‘Not a hair’s breadth.’
Cleaver let out a deep groan of defeat. ‘All right. You win. It’s a deal.’
As Ben was putting the phone away, Alex appeared. She was wearing black trousers and a burgundy leather jacket that brought out the colour of her hair. She couldn’t stop smiling when she saw him. She ran across the steps and hugged him tightly. ‘I never thought I’d see you again.’
They embraced for a moment, then parted.
‘Frank got you out?’ Ben said.
She nodded. ‘Zoë and I have been staying at his place. Lying low like you said. She’s still there.’
‘Good. She shouldn’t leave there until this is finally over. Until Slater and Callaghan are dealt with, it isn’t safe for her. Or for you, when Callaghan realises you’re still alive and a witness to everything.’
‘So what now?’
‘Now I’m going to pay a visit to Senator Bud Richmond.’
‘Not without me,’ Alex said.
Chapter Sixty-Five
Montana
10 a.m.
The twentieth day
The sleek Porsche 959 raced along the mountain road, wide tyres gripping the asphalt as it came speeding around the bend.
It screeched to a halt as the driver caught sight of the broken-down Ford that blocked the road ahead, sitting at an angle with the bonnet up.
Bud Richmond climbed out of the car, smiling at the attractive auburn-haired woman he could see bent down under the bonnet, fiddling with the oil dipstick, looking distressed. ‘Can I help, ma’am?’
‘Yes you can, Senator.’ Ben stepped out from behind the car. He aimed a gun at Richmond’s face. Alex grimly slammed the bonnet shut.
‘What’s this about?’ Richmond demanded.
‘It’s about Irving Slater,’ Ben said. ‘Let’s go for a drive.’
Forty minutes later, the senator was sitting ashen-faced in the back of the Ford after listening to Ben’s account of Slater’s plan. Alex had played him back Zoë’s phone recording from the cellar.
‘I can’t believe what I just heard,’ Richmond said in a defeated voice.
‘You were the biggest part of Slater’s plan,’ Ben told him. ‘He’s been using you all along.’
‘Sometimes he acted strangely,’ Richmond said. ‘All those furtive little meetings, out in that cable car. I always wondered.’
‘Now you know.’
Richmond’s fists clenched. ‘I knew he had his ways. I knew he didn’t have a great opinion of me, called me a jackass behind my back. But I never once thought he would stoop to this … this abomination.’ His voice was trembling with anger. ‘Dear Lord, to think I have been allowing murderers into my midst. Agents of Satan.’ He looked up at Ben. ‘I’m just shocked. What can I say? Slater has to be brought to justice.’ Then he turned to Alex. ‘Have you informed your superiors of this yet?’
‘Nobody knows anything about this except us,’ she said.
Richmond bit his lip. ‘Callaghan and Slater must be arrested. Let me make a call.’
Ben shook his head. ‘That isn’t the plan.’
Richmond frowned in confusion. ‘Then what is?’
‘Tell me about the cable car,’ Ben said.
Chapter Sixty-Six
The Bellagio Hotel, Las Vegas
Irving Slater had taken a sudden vacation when he’d heard that the Dome of the Rock was still intact. He’d been skulking incognito in his suite at the Bellagio, slugging bourbon and chewing chocolate, spending hours on the phone to his broker to talk about his options.
Worst case, he could be out of the country within a couple of hours. He’d been scouring maps of South America on the Internet. He liked the idea of Brazil. Those beaches in Rio, overflowing with foxy chicks. He could be happy there, and he could liquidate enough assets to be rich for a long time. It was a tempting escape route, if the shit hit the fan.
But as time had passed, his initial panic had subsided a little. Nothing terrible had happened. Nothing on the news. He’d been able to put his thoughts in order. OK, Hope was still alive – the trap had failed. But so what? Hope had nothing solid on him. There was nobody left alive who’d seen him at the Montana facility. There was no evidence linking him to Callaghan, and Callaghan had covered his own tracks well. Hope might come back from Jerusalem and go to Murdoch with accusations that he’d been set up, but he couldn’t prove shit. The only real witnesses were the two bitches in Callaghan’s basement. And they wouldn’t be doing much talking to anybody. He was pretty much home and dry.
Late the next morning, he’d got a call. It was Richmond. The senator sounded agitated but happy. He said he’d had a communiqué from the White House. He’d been invited to a dinner to discuss religious policy in the Middle East. It was wonderful news. He needed Slater to come home from vacation right now to help him with his speech.
‘Meet me at the ski chalet,’ Richmond said. ‘This evening, eight o’clock.’
Slater glanced at the time, frowning. ‘I can just about make it if I leave now. But why the ski chalet?’
‘We had a tip-off,’ Richmond said. ‘The house is bugged. My office, the whole place. We’re dealing with it, but in the meantime we need to talk somewhere private.’
Slater was stunned by the development. Maybe this was a break. Maybe he could somehow use this to claw his way back to making his plan work after all. As he paced and drank, he fumed about the bugs. Who the fuck could have planted them? But it didn’t matter now.
After a rushed flight and a flustered limo ride, Slater finally made it back to Richmond’s mountain residence. He was hot, and needed a shower. His ass ached from hours of travel.
The old ski chalet was across the mountain valley from the house, only accessible by cable car. Slater trotted up the steps leading up to the wooden control room that adjoined the house. He stepped inside the docked cable car and aimed the remote from inside at the control panel. He was just about to activate it when he heard a voice.
‘Wait.’
It was Callaghan, stepping gingerly towards the cable car.
Slater stared at him. ‘What the fuck are you doing here?’
‘Richmond called a meeting with me. Something about the White House.’
‘Why would Richmond want you?’
‘I don’t know. He said it was important. Where is he?’
‘Across there,’ Slater said, pointing over the valley. ‘In the ski chalet.’
Callaghan paled slightly. ‘Can’t we meet him in the house?’
‘The house is bugged.’
‘Seems strange to me,’ Callaghan said. ‘OK, if that’s how he wants it, let’s get it over with.’
Slater pointed his remote and pressed the button. Nothing. He shook it and pressed again. This time there was a loud clunk from above their heads, and the car began to glide smoothly away from the house, out into space.
Halfway across the abyss, it suddenly stopped without warning.
‘What the …’ Slater tried the remote again.
No response. ‘Battery must be dead,’ he muttered. But the green LED was working fine. His heart picked up a step.
‘If that gizmo isn’t working,’ Callaghan said with a note of panic in his voice, ‘then how are we going to get back?’
That was when the phone rang in Slater’s pocket.
From where Ben was wedged in the crook of a rock three hundred yards away, the cable car was a tiny cube dangling against the sky. He put away the remote that Richmond had given him after switching it with the dummy one that Slater was trying to use.
Slater answered the phone. ‘Senator, is that you?’ His voice was edgy and tense, tinged with worry. ‘Wrong again, Slater,’ Ben said into the Bluetooth headset he was wearing.
Silence on the line. ‘Who is this?’
‘Look to your left,’ Ben said. ‘If your eyes are very keen, you’ll see me. I’m the speck on the mountain.’
‘Hope?’
‘You’re proba
bly wondering how this happened,’ Ben said. ‘Tell the truth, I can’t be bothered explaining it to you. It’s a need-to-know thing. And dead men don’t need to know.’
‘Don’t do this,’ Slater stammered. ‘I have a lot of money. I’ll make you rich.’
‘It wasn’t a bad plan,’ Ben said. ‘You’re a clever guy. Callaghan too. And that was a smart move of his, erasing you from the CIA database.’ As he talked, he was undoing the straps on the padded rifle case next to him. He slid the weapon out. It was the Remington rifle that Bud Richmond’s father had given him for his twenty-first birthday. It had never been fired. He unzipped the ammunition compartment and took out five of the long, conical.308 cartridges. He pressed them one at a time into the magazine, then worked the bolt. He settled in behind the rifle. Through the scope he could clearly make out the system of pulleys and wires on the cable car roof.
Slater must have heard the metallic noises over the phone. ‘I work for a US senator,’ he protested in a panic. ‘You can’t kill me.’
‘I’ve got a message for you from the jackass,’ Ben said.
‘What? What the –’
‘You’re fired.’
He snapped off the safety and took aim, ignoring the cries of panic from his headset.
He never even felt the trigger give. The butt of the weapon kicked against his shoulder.
Three hundred yards away, the cable parted. The ends thrashed wildly. Pulleys spun. The cable car lurched and fell ten feet, then was jerked to a stop by what was left of the wire.
Inside, Slater and Callaghan were screaming, hammering like lunatics at the windows, scrabbling desperately on the tilted floor.
Ben calmly worked the bolt, found his mark and fired again. The echo of the gunshot rolled and whooshed around the mountain valley.
The cable car seemed to hang in mid-air for an instant as the cable gave. Then it dropped like a stone. It fell nearly a thousand feet before it hit the first crag. It burst apart. Wreckage tumbled down the mountainside. Somewhere among the hurtling, bouncing debris were the tiny matchstick figures of Slater and Callaghan as they fell screaming down to the rocks a few hundred feet further down.
By the time their bodies had hit the bottom, Ben was already packing up the rifle. He slung the case over his shoulder and started making his way down the mountainside.
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Alex was waiting down below in the car. Ben climbed into the passenger seat. She started up the car and headed along the dusty, empty road. They sat in silence for a while.
‘I would have liked to know you,’ she said quietly.
‘It could have been different,’ he replied.
‘But it isn’t, is it?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘It’s not.’
‘Won’t you change your mind? Stay with me for a while. See how things go.’
He said nothing.
‘I know how you feel,’ she said. ‘But doesn’t life have to go on?’
‘I’m not ready, Alex. I’m sorry. That’s just how it is.’
Time passed. Miles under their wheels before they spoke again.
‘What will you do now?’ she said.
‘Go home.’
‘Back to theology?’
He said nothing for a moment. Then he whirred the window down. The wind blew their hair. He reached into his bag and took out the Bible. Stared at it for a few seconds. The book couldn’t mean the things it once had to him. Not now.
He tossed it out of the open window.
It hit the seventy-mile-an-hour blast and burst open, pages fluttering. Then it tumbled down the grassy embankment at the side of the road and was far behind them.
‘I guess not, then,’ she said.
‘What about you?’
She glanced over at him. ‘Do next? Same as you, Ben. Take stock of things. Look for a new direction. Maybe the Agency isn’t for me after all. I signed up because I wanted to help people. I figure there are better ways for me to do that. So, I’ve been thinking I should go back to medical school.’
He nodded. ‘That’s a good decision. You’ll make a brilliant doctor.’
She reached across and squeezed his hand. ‘I’m going to miss you, Ben Hope,’ she said.
‘I’ll miss you too.’
‘Will you be OK?’
‘I’ll be fine,’ he said.
‘Really?’
He smiled. ‘Really.’
‘Keep in touch.’
He didn’t reply.
‘I know you won’t,’ she sighed.
After a few more miles, a sign flashed up for a small town. He showed her a place where she could drop him off, and she pulled up on the grassy verge.
She said nothing as he climbed out of the car. He slung his jacket over his shoulder and watched as she drove away.
The car grew smaller and smaller until it was just a dust cloud in the distance.
The sun was setting. He turned and started walking towards the town.
Author’s Note
Although The Doomsday Prophecy is a work of fiction, it is a fact that many millions of people across the world, the majority of them evangelical American Christians, fervently believe that we may at any moment be plunged into the apocalyptic End Time events that they claim to be forecast in the Bible. None of the biblical references in this book have been invented; it’s all there in the Good Book for those who wish to study it. As far as these millions of people are concerned, the prophesied horror scenario is for real, it’s coming, it’s unstoppable and those of us who aren’t ready for it are doomed to a hideous fate.
Bible study being such an enormous and complex subject, in the writing of The Doomsday Prophecy some liberties have inevitably been taken in the interests of drama, and to some extent it was necessary to simplify. Real-life End Time prophecy believers tend to borrow here and there from various parts of the Bible, piecing it all together across the board, rather than simply lifting ready-made ideas from one single source as the characters appear to do in the novel. This is the reason why, in real life, End Time prophecies can differ slightly in their interpretation: some believe that the Rapture will take place before the Tribulation (known as pre-Tribulation belief), and others believe it will take place some time after the Tribulation has already started, meaning that all of us, faithful and unbelievers alike, would have to endure quite a long period of unspeakable nastiness together before the more fortunate are whisked away to Salvation. It is this ‘mid-Tribulationist’ stance that I have attributed to Clayton Cleaver and the End Time conspirators in this story.
The Book of Revelation, which in the story forms the basis of the End Timers’ belief, is in real life only one of many prophetic texts of the Bible – others include the Old Testament’s Book of Ezekiel – but is by far the most intriguing, with elements such as the classic ‘666’ reference now embedded in popular culture. Bible buffs will spot that I lifted certain quotations from Ezekiel, Daniel, and elsewhere. In this respect I am guilty of some scriptural sleight of hand. Apologies to the purists: The Doomsday Prophecy is fiction, after all…
… Then again, is it completely fiction? While researching this book I was struck by the number of strange events and apparent ‘signs’ becoming visible to me as I delved deeper into the subject. Halfway through writing the book, I was woken up in the middle of the night by what turned out to be an earthquake, an extremely rare and bizarre event in my part of the world. Further research showed up all kinds of weird global events that, in a certain light, could be interpreted as signs that the End Time dice are about to roll: weather anomalies, plagues of African locusts in France, outbreaks of rare illnesses, growing social chaos, increasing tensions in the Middle East. On a larger scale, astronomers are now finding evidence of collisions between entire galaxies – unsettling echoes of the forecasts in The Book of Revelation that ‘heavenly bodies will collide’. The more I read, the more I began to find Clayton Cleaver’s dire warnings eerily persuasive.
Is it r
eally going to happen? We’ll just have to wait and see.
Finally, I would like to stress that the negative portrayal of certain fictitious End Time believers in this book is in no way a reflection on real-life Christians, whatever their interpretation of Bible prophecy may be. Ben Hope is a fiction hero, and heroes cannot exist without villains!
Readers are invited to spot the hidden ‘Doomsday clue’ within this Author’s Note. A free signed copy of the book to the first five readers who contact me via my website with the correct answer.
I hope you enjoyed reading The Doomsday Prophecy as much as I enjoyed writing it. Ben Hope will be back.
Scott Mariani
Acknowledgements
Another round of thanks to my brilliant editorial and production team – the unsung heroes who bridge that gap between the solitary phase in a writer's work and the magic moment when the book becomes a tangible reality in your hands.
Thanks to my agent Broo Doherty – you are a star. Also to Diana Davey, Tim and Dawn Boswell, and everyone else directly or indirectly involved with the development of this book.
Read on for an exclusive extract from
Scott Mariani’s new novel,
The Heretic’s Treasure, coming in summer 2009.
Near Valognes, Normandy, France
Except for the light rain that pattered off the roof of the little house in the woods, everything was still.
At the edge of the clearing, a twig snapped. A rabbit tensed, looked to the source of the sound, and darted for cover.
The six men who emerged from the bushes were all wearing green camouflage fatigues and kept their heads low as they stalked out from the foliage, eyes darting cautiously this way and that, moving towards the house with their weapons cocked and ready.