2013: Beyond Armageddon (23 page)

His father’s look of fearful concern melted into one of sadness. “I admire your courage, Hassan. I always have. But it is not right, that you should pay for my sins.”

Hassan tried to assuage his father’s feelings of guilt. “You make it sound like you are the Evil One, but I know better. You have lived the life of a good man. You
are
a good man. You taught me right from wrong. You’ve made mistakes, we all do. With the scrolls, you decided you needed money, for whatever reason. Who can say what anyone would do in that situation?”

“Money.” Tarik spat out the word. “That is no excuse. I betrayed my tribe. My family. I stole from them. I was a thief in the night. I tried to make it right later, at the Oasis, and with you. But still I let money make me do the wrong thing. I had not learned my lesson. And now it has cost us dearly.”

Us?
“What do you mean?”

Tarik leaned back and closed his eyes. When he opened them a long moment later, they were brimming with tears. “The last years at the Oasis were a struggle financially.”

“I know.”

“The money coming into the cash register was not enough, so…I looked for other ways to keep the doors open. I became a middleman in the black market for antiquities.”

The words hit Hassan like a dagger in the heart. He could not conceal his reaction.

“I know, son,” Tarik said. “I was helping exactly the thieves who would destroy your work. Just to keep my stupid restaurant open. You said I taught you right from wrong. Yes, I did. I tried to, anyway. And one of the things I always told you was that, sooner or later, those who did wrong always paid for it. Yet knowing that, I did what I did, until the punishment inevitably came. A punishment that could only come from Shaitan, because it wasn’t enough just to hurt me. It had to hurt those I love, too. You. And Norah.”

Hassan clenched and unclenched his fist. A moment went by before he could speak. “You’re talking about the link between antiquities theft and terrorism.”

Tarik nodded.

“But you cannot know that the things you bought led directly to the death of Norah.”

“I cannot be sure, no. But…some of the things I bought came from digs in Jericho. And, the dealer I sold them to…He hated the Israelis, especially the barrier around the West Bank.”

Father and son avoided eye contact while Hassan considered this.

He looked around the small living room. It had been turned into a shrine for the dead past. On a small dining table, covered with a stained, faded tablecloth his mother had embroidered, stood several pictures of his mother and father when they were young. The photographs were meticulously arranged to face his father when he sat on the couch. The espresso machine from the Oasis, too big for the kitchen, sat on another small portable rolling table in the far corner. Decades of ghostly memories doubtless haunted him from its lovingly polished surface.

Finally Hassan spoke. “Whatever has happened, the chain of events has led to this. If our name has been shamed by the Devil, it is time to redeem it. And the soul of Norah.”

“I am truly sorry, Hassan. If I had done the right thing it would never have come to this. Now you are going to fight a battle I should have fought.”

“If you had done things differently, maybe I would never have been born. All things happen for a reason. You told me that many times. And whatever the reason, the battle has come down to this group of people. And I have been enlisted into their army.”

“May I live long enough to see you emerge victorious.” Tarik took his son’s hand. “You are sure?”

Hassan responded without hesitation.

“I must do this.”

The Quest

Ask, and it shall be given you;

seek, and ye shall find;

knock, and it shall be opened

unto you.

Matthew 7:7

30,000 feet above the Holy Land. November 25

The jet screamed toward Israel.

Zeke stared through the window at the clouds below, imagining another beneath them, a darkening cloud of evil spreading over the Holy Land. It had been gathering for millennia.

Civilizations were being destroyed by hatreds no one could trace to their origin and no one knew how to stop. In the town where Christians believed Jesus was born to redeem mankind, children were raised to kill in the name of God. Terror had devastated tourism, the engine that drove the economy. Much more importantly, it had all but destroyed hope that there would ever be peace in the region. Ill winds that had blown for thousands of years were fast becoming a hurricane. Zeke imagined himself flying into its eye, on a mission to find out if this ancient urge to kill in the name of God—or Satan—could be traced to a single source. If he was successful, he might trigger the ultimate showdown between good and evil. Armageddon. Whether it would occur on December 21—Creation Day, according to the Mayans—or at all, no one could know. Whatever happened, all Zeke knew was that, if Some Greater Power dictated human events, it had decided now was the time.

Leah had fallen asleep in the seat beside him, her hands folded on her lap. The aisle seat beside her was empty, as were half the seats on the El Al flight. Terrorism had reduced the steady flow of Jerusalem pilgrimages to a trickle. The chance to commune with one’s God could not overcome the fear of being slaughtered by some demented interpreter of his Word.

Evil
is
winning, Zeke thought. A few days ago he and Leah had celebrated Thanksgiving with Reese and his family, but despite everyone’s gallant effort to give thanks for their blessings, a dull ache in Zeke’s chest had been a constant reminder that it was the first Thanksgiving without his family. He kept picturing their graves at the cemetery and trying to think of what he had left to be thankful for.

Leah.

He pulled his Bible from the seat pouch in front of him. He’d been re-reading the Gospels in an attempt to strengthen his faith against whatever trials might await. He opened to the page he’d bookmarked and found Matthew 16:18:

“…thou art Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church…”

Those words were the foundation upon which Christianity had been built. Peter was the first Pope—the Vicar of Christ, his representative on earth. All Popes since were a continuation of that divine legacy. But it was the next line that Zeke fixated on:

“…and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.”

Dear God, he hoped it was so.

Wanting to silence the incessant drumbeat of doom and doubt in his head, he put the Bible away, plugged his headphones into the armrest jack, and scanned the programming guide for something to lift his spirits.
Soothing Environmental Sounds
caught his eye and he tuned to that channel.

An exquisitely realistic recording of the seashore came on. When he looked out the window, he almost expected to see waves, lapping against an endless expanse of beach.

Instead he saw a rippling blanket of clouds spread out below, floating by with a majestic life of its own. Forever composing phrases for books he imagined he would one day write—profound tomes on discovering the cosmic beauty in our everyday lives—Zeke saw the clouds as a heavenly quilt, made by God to warm his soul. The setting sun created patches in the celestial fabric in glorious shades of red and orange and pink. Perfectly complementing this lush natural canvas was the sound of ocean waves, gently breaking against the shore. The occasional cry of a wheeling seagull conveyed the feeling of some primordial, uninhabited paradise. Thoughts of hurtling toward some sinister fate began to fade, as though the waves were gently erasing bleak messages from the sand.

He closed his eyes, but the scene below remained vivid behind his eyelids. Enhanced by the soundtrack, it unfolded like a beautifully photographed movie. Gradually the scene dissolved into another equally beautiful one from his own life.

Maui. He and Leah, walking along a secluded beach, holding hands, talking about how wonderful their life together was going to be. The setting sun studded the undulating ocean with rubies and diamonds, giving it the appearance of an idling magic carpet, waiting to transport them to their dreams.

Slicing through the vision like the fin of a shark came the thought of how close he’d come to losing her. Jolted from his reverie, his eyes popped open.

He watched Leah sleeping peacefully until his anxiety subsided, then looked out the window again.

Something didn’t look right.

He turned the volume down on his headset and wiped his eyes to clear his vision.

The soothing clouds had compressed themselves—with impossible speed, it seemed—into a single massive thundercloud in an otherwise clear sky. Even more startling was the way the cloud churned, almost seethed. He’d seen many clouds out of airplane windows, but never had they changed so rapidly. It was like watching a weather video on fast-forward.

Clouds could not do what this cloud was doing. Aside from the impossibly fast transformation, it remained at a fixed point below, as though going the exact same speed as a jet traveling five hundred miles an hour. That couldn’t be. It should have receded into the distance by now.

He watched spellbound as two areas of disturbance within the cloud began assuming a circular aspect. The area inside each circle began to spin, slowly at first but quickly gaining speed. The rest of the cloud gradually flowed into them, as though being sucked down two drains. Struggling for an explanation, Zeke wondered if he could be looking at the formation of twin tornadoes.

Not far beneath the two spinning indentations another began to form. Roughly elliptical and running sideways, its ends reached the outer edges of each swirling ring above it. Serrations began to appear inside the top and bottom edges of this new formation. Staring deep into it, Zeke had the bizarre sensation of looking into a bottomless throat. For an alarming instant he felt himself being drawn toward it, as though it might pull him through the window and into its depths. He recoiled and forced his gaze back to the entrance of the hole.

The new perspective only deepened his alarm.

The serrations had become huge, jagged spikes. He pulled his focus back further, to look at the cloud in its entirety.

No. Not spikes.

Teeth. In a hungry beast’s mouth. Repeatedly snapping shut as if eager to devour prey.

The nimbus had transformed into an enormous face from the pit of Hell. Palpable bloodlust emanated from that greedily snapping mouth. Worse than bloodlust. Soul lust.

He looked back to the eyes. They were pulling him in, too. He felt himself weakening.

Suddenly the mouth flew open and the cloud-thing rocketed toward the plane, a nightmare creature springing from its lair. The maw kept getting bigger until it blotted out the sky. When it reached the end of the wing it opened even wider, as if to swallow the entire plane.

Zeke looked deep into the black throat poised to consume them. Impossibly, he saw the point miles below where the funnel sank into the Atlantic Ocean. A gap surrounding the base of the swirling maelstrom kept the storm-tossed waves from reaching it. The inside walls of the column began to pulsate, as if a hungry gullet were readying itself for digestion. Flickering light from some unseen source created eerily scampering patches of illumination.

He looked from the vision to Leah, wanting to throw his body over her, protect her somehow, but knowing it would do no good if the power outside his window was real. If that gaping maw clamped down, the mission would be over before it started. He would have failed in his vow to protect Leah. And violated whatever sacred trust had been placed in him.

He looked back out the window. The gigantic mouth hung open at the end of the wing. Weeks of smoldering anger at madmen and phantoms he couldn’t confront exploded into full-blown rage. Oblivious to the headphones still on his head, Zeke thrust his face an inch from the window.

“Here I am, you son of a bitch. If you want me come and get me.”

In his ear he heard a sinister purr. “Oh, I will.”

The thing tried to intimidate him with its demonic stare.

Zeke glared back, vaguely aware of Leah pulling on his arm and saying something. Torn, he peered further into the roiling funnel, looking for the source of the light within. Beyond the bottom of the spout, miles away, he thought he saw flames.

Leah’s words began to penetrate. Passengers were spilling into the aisle in alarm. The force outside drew him toward it until he felt sure he would be sucked into the snapping mouth.

He shot a look at Leah. “Do you
see
that?”

She looked out, then back at him, obviously confused. Zeke leaned close to the window.

The cloud-thing was gone.

“Is there a problem?”

Leah turned to two flight attendants who were keeping the passengers at bay. “Bad dream,” she said. “We’re fine.” She spoke reassuringly until the attendants began herding passengers back to their seats, Leah hovering near them solicitously.

Still staring in disbelief out the window, Zeke was startled by sound in his headphones. He’d forgotten that he still had them on. He turned to yank them from the armrest.

They’d already come unplugged. The end of the cord mocked him.

In his ear a guttural, gloating chuckle, somewhere between a growl and a purr, sent an icy ripple fluttering down his back.

“How do you like my little parlor trick? By the way, don’t you worry about your lovely sister, errand boy. I am taking good care of her. She is waiting for you. We are
all
waiting for you. You and I have gotten to be such good friends, I will be disappointed if you do not find me. I don’t think you will, but if you do, my door is always open.” There was a pause and the sound of rustling. “Wait. Valerie wants to say hello.”

The soul-withering cackle again came through the headphones. On and on it went, until it seemed it would go on forever unless Zeke did something. His hands balled into tight fists as he shot a whispered hiss of impotent rage through the window at the reddening sky:

“Stop it. Stop it God damn you! I’LL MAKE YOU STOP!!!”