with a sense of both pride and power in the moments before he stood to make his opening speech. Every moment of the evening had been planned to the smallest detail, and, as with all of Josef’s plans, everything was proceeding perfectly.
The gathering assembled in this private meeting room overlooking the fountains represented all walks of the world’s elite—monarchs and prime ministers, the greatest scientific minds, the captains of industry, and the titans of finance. For over three quarters of a century, the men in this organization had been formulating public policy on myriad issues—world governance, environmentalism, population control, currency manipulation, trade, and control over international resources. The ideas that flowed from these gatherings filtered down to the United Nations and then to national governments where they were messaged to individual people groups through carefully-crafted promotional campaigns. Yet, for all of their power and influence, the Club conducted most of their work in secret. Tonight, they were gathered for their annual assembly to induct their 2041 secretary-general.
Josef rose and stood at the podium; all eyes were on him.
“I want to begin this evening with a toast. The wait staff is presenting each of you with a glass of wine from my newest acquisition—Italy’s oldest and most prominent vineyard. I have purchased this vineyard with a new commitment to sustainable agricultural practices in the production of the world’s premier wine.”
As he spoke, the wait staff placed a flute of sparkling white wine in front of each attendee. With his usual meticulous planning, Josef had made certain that there would be enough staff to serve every person at exactly the same time so that by the time he had finished his introduction, all of the flutes would be in place. Lifting his own glass he proposed the toast:
“We drink tonight to a new, sustainable future, to equality of all human beings, to a renewed respect for the earth, and to a reorientation of government and social systems which will enable these processes to begin. To the New World Order.”
“To the New World Order!” repeated his audience, who stood to drink the toast and then returned to their seats.
Josef continued, “More than three quarters of a century ago, the Club of Rome was founded to bring social order out of chaos—to ensure a cleaner, fairer, safer, more equitable world. I am long familiar with the Club and its inner workings. Many of you know the work of my father, Karl Helmick. He introduced me to the Club of Rome when I was thirteen. My regularly-assigned readings were the writings of its intellectual members. When I was fifteen years old, my father took me to Sweden to one of the general meetings and introduced me to then Secretary-General Laurence Wilcott and after that I attended the general assembly meeting every year. Over and over I heard speeches not unlike my own tonight about the need for a new global paradigm and how this must be enacted by 2052. Yet, here we stand today, just eleven short years away from that benchmark, having accomplished substantially none of our original goals. The sovereign nations of the world still govern their own peoples in their own way; free markets still permit a supply and demand system of economy; the West is still fat and rich and consuming a disproportionate percentage of the earth’s resources, just as they were when I was a boy.
“So my question to you tonight is this ‘How many of you here in this room are truly, fully committed to the goals of The New World Order?’ Please raise your hands.”
Every hand in the room went up, except Amanda’s; she had no idea what he was talking about. He caught her eye and glared at her, and she reluctantly raised hers also.
“Excellent. The 150 of you represent the world’s elite—the Guardians of Mankind. You have just told me that you are fully committed to the New World Order, so I am going to ask that you lead by example in ushering in this New Order.
“Many of you know that my father was an extraordinary man of many inventions. He discovered and patented the cure for cancer. But he was introduced to the Club of Rome through some of his other scientific breakthroughs in reversing death and aging—breakthroughs of which some of you in this room have availed yourselves over the years. My father had one other discovery—his greatest and most secret which I have never disclosed to any person until now. He learned how to bend the laws of space and time in such a way that he could erase the past and transform the future. Tonight, I propose that we use this discovery to begin to remake our world right now—here in this room.
“At the top of each place setting is a small crystal prism. This prism is the portal to the beginning of a new world. Take it into your hand, and you will feel it grow warm in your grasp. As you look into its facets you will experience your past, your present and your future. You will look upon your deepest desires, your most intimate memories, your most passionate aspirations. When you are ready, gently rub your thumb over the prism and repeat these words, ‘I renounce my wealth, my status, my family, my fortune, myself—all that I was, all that I am, all that I could be. I surrender myself as a servant to the New World Order to no longer rule but to serve in whatever capacity I am instructed. I give myself to this cause freely and without reservation.’ As you say these words you will disappear from this room, and you will cease to exist in your present state. You will still be alive, but you will be working at whatever assignment you are given by the masters of the new state. You will live wherever you are assigned without question; you will consume a new sustainable diet of 750 calories per day for the rest of your life. Your memories of your present life will disappear, and all memories of you by those who know you will also disappear. The space that you occupy in the universe will close, and it will be as though you had never existed.”
As Josef spoke, the prisms on the table had begun to sparkle in the light of the chandeliers. As the guests watched, the prisms slowly began to change color—first they were the color of pale sparkling champagne and then they became a dazzling pink. Josef’s suggestion was, on the surface, revolting to the men in the room, and at first they resisted the urge to comply, but the prisms seemed to call out to them to be held and caressed. One by one, each of the men picked up the crystal directly in front of him.
His Royal Majesty of Spain, King Luis Carlos, was the first. The prism warmed in his hand, and suddenly Luis Carlos was no longer in the room. He was alone, suspended in an ethereal mist holding the glittering object. As he gazed into the facets, he was suddenly a little boy of about four years of age, walking on the beach on a warm day as the gentle waves tickled his sandy toes. He held a shell to his ear. “Mama, listen. I can hear the ocean.”
His mother was walking beside him, “Of course you can, my love,” she laughed. He could hear her voice, her laugh. The sun had made her fair skin pink and left a few freckles on her bare shoulders. His aunt Cristina was at her side, and they were talking about a school for him….
Now he was older—a young boy playing soccer for his country on the Olympic team. He was at the university….he was at the funeral of his best friend Enrique who was killed by a car bomb….He was attending his own state wedding to Patricia—how young and slender she looked. Had she ever been so young and beautiful? Paparazzi from the entire world were photographing the ceremony. Patricia’s embroidered white silk dress was exquisite—custom-made for her by the house of Vera Wang.
When he turned the prism slightly and looked into another of its facets, he could see his present. His mist
ress, Ines Jimenez, the most sought-after actress in Spain, had made dinner for him and was opening the door to greet him. Her long tresses were the color of a raven’s wing, and they fell softly down her back. Her eyes were as black as pools of tar, and they glinted with love and passion whenever she and the king were together. Every man in Spain wanted her, but although Luis Carlos had just celebrated his sixtieth birthday and Ines was a mere twenty-eight, she whispered to him that he was the only man who excited her. He could hear her soft laughter and smell her jasmine-scented fragrance; she was so close that he could almost touch her….He was again on the beach, and he could see Ines’ three- year-old son Carlitos squatting on the sand, shaping the wet grains into a cone with a toy. Legally Carlitos was the son of Spanish cinema heartthrob Eduardo Quiñones, but their affair was merely a cover to hide the open secret of her passion with Luis Carlos. Carlitos was the monarch’s only son, born to him in his golden years, and though the boy could never be his heir, he was his father’s pride and joy.
One more turn of the prism in Luis Carlos’ hand, and suddenly he was transported to the future….It was Patricia’s funeral; none of the people in her family lived past sixty-five. Heads of state worldwide had come to pay their respects….Ines was moving into the presidential palace. They would never marry, but she would be his constant companion until his death. He would never acknowledge Carlitos publicly, but behind the scenes he would open every door so that his only son would be a man of wealth and prominence….He could see his own funeral, four decades into the future, as heads of state again paid their respects, and a still stunning Ines mourned the love of her life.
If he rubbed the prism and repeated the chant, he would cease to exist. Ines not only would not mourn for him—she would not be conscious that he had ever lived. He could see her cavorting playfully with Quiñones in their publicity shoots. Ines would belong to him. The life that Luis Carlos had lived would vanish—his presidential palace, his friends from school, his travels, his three daughters with Patricia, even his precious memory of walking with his mother and his aunt on the beach—all would be gone in an instant. No, no, he could not bring himself to do that. He tried to release his hand from the prism, but he was unable to let it go.
The Force (The Kingdom Chronicles) Page 8
