Assassins: Assignment: Jerusalem, Target: Antichrist

  Buck checked his watch and phoned. It was seven in the morning in Israel. Jacov was an early riser. “He’s been invited to the Gala,” Jacov said quickly. “None of us thinks he should go. He has not been well, staying up all hours. He looks terrible. Talk him out of it.”

  Chaim didn’t sound well. He seemed to be trying to be his jovial self, but his thick Israeli accent sounded weary and sometimes slurred. “I will not be dissuaded, Cameron, but I have insisted that I be allowed to bring my valet and two guests. I was assured I could bring anyone I wanted. Stefan is petrified of Carpathia and insists he will quit my staff before he would attend. Jacov has agreed to serve as both driver and valet.”

  “Dr. Rosenzweig, you don’t want to do this. You’ve read Tsion’s warnings, and—”

  “Tsion’s warning is for what the Global Community calls the Judah-ites. I love Tsion and consider him one of my own, but I am not that kind of Judah-ite. I am going, but I want you and Tsion there with me.”

  Buck rolled his eyes. “Forgive me, Doctor, but that is naive. We are both persona non grata with the GC, and we trust Carpathia’s security pledge as far as we can throw it.”

  “They said I could bring any guests I wanted.”

  “They didn’t know whom you had in mind.”

  “Cameron, you and I have become close, have we not?”

  “Of course.”

  “More than just a journalist and a subject, am I right?”

  “Certainly, but—”

  “You are a cosmopolitan person. You should know that in my culture it is highly offensive to rebuff a formal invitation. I am formally inviting you and Tsion to attend the Gala with me, and I will take it as a personal insult if you do not.”

  “Doctor, I have a family. Dr. Ben-Judah has millions who count on his—”

  “You would both be with me! The Carpathia regime has committed some heinous acts, but to threaten the safety of someone as prominent as Tsion in the presence of a guest of honor . . .”

  “I can tell you right now, sir, that Tsion will not be coming. I’m not even sure I will pass along the invitation. He would want to do what you ask because he loves you so, but it would be irresponsible of me to—”

  “Do you not love me also, Cameron?”

  “Yes, enough to tell you that this is—”

  “I will withdraw my invitation of Tsion if I know you will be there.”

  Buck hesitated. “I couldn’t come under my own name anyway. And though I look different enough to get through customs, I could never appear with you if you are close to GC brass. They would recognize me instantly.”

  Chaim was silent for a moment. Then, “I am very sad that two of my dearest friends, friends who say they care deeply about me—”

  “Sir, don’t. This is not becoming. You want me to come because you’ve made me feel guilty? Is that fair? Are you thinking of me and my wife and my child?”

  Rosenzweig, totally out of character, ignored Buck’s mention of his family. “What would Tsion say if you told him I might be ready to become a Judah-ite?”

  Buck sighed. “For one thing, he hates that term with a passion. You of all people should know Tsion well enough to know that this is not about him, not about his developing a following. And to dangle a decision about your eternal soul as a bargaining ch—”

  “Cameron, have I ever asked for anything? For years I have considered you a young man whose admiration for me is unwarranted but cherished. I don’t believe I have ever taken advantage of that. Have I?”

  “No, and that’s why this—”

  “You are a journalist! How can you not want to be here for this?”

  Buck had no answer. In truth he had wanted to attend since the moment he heard of the Gala. He could hardly believe Carpathia himself was hosting the event at which so much prophecy would culminate. But he had never seriously considered going. He had been encouraged by how easily he had traveled to and from Israel under an alias not long before. But Chloe. Kenny. Tsion’s stance on any believer attending. Buck considered it out of the question.

  Now Chaim had finally tapped into the core of Buck’s being. Pagan or believer, single or married, childless or a father, he had been a journalist for as long as he could remember. He had been curious as a child—nosy, his friends and family said—before he’d ever had a conduit through which he could publish his findings. His trademark was incisive eyewitness reporting, and he was never happier than when he was on a story, not hidden away in a safe house where all he could do was comment on previously published material.

  His hesitation seemed to feed Rosenzweig, as if he knew Buck had taken the bait and now all the old man had to do was yank the line to set the hook.

  “It’s not that I don’t want to be there,” Buck said weakly, hating the whine in his voice.

  “Then you’ll come? That would mean so much to—”

  “This is not a decision I can make independently,” Buck said, and he realized he had turned a corner. He had gone from a flat refusal to mulling a full-blown prospect that had to be decided.

  “That is another distinction between our cultures,” Chaim said. “A Middle Eastern man is his own person, charting his own course, not answerable to—”

  “I cannot be seen with you,” Buck said.

  “Just knowing you are there will warm me, Cameron, and surely we will be able to interact privately at some point. I will withdraw my formal invitation to Tsion, and I will not procrastinate about our spiritual discussions any longer.”

  “You don’t need to wait for me for that, Doctor. In fact, I would urge that before you even dream of attending the Gala you would—”

  “I need to discuss these things in person, Cameron. You understand.”

  Buck didn’t, but he feared if he spent any more time on the phone he would make more concessions. He was sure to incur the wrath of the rest of the Trib Force regardless, so Buck negotiated one condition.

  “I must insist on one thing,” he said.

  “Oh, Cameron, you’re not going to go back on your word now, are you?”

  “I could not sanction your being there on the second day of the pageant.”

  Chaim was silent, but Buck heard papers rustling in the background. “It is a five-day event,” Rosenzweig said, “Monday through Friday next week. Monday is the anniversary of the treaty. Nicolae wants me on the platform for that celebration. Tuesday is a party at the Temple Mount, which I fear will turn into a confrontation between him and your preacher friends. That is what you want me to avoid?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Granted.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “My packet of information requests the honor of my presence at both the opening and closing ceremonies. That would be Monday night and Friday night.”

  “My preference is that you not go at all.”

  “I heard you say you would be there.”

  Annie and David had become even closer. He felt bad when she told him that sometimes she felt he appreciated her more as a co-subversive than as one who loved him. Glancing around to be sure they were alone at the end of a corridor, he took her face in his hands and touched the tip of his nose to hers. “I love you,” he said. “Under any other circumstances, I’d marry you.”

  “Is that a proposal?”

  “I wish. You can imagine the pressure, the stress. You have it too. The only other two believers I’ve seen here besides us and Mac and Abdullah, those two women in inventory, were somehow found out last night.”

  “Oh, no! We hadn’t even made contact yet. They probably thought they were alone.”

  “They were shipped to Brussels this morning.”

  “Oh, David.”

  “Odds are we aren’t going to be here much longer either. I don’t know exactly when the mark requirement is coming, but we have to escape first.”

  “I want to be your wife, even if only for a few years.”

  “And I want you to be, but we can’t do anything like that unti
l we know whether we can get out of here together. If one escapes and the other doesn’t, that’s no kind of life.”

  “I know,” she said. “We’re likely to be the first to know when Carpathia does start requiring a mark of loyalty. And you know he’ll start right here in the palace.”

  “Probably.”

  “Meanwhile, David, you might want to tell the stateside Force that if they need to travel, now’s the best time. I saw a document that’s going to the Peacekeeping Force around the world. It calls for a moratorium on arrests or detainment, even of enemies of the Global Community, until after the Gala.”

  There had been no keeping the Rosenzweig request from Tsion, of course, and Tsion had been unusually melancholic ever since. “I will not tell you what to do, Buck,” he said in front of Rayford, “but I wish your father-in-law would pull rank on you.”

  “Frankly,” Rayford said, at the next meeting of the household, “I wish I were going with Buck.”

  “You’re letting him go,” Chloe said, with her fourteen-month-old on her lap. Kenny turned to face her and put his hands over her eyes as she spoke. She turned her head so she could see. “I can’t believe it. Well, why don’t you go with him, Dad? Why don’t we all go? Bad enough we won’t all make it to the end of the Tribulation anyway, why don’t we throw caution to the wind? Why don’t we make sure Kenny is an orphan without even a grandfather?”

  “Kenny!” the baby said. “Grandpa!”

  Rayford slapped his thighs and opened his arms, and Kenny slid off Chloe’s lap and ran to him. Rayford lifted him over his head, making him squeal, then sat him on his lap. “The fact is, I have a different trip in mind for me.”

  “This is just great,” Chloe said. “Do we vote on anything anymore, or do we all just pull a Hattie and run off to wherever we want?”

  “This is not really a democracy,” Rayford said, and judging by the look he got from Tsion, realized he was on shaky ground. The baby climbed off him and toddled into the other room. “Leah and I have been talking, and—”

  “Leah’s going somewhere too?” Chloe said. “She’s invaluable to me here.”

  “I won’t be gone long,” Leah said.

  “It’s a foregone conclusion then?”

  “This is more announcement than discussion,” Rayford said.

  “Clearly. Well, let’s hear it.”

  Rayford began carefully, fearing his own motive. In his heart of hearts he wanted to get to Jerusalem with his Saber. But he said, “We need to make contact with Hattie. I feel responsible for her, and I want to know she’s all right, let her know we’re still standing with her, see what we can do for her. Mostly, I want to make sure she’s not given us away.”

  Even Chloe did not argue. “She deserves to know about her sister,” she said. “But the GC will be watching for you, Dad.”

  “They will be less likely to suspect a woman. We’re thinking of making Leah Hattie’s aunt on her mother’s side, giving her a new look and, of course, a new ID. She’ll say she’s heard a rumor or got word smuggled out somehow that Hattie’s there. If they don’t associate Leah with us, why shouldn’t they allow the contact?”

  “But now, Dad? With Buck going?”

  “David’s told us now is the best time to travel. It’s going to become nearly impossible soon.”

  “That is true,” Tsion said.

  Rayford looked up in surprise, and he noticed others did too.

  “I’m not supporting this,” Tsion said. “But if that poor child dies in prison apart from God, when we had her under our own roof for so long . . .” His voice quavered and he paused. “I don’t know why God has given me such a tenderness toward that woman.”

  Chloe sat shaking her head, and Rayford knew she was not happy, but through arguing.

  “T believes it would be too risky for me to start cruising around in the Super J, so he’s prepping the Gulfstream.”

  “It shouldn’t surprise me that this is virtually set,” Chloe said. Rayford sensed a resigned admiration, as if she had conceded that once he got something in his brain, it happened.

  “Buck can fly with us to Brussels—that’ll save us a few dollars—and continue commercially to Tel Aviv. I’ll stay out of sight in Belgium and meet up with Leah when she’s ready.”

  “Maybe Buck could fly back with you too,” Chloe said. “Depending on how long you want to wait for him in Brussels.”

  “Maybe,” Rayford said. “Would you prefer that?”

  “Would I prefer he fly home with my dad rather than taking his chances with a commercial system that is half what it used to be? Yes, I would prefer that. Of course, I prefer he not go, but short of that, humor me.”

  The mood was festive on the Phoenix 216 when Mac and Abdullah took off Saturday morning for Israel with a full load. It seemed the entire Carpathia administrative team was on board, and Nicolae was in his glory. Mac listened in as Leon clapped for attention and asked people to gather. “Welcome, everyone,” he said. “And to our very special guest, who selflessly bequeathed His Excellency this aircraft at a time of dire need, a special welcome to you, sir.”

  There was polite applause, and Mac wished he could see Peter Mathews’s face. “Would you care to say a word before His Excellency addresses us, Pontifex?”

  “Oh, why, yes, thank you, Commander. I, we, at Enigma Babylon look forward to the Gala with much anticipation—Israel is, as you know, one of the last areas to acquiesce to our ideals. I believe that we will have the opportunity to put our best face on the one-world faith and that we will come away from this week with many more members. I frankly relish opportunities to challenge dissidents, and with the two preachers and the history of the Judah-ite rallies here, this is the place to do just that. Good to be with you.”

  “Thank you, Supreme Pontiff,” Leon said. “Now, Your Excellency . . .”

  Carpathia sounded ecstatic with expectation. “My personal greetings and welcome to you all,” he said. “I believe you will one day look back on this coming week as the beginning of our finest hour. I know we have suffered the way the whole world has with the plagues and death. But the future is clear. We know what we have to do, and we will do it. Enjoy yourselves. It is a festival, a party. Personal, individual freedom has never been more celebrated. And may I say, there are more places in Jerusalem than anywhere to indulge yourselves. Revel in the Epicurean and physical pleasures that appeal to you. Show the rest of the Global Community that they are allowed to pamper the flesh even after times of hardship and chaos. Let us ring in the new world with a festival like no one has ever seen. Many of you have been responsible for arranging entertainment and diversion, and for that I am grateful. I cannot wait to see the spectacle myself.”

  Mac and Abdullah enjoyed private rooms next to each other in the palatial King David Hotel, where Carpathia had reserved two entire floors. The rest of the entourage stayed not far away in accommodations no less opulent. The ten regional potentates would be housed at the GC Grand, another quarter mile away.

  During the two days before the official opening of the Gala, the cockpit crew was required to conduct tours of the 216 back in Tel Aviv. Early Monday morning they helped arrange transport from Ben Gurion Airport to Jerusalem for the potentates and their extensive entourages. Mac worked with GC Security to off-load the metal detectors David had put into the cargo hold, and these were set up on either side of the gigantic outdoor platform that had been erected not a half mile from the Temple Mount and the Wailing Wall. Everyone who would be on the platform, from entertainers to VIPs, would pass through a metal detector on one side of the platform or the other.

  The stage floor was twelve feet off the ground and a hundred feet square. A vast green tarpaulin was canopied atop it to block the sun, and massive scaffolding towers held the speaker systems that would boom the music and speeches to an expected two million revelers. All across the back of the stage, filling a flowing curtain designed to coordinate with the canopy, were various messages in every major lan
guage. These welcomed the delegates, announced the dates of the five days of the Global Gala, and featured huge sparkling logos of the Global Community.

  The largest statement printed on the backdrop, Mac noticed, read, One World, One Truth: Individual Freedom for All. All around the plaza, on every lamppost, fence, and wall, was the slogan Today Is the First Day of the Rest of Utopia.

  As Mac and Abdullah aided with the placement of the metal detectors, several bands and dance troupes rehearsed and sound technicians swarmed the area. Mac pulled Abdullah close and whispered, “I must be seeing things. Who does that girl, second from the left, look like to you?”

  “I was trying not to watch,” Abdullah said. “But if you insist. Oh, my, I see the resemblance, of course. But it is not possible. Is it?”

  Mac shook his head. Hattie was in Brussels. They knew that. This woman merely stuck out from the other dancers because she looked a bit older. The rest looked barely out of their teens.

  The security chief reminded musicians and dancers that none would be allowed on stage beginning with Monday evening’s opening ceremony without proper identification and without passing through a metal detector. “If you’ve got the big buttons or buckles and jewelry, be prepared to take those off and have them checked before you go through.”

  At a briefing of the security staff, Mac heard the chief instruct the teams of plainclothes guards who would work in shifts in the front of the stage. “Particularly when the potentate is at the microphone,” he said, “maintain your position. Let the audience move if you’re blocking their vision. You stand in a semicircle, eight at a time, four feet apart, hands clasped at your belt. Eyes forward, no talking, no smiling, no gesturing. If you are summoned through your earpiece, do not respond orally. Just do what you’re told.”

  Mac felt a deep sadness as he walked to a shuttle van that was to take him and Abdullah back to the King David. He glanced back at the stage from across a wide expanse of asphalt. Backed by deafening music, the dance troupe ended a lascivious routine.