“The war?” Amato asked. “You mean to stop the war—stop Muslims from killing Christians, and Christians from…”
“Yes,” Pantera finished for him.
Three days later, Pantera called another meeting of the inner circle and announced he was leaving for Zandoria the following day. Through various contacts of Spartacus Rex, he had managed to set up a meeting with a top captain of Addini Daya and a representative of the Zandorian government, a Christian. Pantera added that he’d like Amato, Renata, and Constantine to accompany him.
Constantine’s head was swimming. Just last month, he’d gotten word of the brutal killings of his fellow Network operatives. He had known two of them from his Academy days. If he was placed in a room with the captain of these killers, he wasn’t sure if he could restrain himself from attacking the man and whomever came with him.
“I do not understand. Why would you meet with the Addini Daya?” Mohammed Atti demanded. “They are not true Muslims. They are criminals who distort the faith.”
“What does that matter?” Pantera asked. “They espouse a creed that motivates their followers to do violence. They think they are advancing the word and will of their God, Allah, through such violence. I seek to dissuade them of this. To make them see that what they do is contrary to the human spirit.”
“But the danger, Master,” Amato said. “Doing this will likely get you killed. Why would Spartacus Rex allow his star attraction to be put at such risk?”
“Because he recognizes this as an important opportunity that can dramatically advance our mission,” Pantera told Amato. He looked around at his other disciples, and went on, “If I can convince these combatants to cease their religious war and accept the true word of God, that will do more good than twenty years of Enlightenment Tours.”
True enough, Constantine thought. But, it seemed highly unlikely that he’d succeed. It would truly be another miracle if Pantera could convince the hardened Addini Daya and its leader, Anak Shelom, to embrace the beliefs he espoused and become citizens of his Kingdom of God. If that were to happen, Constantine had to admit to himself, he’d be truly impressed.
Renata suddenly stood and stepped forward with her head held high.
“Enough talk,” she said, looking around at the others with her head held high. “I agree with the Master. He should go. This will advance the ministry.”
“Or end it,” laughed Ken Baker as he drew a hand through his unkempt, wavy blond hair.
“Have you so little faith, Kenny?” Pantera shot back, and Ken hung his head in shame.
In the next moment, Amato sighed and said, “All right, you’re the boss. I’m in.”
Pantera smiled and stepped over to pat Amato on the shoulder. Then, he turned to Constantine. “And you, Don?”
“Sure,” Constantine said with a nod. “Anything for the Master.”
During a phone call Constantine placed from the dark, silent woods around the perimeter of the compound that night, Chief Bradley told him, “Well, this little trip may take care of at least one Council problem—Cristos Pantera.”
“And it might take care of me as well,” Constantine said.
Chief Bradley sighed and said, “Well, hopefully you can prevent that. We have few assets in Zandor City to give you cover.” After another sigh, the chief asked, “He really thinks he can reason with Addini Daya?”
“That’s exactly what he thinks,” Constantine confirmed.
“Fool,” Chief Bradley said. “Complete fool.”
Or Messiah, Constantine thought, but did not say it.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Zandor City
The meeting among Pantera, the representatives of Addini Daya, and the government of Zandoria had been set to take place at an old airport at the edge of Zandor City. The airport, named after the republic’s first president, David Lessan, had short runways and was thus only able to accommodate prop planes and small private jets.
The white-robed Pantera and his entourage had flown into the more modern Zandor City International Airport on the other side of the city, using the one remaining terminal, Terminal B, that had yet to be destroyed by mortar fire or suicide bombers. Six months earlier, three suicide bombers had successfully blown themselves up in Terminal A, taking sixty-three people with them and inflicting enough damage to render it unusable to the present day.
After the bombing, security had intensified as the Zandorian army monitored traffic entering at a checkpoint along the sole access road to the airport and constantly patrolled Terminal B on the lookout for Addini Daya terrorists. Since then, four attacks had been foiled at the remaining terminal, resulting in firefights that had killed scores of combatants on both sides, along with another twenty-seven civilians. Rex told Pantera that he’d be met at the airport by a Zandorian army colonel named Marcus Makati. He’d have a platoon with him to safely transport Pantera and the others to the meeting.
After Pantera, Renata, Amato, and Constantine had disembarked the plane and trudged down the jetway to the gate, Colonel Makati stepped forward and nodded to Pantera. Behind him were a dozen frowning, tense soldiers pointing their AK-47s toward the ground. The other disembarking passengers quickly walked around them, glancing back at the man they now recognized as the self-proclaimed messiah, the one and only Cristos Pantera.
“You are Pantera?” the colonel asked, then looked at Renata, Amato, and Constantine. “And these are your people?”
“Yes,” Pantera said.
“I am here to take you to Lessan Airport.”
“That won’t be necessary, Colonel.”
“What?”
“I intend to walk,” Pantera told him.
“That is not possible,” Colonel Makati told him. “It is miles from here. Too far. Too much danger.”
“It’s only five miles,” Pantera replied with a smile.
Pantera suddenly stepped around the colonel, past his line of men, and started down the concourse. Renata, Amato, and Constantine hurried to catch up with him. Moments later, the colonel and his men were marching behind him.
“You must come with us,” the colonel said, pleading now. “You do not understand the danger. There are snipers throughout the city. Bombings, daily. Many killings. A curfew has been imposed.”
Pantera stopped and turned to the colonel. “I intend to demonstrate to your people,” he said, “to all peoples, the power of the Word of God.”
The colonel sighed, then shook his head incredulously as if to say, “It’s your funeral.”
“You sure about this, Master?” Amato whispered to him. He looked around at the haggard, nervous faces of the passengers hurrying to their flights or the baggage claim. Soldiers walked among them with their guns drawn and ready, looking equally tense.
“Yes, I’m sure,” Pantera said. “You can go with the colonel and his men, if you like.”
Next to him, Renata smiled, and Amato swallowed. For his part, Constantine stared forward. The man had to be either insane or so full of himself that he was oblivious to reality.
Pantera resumed his stroll down the concourse to the front entrance of the terminal, then walked out onto the access road. After two miles, they turned right onto a main road that would take them through Zandor City to Lessan Airport. Behind him, with heads bowed and nervous expressions, walked Amato, Renata, and Constantine. At his side, Colonel Makati continued beseeching him to come to his senses and enter the Humvee that was cruising slowly along next to them.
As they approached the main road heading toward Zandor City, the colonel gave up. He called a superior to report Pantera’s obstinacy and was directed to provide an escort as the crazy holy man walked through the war zone to his peace meeting. As Pantera and the others strode through the city, with buildings crumbled by mortar fire and craters marring the street here and there, three Humvees followed behind, ready to leap to their defense.
City residents risking life and limb to get to jobs or shop in the markets that had continued operating d
espite the fighting stopped to gawk at the tall, white-robed man with his head held high, walking with three others through the city’s most notoriously dangerous zones. Most of them recognized him as the strange preacher from the United States. Some had seen him lecture on TV. Though many Christians doubted him, a few believed that he was truly a man of God, perhaps even the Second Coming of the Christ. Even the combatants seemed to respect his courage and declined to attack him.
After an hour and a half in the blistering one-hundred-degree heat and humidity of a mid-September afternoon in central Africa, having stopped only once for water, Pantera and the others reached the narrow, dusty access road to Lessan Airport. Colonel Makita’s Humvees suddenly passed them in a cloud of dirt and stopped near the entrance to the main terminal of the small airport. The colonel exited from the rear compartment of the lead Humvee and waited for Pantera and the others. As Pantera neared him, he raised a hand to stop him.
“Now, you must listen,” he said. “Three captains of Addini Daya and the Zandorian secretary of state and a Catholic priest await you in the main hangar.” He turned and pointed to a hulking, ancient steel hangar a hundred yards or so from where they stood. “I have been given the duty of announcing your arrival.”
Pantera nodded. “Very well.”
The colonel gestured toward one of the Humvees and Pantera and the others crowded in.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Intervention
A rustic conference room in the back of the hangar offered two smudged windows that peered out at the airport’s short runway. No planes were being allowed to land or takeoff that afternoon, in light of the meeting. An old metal rectangular table took up much of the room. In the far corner, a cameraman from Zandoria’s state-run news network held a portable camera on his shoulder.
Seated on armless, grimy metal chairs to the left side of the table were three Addini Daya captains. One of them, Addis Shelom, was the boyish younger brother of the group’s leader, and he looked more like a college student than a warrior. He wore a dark blue suit while the other two, Yusef Yusef and Alhaji Muhammadu, wore dusty camouflage uniforms. Addis Shelom’s companions had the unkempt long, dark hair, intense narrowly set eyes, and hard-looking grimaces of all terrorists.
On the other side of the table sat Zandoria’s Harvard-educated secretary of state, Daniel Duncan, and the Roman Catholic bishop of Zandor City, Monsignor Barthelme Longa. Each man had a staid, gentlemanly, easy appearance that was in stark contrast to the men sitting across from them.
Following behind Colonel Makati, Pantera and the others walked across the wide hangar to the conference room. They stood at the door as the colonel entered the room. A moment later, he came out.
“Only you can enter,” the colonel told Pantera.
“Very well,” Pantera said.
The meeting was being recorded, but Constantine was disappointed that he would not get to personally witness the preacher in action. He wanted to see how the preacher would try to convince murderous Islamists to put down their weapons and live in peace and harmony with the infidels. Achieving such a thing seemed beyond ridiculous.
In the next moment, Colonel Makati opened the door and allowed Pantera to enter the room. He remained outside standing with the others. After the door closed behind Pantera, he turned to them and said, “It will not take long. The Addini, they cannot be bargained with.”
“You don’t know the Master,” Amato said.
The Zandorian secretary of state gestured for Pantera to sit in a chair at the middle of the table, between himself and Bishop Longa and the Addini representatives. As he did so, the Addini captains examined him with amused frowns. Who is this fool? they seemed to say.
“Mister Pantera,” the secretary said in perfect English. “You have the floor.”
“Yes, speak preacher,” Yusef Yusef barked.
Pantera scanned the terrorists’ faces for a time with displeasure. The Addini soldiers looked restless, like wolves about to attack. The secretary and bishop tried to seem patient. He knew the camera would not hide their fear.
Finally, after looking from side to side at them one more time, Pantera said, “I do not come in peace. I do not come merely to beseech you to lay down your arms. I come to save your souls. I come to destroy your faith in your false gods. Because it is such faith that causes all wars, all atrocities. I come to teach you the true Word of God so that you may enter his Kingdom on Earth.”
“Infidel!” Yusef snapped. “You dare insult the Prophet!”
Pantera glared at the man and said in a soft, even way, “A false prophet with a false message based on myth and superstition. And perverted even further by you and your leaders. How dare you spread such lies! How dare you kill in the name of God! How dare you shame the human spirit!”
Yusef tensed as did his comrades, who seemed about to leap at Pantera for such perceived blasphemy.
But then, Pantera turned to the bishop to his right and, with equal displeasure, scolded, “And you. How do preach with a straight face that Jesus was the product of a virgin birth? That he is the son of God? You and your leaders know there is proof that my ancestor was the bastard son of a Roman centurion. You don’t preach the truth to your people because it undermines your power and wealth.”
He looked again to the Addini, and then back to the priest.
“Each of your beliefs are false, gross distortions of truth and reality,” Pantera went on, his eyes intense, searing into them. “Your beliefs lead your people to construct false lives. Indeed, each of you lead false lives. And so this war is false, fought without reason, fought by fools for a foolish purpose.”
He sighed and bent forward, resting his chin to his chest. He seemed incredibly tired at that moment, weighted down by all that was stupid and evil in the world. The Addini said nothing, watching him, wondering perhaps whether this crazed white-robed man with the pedigree of Jesus might truly have powers beyond this world that could compel them to listen to his words, to make them see. To save their souls.
Finally, after a deep breath, Pantera looked up at them. His eyes had darkness in them, as if he had seen the devil himself. As if he had returned from the underworld to spread his knowledge of death.
“I have come to awaken you to the truth,” he said in a kind, even tone. “To save your souls. If I must die for it, so be it. But this war must end. Neither of your religions know God. You and your people must stop believing myths from olden times and open your hearts and minds and souls to the true beliefs that include a quest for the true God.”
Then he stopped. He bent his head again to his chest and seemed to be muttering a prayer. And miraculously, the Addini Daya representatives went limp. Across from them, the bishop sighed.
A moment later, Yusef Yusef got to his feet. He glared at Pantera for some moments, then turned to his comrades and gestured for them to get up as well. When they did so, he looked to Pantera and said, “I will take your message to the leader. He will decide.”
That night, a ceasefire was announced. The war was over.
Part Four
Crucifixion
Then one of them, named Caiaphas, who was high priest that year, spoke up, “You know nothing at all! You do not realize that it is better for you that one man die for the people than that the whole nation perish.”
- John 11:48-50
And above His head they put up the charge against Him which read,
“THIS IS JESUS THE KING OF THE JEWS.”
- Matthew 27:37
When the ruling powers met that Fall, they formed a plan to eliminate Him.
- Book of Jude 13:22, Testament of the Church of Cristos
Chapter Thirty-Five
Autumnal Equinox
On the day after the Autumnal Equinox, twenty-seven members of the Supremacy Council listened with glum interest as World Intelligence Network Director Gregor Margolis methodically detailed Cristos Pantera’s meteoric rise from obscurity to celebrity in the space of nine months. A
s he did so, his voice echoed dully off the high ceiling of the meeting chamber in Steinvikholm Castle.
“Thus, we have concluded,” Margolis finished, “that this self-proclaimed messiah now poses a significant threat to the Supremacy.”
“Yes, he is dangerous,” said Lord Winston. “That is clear.”
“That seems an understatement,” said Hans Kruger, the Federal Reserve Bank representative, from his seat to Chairperson Winston’s immediate right. He swallowed and brushed back blond bangs from his pale forehead and said, “The question is, what is to be done about him.”
Before anyone could answer, the American representative, Terrence Middleton, added, “Yes, what is to be done? There’s to be that march on Washington. What’s it called?”
“The Kingdom Rally,” droned Margolis.
“How many do you estimate will attend, Director?” Middleton asked.
Margolis sighed and said, “Half a million. Likely more.”
The members groaned, some turning to each other.
“Beware of false prophets,” Cardinal Calandra stated, “who come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly are ravenous wolves. That is the Holy Father’s assessment of this man. A false prophet.”
“For the life of me, I don’t understand,” chimed in J. Gordon Grant, the Cyberspace Consortium representative, as he turned to Cardinal Calandra, “how his Eminence so underestimated this man. That he would take a bribe.” Grant laughed and shook his head. “The Pontiff looked like the fraud in the photograph of that meeting, not Pantera.” And then, turning to his fellow members, Grant went on, “And yes, I certainly agree, the Zandoria incident has added to his fame. It’s not so farfetched that he could soon reach a tipping point, that he could indeed become King of the World.”
“Let’s not overstate the case,” Lord Winston cautioned. “But I agree, I believe each of us agree, he is dangerous.”