by Ray Bentley
Praise for
On the Mountain of the Lord
“On the Mountain of the Lord is a thriller, superimposed over biblical prophecy, history, and geography. Bodie Thoene expertly weaves an intriguing plot through current events, while Ray Bentley adds a depth of understanding to complicated Middle East issues. The combination is a good story that has meaning. I’m already looking forward to their next novel.”
—Anne Graham Lotz, author and speaker
“On the Mountain of the Lord weaves the headlines of today and the pages of the Bible into a page turning thriller. It brings the most contested place on Earth—the Temple Mount—and the most heated conflict in the world to life. Bodie Thoene and Ray Bentley take you on a dramatic journey into the heart of Jerusalem, onto the streets of London and up to the ancient sites of the Promised Land to feel the heartbeat of today’s most important crossroads of history and prophecy, Jerusalem. If you want to feel this heartbeat for yourself, you’ll want to read On the Mountain of the Lord!”
—Chris Mitchell, CBN News Middle East Bureau Chief
“The inspiring novel On the Mountain of the Lord by Ray Bentley and Bodie Thoene takes you on an amazing journey connecting prophecies of the past to their modern day fulfillment. As the prophets declare, all nations will one day ascend the Mountain of the Lord to learn of His ways, and in this novel you will feel the connection as you are being drawn in, being reconnected to the Promised Land and the people of Israel.”
—Mark Biltz, founder of El Shaddai Ministries and bestselling author
“On the Mountain of the Lord came like a wind and deeply penetrated to my heart. From the very start it awakened my soul to its core beyond my comprehension. I truly believe it’s going to bring such understanding of truth, healing, and inspiration to millions in a very unexpected manner. I have learned, grown, and was inspired all at once reading a well-written story of the ordinary in an extraordinary way. It tells us in the deepest and darkest hours of our struggles and wounds there’s dawn, there’s hope and there’s that glorious supernatural breakthrough. Ray Bentley and Bodie Thoene paint a masterpiece of truth: in the midst of darkness, turmoil, and terror, we can still believe in miracles. So touched. So inspired. This book is telling the world to dream dreams and never give up. People, cultures, and places are studied so well I felt I was there! From England to Tel Aviv to the Mount of Olives, I was there as if it were a movie.”
—Isik Abla, founder and CEO of Işik Abla Ministries, evangelist (to the Muslim world), and author
“On the Mountain of the Lord takes us on a fascinating journey of intrigue through the Holy Land revealing fascinating biblical prophecies. Pastor Ray Bentley’s thorough knowledge of the Bible combined with his passion for Israel is complemented by Bodie Thoene’s captivating characters and gripping story line. What a combination these two make! Unfolding at a riveting pace, you’ll be encouraged by the book and left wanting more at the end! It was hard to put down, as a matter of fact, I didn’t put it down until I finished! It’s a wonderful book, enjoyable, and educational!”
—Ed Taylor, senior pastor, Calvary Chapel of Aurora, Colorado
“Here is a novel of profound impact on Israel’s current political situation. It is a fast-moving, action-packed detective narrative of its history and Islamic atrocities engulfing the whole world. It is both spellbinding and gut-wrenching. An amazing, informative thriller. A powerful and clear testimony of Israel’s betrayal by the international community. Within its vast panorama, it is the keen sense of the small moments of life that endears the reader and invites him to step into the story in a remarkable and stunning way. Wow reading!”
—Robert Mawire, president, WRNO Radio and Gerizim Technology Group
“On the Mountain of the Lord is a suspenseful and captivating read. Behind the fictional story of Jack Garrison is a comprehensible mingling of history, biblical events, and prophecy connecting all three with current events. This is historical fiction at its best. If you want to gain a biblical understanding of why Israel is at the center of world conflict as well as enjoy a great read, then this is the book for you!”
—Pastor Brian Brodersen and Cheryl Brodersen, Calvary Chapel Costa Mesa
“Bodie Thoene and Ray Bentley’s collaborative novel captures one man’s struggle to understand the prophetic implications of the land of Israel. Bursting with drama and suspense from the very first page, it will have you reading late into the night. This stirring tale casts a spotlight on the place where heaven and earth meet, where modern geopolitical realities converge with ancient prophecies, and where the God of Israel chose to put his name—Jerusalem’s Holy Temple. In On the Mountain of the Lord, we are gently reminded that the heartbeat of God remains His promised land and the eternal destiny of His people.”
—Dr. Dinah Dye, bestselling Messianic author
“I honestly expected to painfully read On the Mountain of the Lord and I discovered that it truly is brilliant and I can’t put it down!! I have too much to do and I’m mesmerized after chapter nine. How clever of Ray Bentley and Bodie Thoene! Take people on a tour of Israel and with one eye on the past prophecies and the other on the current realities you are weaving together a remarkable and memorable plot line. Absolutely love it!! Rosenberg, look out!!!”
—Lloyd Pulley, senior pastor of Calvary Chapel Old Bridge, New Jersey, author, and host of Bridging the Gap radio program
“Lovers of The Zion Chronicles and The Zion Covenant, rejoice! Master storyteller Bodie Thoene has once again set her keen eye on Jerusalem, this time in the twenty-first century. She and Ray Bentley remind us in this compelling novel, On the Mountain of the Lord, that heaven’s headlines certainly trump the world’s skewed take on the plans for Israel, the Church, and the Jewish people.”
—John Waage, CBN senior editor, Israel
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Epilogue
About the Author
To my beautiful wife Vicki and her family, who are the inspiration for the main characters in this story, Jack and Bette.
And to all the people who have kept this dream alive, “Next year in Jerusalem…”
Prologue
BRITISH OCCUPIED JERSUALEM
JUNE 14, 1946
The British Union Jack was bathed in brilliant moonlight above Jerusalem’s King David Hotel, headquarters of the British Mandate.
Sol Baruch watched from the rooftop of his flat with seven members of his Haganah team as the flag slowly dimmed and turned blood-red in the shadow of a full lunar eclipse. Stars appeared as the sky darkened.
“Look. Can you see it?” Ari gestured toward the Blood Moon. “There’s a shadow there—like a red horse—across the moon.”
Sol studied the strange apparition. “Yes. Yes. I see it.”
“Do you think it means something, Sol? I mean, tonight we finalize our plans for the attack—while this is happening above our heads.”
Sol frowned and considered that he must answer Ari carefully. In two nights the forces of the Jewish Haganah, with other resistance fighters, would blow up eleven bridges linking the British Mandate of Palestine to other countries. Sol did not want his explosi
ves teams to fear bad luck. “You mean, like a bad omen or something?”
Ari nodded, not taking his eyes from the scarlet orb. “Yes. A warning to us? Bad luck?”
Sol rubbed his hand over his copper-colored beard. “You are religious, Ari. You read today’s Parsha. Yes? No? You tell me.”
“The prophet Zechariah. All this week. The red horse is in there too.”
“Yes. Okay. This red moon is maybe a sign, but it is a good sign for us and for the nations who bless the Jews, Ari. And a bad sign for those who curse and oppress us. The Almighty, HaShem, is warning all the nations who have injured His beloved people. They have poked their finger in God’s eye. When Israel is a nation again, all the Jews who were scattered and broken will come home.”
Ari still stared up with dread. “So much Jewish blood. You—you finally heard the news about your friend just today. And the Agency is still looking for my family. Those who survived the Nazis are still locked up in Displaced Persons camps. Here is a homeland for them, and now British blockades keep them out.” Ari smiled slightly and nodded. “So we will blow up British bridges. And that will be our sign to all the world we will no longer be ruled by gentiles.”
Pieter Kowalski, who escaped from Nazi-occupied Poland, put a hand on Ari’s shoulder. “Superstition. Come on, Ari. We make our own luck. And we will fight to make our own homeland. Our job for now is to blow up the Allenby Bridge and get back alive. Vengeance. That’s what I want. This is just an eclipse. Let our enemies look up and be afraid of the omen of a red moon. Superstition. Nothing more.”
Ari shrugged. “Well, I say it’s a good thing to be God’s Chosen People. It gives one courage, don’t you think?”
Pieter’s eyes narrowed. “If the last few years are any indication of what it’s like to be God’s chosen, I wish God would choose someone besides us Jews.” He bowed slightly. “And now, as for me? I want to go home and get some sleep.”
Members of the team trooped down the steep steps, leaving Sol alone in his one-room flat. A scarlet glow streamed through his open window, falling upon the stack of letters tied with a ribbon on his desk. His Bible was open to the day’s passage in Zechariah.
Sol switched on the lamp and read again the yellow paper telegram from the Jewish Agency, confirming his best friend, Jacob Louzada, had perished in a Nazi death camp.
He was glad to be alone. He had not had time to grieve the reality of such a loss. His gaze lingered on the words of Zechariah. Black fire upon white fire. “ ‘Up! Up! Flee from the land of the north,’ declares the Lord. ‘Escape to Zion!’ ”
Addressing the bundle of letters Sol chided, “Why didn’t you listen? You paid with your life. Too late, you listened.” He shook his head.
From the prophet Zechariah he read aloud, “…to the nations that plundered you…he who touched the apple of my eye. Sing and rejoice O daughter of Zion, I will come and I will dwell in your midst, declares the Lord. And many nations shall join themselves to the Lord in that day and they shall be My people. And the Lord will inherit Judah as His portion in the Holy Land and will again choose Jerusalem.”
What could this mean? Surely the time for restoration must come. The nation of Israel must be reborn or there will be no hope left for the People of the Book.
“God, I will remember this night,” Sol said aloud. “It does mean something. Something important.” He drew a weary breath as the gloom of the Blood Moon deepened across the ancient city. Switching off the light, he grasped his Bible tightly to his chest. Lying down on his narrow bed, he fell into a deep sleep.
Chapter One
PRESENT DAY
Christmas was American-born Professor Jack Garrison’s least favorite season in London. As the world beyond Great Britain seemed to crumble, the Brits’ cheerful portrayal of the Charles Dickens holiday spirit was an assault on Jack’s senses. Even the late afternoon, working-class Londoners, laden with packages, smiled while crammed into the Bakerloo Line Tube train.
Jack sensed for months he was being followed. He scanned his fellow passengers. Real concern or paranoia? There was no proof; only a vague unease.
At age thirty-two, Jack believed the Underground was a cross-section study of London society: a few elite middle-aged travelers in pinstriped suits read The Times; middle class faces were concealed behind the latest tabloid headlines; London Sun and Daily Mirror screamed the latest outrages about the American president. Younger eyes of shop clerks and office workers were all fixed on cell phone screens.
Jack’s cell phone, tucked away within the inside pocket of his navy blue, corduroy jacket, was set on airplane mode—location services off. He wondered who, among his fellow passengers, might be snapping photos of him.
The PA announced their arrival at Embankment Tube station. The train slowed and stopped. Doors slid open. Jack held back as a dozen people stepped off, then he followed.
No one exited behind him.
Unreasonable relief.
A trio of brass horn players: trumpet, trombone, and tuba performed at the bottom of the Embankment Tube station escalators. Jack paused and pretended interest as crowds from other trains pushed past.
He tossed a one-pound coin into the musicians’ collection basket and joined the current of strangers pouring out from a warren of Underground tunnels and onto the escalators.
The sounds of “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen” followed the jostling crowds upward toward the Strand. Jack had not been merry for a very long time and God seemed very distant indeed.
It was only 4:30 p.m., drizzling, and already dark as Jack emerged from the station. A sidewalk peddler scooped warm chestnuts from a grill and poured them into a small, brown-paper bag. Jack purchased a bag, jostling the hot paper from palm to palm, and read the headlines at the news vendor’s stand. Just released evening tabloids shrieked about the American president’s latest tweet.
Jack ducked his head as the rain began to pelt his face and stopped to buy a paper. He handed over another pound coin.
“American?” asked the vendor, making change.
“Is it that obvious?” Jack held the paper above his head.
“Only a Yank would go out without an umbrella. No hat, nor top coat, neither.”
“Quite the Sherlock Holmes.”
“Easy. And you’re—some sort of academic?”
Jack laughed. “You are good.”
“No tie, y’see.” The vendor tapped the headline. “Interestin’ reading. Quite a chap, your Mr. Trump.”
“I’ve been away from America a long time,” Jack replied. “Cheers.”
Was that an expression of admiration for Trump, or amusement on the newsie’s face, Jack wondered. He hurried up the cobbled pedestrian alleyway toward the Strand, a main London thoroughfare for centuries.
A sea of black umbrellas surged over the sidewalks as Jack made his way toward the u-shaped drive sheltering the entrance to the Savoy Hotel. The usual scent of diesel-powered black cabs and red buses lingered in the air. Extravagant garlands and giant lighted angels soared above the street and reflected on the wet pavement.
Jack pushed through the revolving door of the Savoy. A string quartet played instrumental carols in the marbled lobby. The Christmas tree towered almost to the ceiling and seemed to drip golden ornaments and gleaming white twinkle lights. Around the base of the tree was a heap of fake packages trimmed in gilt ribbons.
Jack scanned round tables crowded with barristers, businessmen, tourists, and well-dressed ladies finishing high tea. Jack’s old college roommate, Levi Seixas, was nowhere to be seen.
The maître d’ eyed Jack’s lean, rumpled, six-one stature with disapproval. Jack ran his hand self-consciously over the reddish stubble on his cheek.
He wondered what Debbie would say if she could see him now. Everything about his appearance was a portrait of lingering grief. Thick, unkempt hair. If Debbie were here, she would not have let him go so long without a shave and a haircut.
Jack was uncomfortably aware his
attire was out of place amid the opulence of the afternoon business crowd. He glanced at his image in a mirror and barely recognized himself as a successful academic in worn out, blue Nike running shoes, faded jeans, and a rust-red Big Island Ironman t-shirt beneath a white, open-collar dress shirt, all of which was topped by the navy blue corduroy jacket.
The tone of the maître d’ implied people who slept in their clothes were not usually welcome as Savoy guests. “May I help you, sir?”
“Dr. Jack Garrison.” Jack brushed cat fur from his sleeve. The kitty had long since adopted Jack’s neighbors, but left reminders behind of her first home.
The maître d’ scanned his reservation list. His accent and demeanor reminded Jack of the iconic butler, Mr. Carson, in the Downton Abbey series. “You are—meeting Doctor Garrison, sir?”
“No. I am Doctor Garrison.”
“Ah.” The man arched his eyebrows in surprise as he spotted Jack’s name. “American?”
“My secretary called ahead—Garrison. Professor—London, King’s College.”
“I see. Well, then—of course.” The maître d’ seemed relieved to learn Jack was an academic, and not an MD. “Neck ties are required at the Savoy, sir. However—not to worry. I have several just here. So many American tourists arrive unacquainted with our traditions.” He opened a cupboard and retrieved a loaner clip-on navy blue tie.
Jack buttoned his top button and attached the neckpiece. It pinched. “Meeting an old friend. But he’s not here. Probably stuck in traffic. Lev Seixas is his name.”
“American as well?”
“Yes. American.”
“I’ll let him know you’re here—Doctor Garrison. Your table is just there as requested. Follow me, sir.”
“Sure. Thanks.” Tucking his chin self-consciously Jack wove through the throng to the table against a dark-paneled wall. Jack and Lev sat at this very table the last time they saw one another. That meeting did not end well. Now, Jack wondered if it was possible for two former friends to have such different views of the world and still be friends.
