A Pale Horse

  “No singing!” a guard yelled.

  A beautiful, regal-faced woman in her forties spat at the women. “Yes, shut up with your caterwauling! Shut up!”

  She turned to the guards. “They’re singing about their God,” she hissed. “But their God will not save them,” she spat.” There is no God!”

  “Let them sing . . . ” The militia captain marched in. “Let them sing to nothing.” He laughed loudly. “Let them sing to the air.”

  He gestured dramatically.

  “In a few minutes, they will all be dead.”

  The Russian woman handed a set of papers to a short, stocky soldier with heavy Slavic features and a shaven head. He took the papers, glanced through them, then grinned lecherously.

  “You there!” he shouted. “No one should be as pretty as she.”

  An ugly Slav woman pointed her whip straight at Polly. “She’s next!”

  Polly started to tremble violently.

  The elderly woman grasped her hand. “Sing, little one,” she whispered. “Sing. He is here. He has come for us.” She kissed Polly tenderly on the head.

  The captain frowned. “No. You first, old woman. No one as ugly as you should be allowed to live a moment longer.”

  The militia joined his raucous laughter. He nodded to two soldiers, who savagely pushed the old woman toward the two steel doors of a boxcar.

  She turned for one last look at Polly. Her plain features shone with a strange luminosity. Polly stared, transfixed. She semed the most beautiful woman Polly had ever seen.

  Then the boxcar doors rolled shut.

  Thirty seconds later, the woman’s head rolled out into a steel trough. The Ukrainian captain gestured to a young soldier, who held up the woman’s head by one ear.

  Polly stared, tears running down her cheeks. Even in death, the woman’s face radiated an incredible peace.

  “See from His head, His hands, His feet

  Sorrow and love flow mingled down . . . ”

  “You!” The captain pointed at Polly. “You next.”

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Gramercy Park Town House, New York City

  Julia clutched the phone to her ear. “Okay, I’m watching Adrian now.” She stared intently at the screen.

  “They’ve created a vaccine for the plague.” Her voice shook with fear. “They’re releasing millions of doses from the EU stockpiles. Hang on, Jason; I’m just checking something . . . ”

  Julia ran over to a writing desk, the phone still at her ear, and picked up a piece of yellow card with a number in black stamped on it.

  “Oh, thank God, Jason! I’ve already been assigned. A yellow card dropped through the mail slot an hour ago. Uncle Xavier called and said I’d been upgraded courtesy of Adrian. I’ve got a yellow card.”

  Tears of relief ran down Julia’s cheeks. “I’m going to be okay, Jason. They’ll give me the vaccine. You don’t have to come. I’ll just sit tight till the worst is over.”

  “Oh, God,” Jason said to Lawrence. “Adrian’s earmarked her for the vaccine.”

  “When? When, Julia? What’s the date on the yellow card?” Jason shouted down the phone. The line crackled loudly.

  Julia stared down at the yellow card, then reached for her reading glasses and peered through them. “The nineteenth —December nineteenth. I have to register at the quarantine precinct by eight a.m.”

  “That’s tomorrow!” Jason shouted.

  “Oh, Jason, thank God!” Tears rolled down Julia’s cheeks. “Yes, it’s tomorrow. I’m going to be all right.”

  “Julia . . . ” Jason’s voice was soft but clear. “Listen to me very carefully. You can’t take the vaccine.”

  There was a long silence. Julia’s jaw clenched in anger. “Jason, don’t start!”

  “Julia . . . Julia, listen to me. It’s not just a vaccine.”

  His voice grew less distinct, as if he was talking to someone else. “She’s not listening, Lawrence.”

  “Julia . . . ” Jason’s voice rose in a mixture of fear and frustration. “You CAN’T take the vaccine.”

  “Don’t tell me not to take the vaccine! You’re not in this hellhole! If I don’t take it, I’ll end up like Polly—in a body bag, Jason! I have to take the vaccine. I don’t want to die. I suppose that would suit you, though, Jason De Vere. What do you want—the London house as well?” she screamed into the receiver.

  “Julia,” Jason said in desperation, “there is no plague in New York.”

  “Polly’s dead. Her neighbor was informed last night. Don’t you . . . ” Her voice was cold with fury. “Don’t you dare tell me there’s no plague in New York.”

  She ran to the window.

  “The military are everywhere. Of course the black plague’s in New York.”

  Jason handed the phone to Lawrence in frustration.

  “Julia, my dear . . . ” Lawrence’s calm, steady tones filtered down the line to New York. “It’s Uncle Lawrence.”

  Julia stared at the phone. “Uncle Lawrence. Thank goodness it’s you, Uncle Lawrence. Please talk some sense into Jason. I’ve got to take the vaccine!”

  “Now, Julia, take a deep breath,” Lawrence said gently. “Now, I need you to sit down and listen very carefully. I know you’re scared, my darling, but you’re going to be just fine.”

  Julia sat down, clutching the phone to her ear, somewhat calmer now.

  “Now, Julia, you know that I worked in the CIA for years.” Julia nodded in silence. “You know you can trust me.”

  Another feeble nod. “Yes, Uncle Lawrence,” she uttered feebly.

  “That’s right.” Lawrence talked to her tenderly as though she were a small child. “Now, dry your eyes and take another deep breath. Are you ready to hear what I have to tell you?”

  “I’m ready,” Julia whispered.

  “Now, cast your mind back to London, to the medical records you recovered for us on Wimpole Street. I haven’t got time to explain everything on the telephone, my dear Julia, so you’ll have to trust me. Your brother-in-law, Adrian, is not who he appears. I know this will come as a tremendous shock to you. Adrian not only attempted to kill both Nicholas and Lily, but we have strong evidence that he murdered Lillian and that Jason is next on his list.

  “Now, this is where you have to take a step on faith. Julia, we have it on the highest authority from our intelligence sources all over the world: there is no plague anywhere in the vicinity of Gramercy. In fact, no plague has been released in New York City. The entire state is clean.”

  “Uncle Lawrence . . . ” Julia stared out the window at the body bags lining up. “I’m watching the emergency channel. There are thousands of body bags in the streets. They’re burning bodies constantly in Times Square . . . Central Park . . . ”

  “It’s what they call a false flag, my darling Julia.” Lawrence sighed. “It’s very difficult to understand, I realize. But you are not under threat from the plague. You are under threat from Adrian, Chessler, and their one-world government. Now, I’m handing the phone back to Jason. He has some papers we need to show you.”

  “We’re sending them through on the old videophone,” Jason said. “Pull out the landline plug and plug the video screen into the landline. Then switch it on, Julia. After you’ve seen the document, plug the landline back in and we’ll get hold of you.”

  Julia pulled out the landline telephone jack, then scrabbled in a cupboard and pulled out an old videophone. She plugged it into the phone plug at the wall. The screen slowly came to life. She stared at a classified document with Adrian’s distinctive presidential seal stamped on the top.

  “EXECUTIVE ORDERS – NEW YORK STATE – CALIFORNIA – TO REMAIN CLEAN ZONES – NO WEAPONIZED PLAGUE TO BE RELEASED IN DEMARCATED AREAS. All elite members of the government to travel immediately to demarcated clean zones.”

  She read the words again, slowly, then replaced the video screen plug with the landline. The phone rang. Julia grabbed the receiver.

  “But the . . .
the body bags . . . ” Her voice trembled. “VOX is broadcasting it! It’s your own network, Jason.”

  “There’s a media blackout, Julia.” Jason’s voice was hard. “Enforced by presidential order. They tried to get me to authorize VOX’s involvement. I refused. They took over my shares, Julia. The UN and the government are flying the body bags in from out of state, from Missouri, Kansas, Alabama, Texas. They’re placing them deliberately in plain sight of the media. I repeat, New York is a clean state.

  “Now, listen. I’m coming for you. I’ll be there by five a.m.”

  “You’re in Egypt, Jason. You’re crazy.”

  “Crazy enough to be there at five a.m. Don’t step one inch out of the apartment. Do you hear me?”

  Jason heard the second landline ring in the background.

  “Who’s on the other line?”

  “It’ll be Uncle Xavier.”

  “Julia, Xavier Chessler is one of them.”

  Julia stared as the second line turned orange.

  “Ja—Jason, he’s on the other line.”

  “As soon as I get off the phone, speak to him. If he asks who you were talking to, tell him a lie. Any lie. You always lied well to me. Tell him you’ll be at the precinct tomorrow morning at eight a.m. Act calm. Whatever happens, don’t let him pick you up. If he senses anything, blame it on your fear. You’re overwhelmed. Terrified. He mustn’t get suspicious. You’re going to lose the landline soon—they’re about to cut all communications. Five a.m., Julia. I’ll be there.”

  * * *

  Jason clicked off the phone as Lily walked in, arm in arm with Father Innocentus.

  Lawrence kissed Lily on both cheeks, then said to Father Innocentus, “Alert General Assaf immediately. Tell him to activate code red. We have two hours, maximum, to evacuate the monastery.”

  He turned to Jason, who stood hand in hand with Lily.

  “Come with me. General Assaf of the Royal Jordanian Air Force will escort you safely to New York. He has military clearance.”

  “Lily . . . ” Jason turned to Lawrence. “We’ll escort her safely to Petra. She’ll meet you both there.”

  Jason pulled Lily to his chest and held her tightly.

  “I’ll be all right, Dad. Just go get Mum, okay?” Lily brushed the tears away from her cheeks. “And don’t fight! Look after her.”

  Jason shook his head at Lily. Lily reached back and undid a clasp at the back of her neck. She held out a platinum ring in her palm.

  Jason frowned. “Where did you get that?” He stared at his old platinum wedding ring.

  “From underneath Grandad’s cufflinks in the top drawer of your study desk in the New York apartment. I’ve worn it every day since you and Mum divorced. Take it, Dad.”

  Jason looked intensely at Lily, then back at Lawrence, then back to Lily.

  “For luck,” she said. “C’mon, Dad. Just till you get back.” Lily looked up at him with imploring brown eyes. “For me.”

  Jason heaved a deep sigh.

  “Only for you.” He reluctantly took the ring from Lily’s palm and placed it in his inside pocket, then kissed her once more on the head. “Just till I get back.”

  “We need to hurry, Jason.”

  Jason embraced Lily once more and clasped her tightly to his chest. “I’ll see you in Petra with Uncle Lawrence, okay?”

  “Okay, Dad.” Lily wiped her eyes.

  “I love you, sweetheart.” And Jason turned and followed Lawrence out the door.

  * * *

  Jason and Lawrence stood in front of a stone wall, which parted to reveal a huge steel shaft that closely resembled a freight elevator.

  “Hope you’ve still got a strong stomach, Jason.”

  Jason stepped in after Lawrence. The elevator plummeted. Down, down, down, until they were fully two miles beneath the monastery. It stopped with a loud thud, and Jason caught his breath, bracing himself against the steel wall. The doors opened onto a vast cavern.

  Lawrence motioned to the ten Jordanian soldiers, who lowered their weapons in response.

  “Code red is activated,” he said softly. He nodded to the nearest soldier. “Add Mr. De Vere to the list.”

  The soldier saluted, then took Jason toward two monstrous camouflaged steel blast doors set into the rock He lifted a small blue key card, and an iris scanner appeared.

  He nodded to Jason, who stepped forward and aligned his eye with the scanner. “You’re now logged in, sir.”

  Jason and the soldier took out a metallic scanner and pressed. There was a click; then the monstrous doors slid open, revealing a sprawling underground base.

  Jason stared in amazement. There must be over five hundred members of the Jordanian special services, loading supplies onto what looked like steel railcars.

  A tall, handsome olive-skinned soldier walked up to them, saluted Lawrence, and then bowed. “Esteemed professor,” he said.

  Lawrence bowed in return.

  “Esteemed General.”

  “It was sooner than expected,” the general said.

  “A small drawback. We have to accelerate our plans.”

  The general smiled. “We are well prepared for this eventuality.”

  Jason was still staring at the soldiers now lowering tanks and ballistic weapons onto enormous flatcars. “Where are they going?” he asked.

  “To Petra,” Lawrence replied. “Four hundred seven miles of railroad, two miles below the surface.”

  Jason raised his eyebrows. “You dug under Israel?”

  Lawrence smiled and twirled his mustache.

  “Twenty years in the making. Under Egypt, Israel, and part of Jordan, actually. Courtesy of Jotapa’s father. In honor of his ancestor, the Nabetaean King Aretas of Petra. We named it the ‘King Aretas Highway.’”

  The general smiled. “In honor of his friendship with the Hebrew. An underground city at Petra that will preserve both the Hebrews and the followers of the Hebrew in the event of a second holocaust.”

  “I’ll explain it all in good time, dear boy, all in good time,” Lawrence said. “The underground city at Petra is still under construction. We have food supplies for five years, ninety percent of the monastery’s antiquities and archaeological treasures were evacuated last month. Most of the laboratories and the surveillance equipment have already been transported. Weaver is packing his portable communications station as we speak.”

  The general looked at his watch. “The monastery will be evacuated within the hour, esteemed Professor. Mr. De Vere, it is our honor to escort you. Your daughter will evacuate with our best team.”

  He bowed. “General Assaf, commander of the Prince Hashem bin Abdullah the Second Brigade at your service.”

  Lawrence smiled at Jason, who stood staring in bemusement at the soldiers. “Jason, General Assaf will escort you to New York.”

  “Our jets are six times faster than the speed of sound, Mr. De Vere, sir. We’ll be in New York in under an hour and a half.”

  “Once I’m on terra firma, I go it alone, Lawrence.”

  Lawrence nodded. He nodded to the general, who handed Jason a yellow quarantine card and two sets of papers.

  “Courtesy Dylan Weaver,” said Lawrence. “You’ll need them to get through the roadblocks in New York. This is the address of the Fifth Column. Memorize it. They’re illuminus. The general in charge is an old friend. Once you have Julia safely in your hands, they’ll get you and Julia to our safe house in Kansas. In Lawrence, the old university town. General Assaf will fly you from the Lawrence airport straight to Petra.

  “May God be with you, Jason De Vere.”

  * * *

  The Slavic soldier grinned lecherously. He moved his stubby fingers slowly, caressing Polly’s cheeks, then her nose and eyes.

  “Execution,” he said. “What a waste.”

  Two soldiers dragged her by her elbows toward the boxcar and hauled her up the steps, where one of them spat on her and then kicked her in the side, crushing the heel of his boot sadistic
ally into her ribs.

  Polly sank to the ground, shaking violently from head to foot in agonizing pain. A rat crawled over her feet. She looked up. Directly ahead of her stood a guillotine over six and a half feet high. Her entire body began to shake uncontrollably as another soldier savagely dragged her to her feet, toward the guillotine. Placing her hands in two hand restraints, he pushed her head into the space directly under the guillotine’s diagonal blade.

  He held up a blindfold. Polly shook her head.

  “No blindfold . . . please,” she rasped.

  “You want to see guillotine, lady?” The captain grinned. “Then, you see.” He shrugged.

  He said something in Russian, and two soldiers outside the boxcar laughed raucously.

  Slowly Polly raised her eyes to the gleaming diagonal blade poised above her neck. She could still hear the faint sound of singing.

  Suddenly, the boxcar filled with a strange fragrance. Roses? Lilies? No, it was like nothing she had ever smelled on earth.

  The captain frowned.

  Polly felt a substance like thick, warm honey being poured over her entire body, from the crown of her head to the very tips of her toes.

  Instantly, she stopped trembling. Tears streamed down her bloodied cheeks.

  She sang in a whisper:

  “Just as I am, Thy love unknown

  Hath broken every barrier down;

  Now, to be Thine, yea, Thine alone,

  O Lamb of God, I come, I come.”

  Polly was sure she could hear ethereal voices. She wasn’t sure whether it was the women singing or the angels.

  The Russian captain and the two soldiers shouted, pointing in terror.

  With a supreme effort, Polly raised her head.

  There He stood, in the doorway of the boxcar. Imperial. Majestic. Clothed in white.

  His noble face burning with the radiance of a thousand suns.

  Through the searing white light, Polly could distinguish His eyes, gazing down at her. Living streams of infinite love and compassion.

  Beautiful beyond imagination.

  Filled with tender mercies.

  The great King of Compassions.

  Lion of Judah.

  The slain lamb.

  Jesus Christ.