Out along the boulevards leading to the hall were street vendors, spiritual hucksters and religious entrepreneurs of all ilks, peddling everything from Jeza T-shirts, ashtrays and watches, to animal-friendly Jeza veggie burgers. Even prostitution, virtually unknown to this Blessed City, had arrived with an opportunistic vengeance. To the outrage of the religious community, some of the more marketing-oriented streetwalkers were even dressed to resemble the prophetess herself, with wigs of wild dark hair, bright white pancake, dark blue contact lenses and white flowing robes.
Scalpers, it was said, were commanding up to $250,000 for a prime seat at the hall, willingly paid for by wealthy individuals with serious health problems, hoping for a miraculous cure. “Jeza Feva” extended everywhere, as countless bumper stickers proclaimed. Churches, temples and mosques were setting up big-screen TVs on their altars and advertising the event on their outdoor marquees.
It was into this bizarre circus atmosphere that a tired and emotionally drained Alphonse Cardinal Litti descended from his transcontinental early morning flight. As a charter attendee of the first convocation and a member of the prestigious Roman Catholic Curia, Litti had been able to secure a coveted front-row seat on the convention hall floor, immediately in front of the stage, right behind the presiding panel. However, after this dear expense, the cardinal had been left with little money for accommodations. He'd had to settle for a small room in a third-rate hostelry, several long blocks from the convention center.
Following his cab ride from the airport, standing alone on the sidewalk in front of his hotel with his three leather suitcases and green seaman's footlocker, the disenfranchised cardinal took stock of himself. He had with him his sole possessions in the world. Four black cassocks with purple trim; two red and black cloaks (one light, one heavy); two red zucchetto skullcaps; six white shirts; six clerical collars; a black sweater; a pectoral cross; a crimson fascia; a purple sash; four sets of underclothing; and two pairs of black dress shoes, size seven and one half. Also, his valued collection of precious books and papers; miscellaneous personal effects and mementos; photos of his parents and of his childhood.
Certainly, many cardinals had more and better possessions than he, Litti was well aware, but the cardinal had always taken his vow of poverty seriously. As a young priest, at his mother's side in the hospital when she was so sick with tuberculosis, Litti had promised Saint Jude Thaddeus, saint of the impossible, that if the good apostle would only spare his mother's life, he would give to charity half of any money he ever earned.
Although Saint Jude welshed on the deal, Litti forever kept his half of the bargain.
For the cardinal, this trip to Utah was, in more ways than one, a journey of no return. The entire package, convocation ticket, hotel, one-way plane fare, et cetera, had required virtually all of his lifelong savings: the tiny inheritance from his father, God bless him; nickels and dimes squirreled away from forty-eight years of faithful, low-paying servitude to his Church; the proceeds from his pawned cardinal's ring.
Where he would go from here, Litti had no idea. All that was left in his wallet was 626,350 lire-about four hundred dollars. But in his heart, he had the unwavering confidence that what he was doing was right. And for Alphonse Litti, that was wealth enough.
Also in town today was the Right Reverend Solomon T. Brady, D.D. He'd arrived a little earlier, was staying at a substantially nicer hotel, and was in considerably better spirits than he'd been at the last convocation. While barely into his new televangelical fund-raising strategy, he could already forecast the success. His twenty-four-hour, pay-per-call phone lines, with trained counselors always available to accept calls and solicit donations, were operating at peak capacity. Things appeared to be back on track at the Universal Kingdom.
And, making his first appearance at the convocation, another TV minister was arriving in style. Rolling up to his four-star hotel in a purple stretch limo, complete with a showy retinue of beautiful people, was the elegantly dressed First Reverend Fischer of the Samaritan Leadership Council, who'd recently changed his forename from “Richard” to “Peter,” to reflect his enhanced role as a “Fischer of Men.”
Still condemning WNN's expose as libelous, and still professing an intimate connection with the Messiah, Reverend Fischer was rumored to have paid an outrageous sum for two front-row seats for himself and an attractive, puerile little blond girl he referred to compassionately as “my poor little orphan.”
65
The outskirts of Cairo, Egypt 5:45 A.M., Saturday, March 4, 2000
For his drive out to the desert, Feldman had left extra early, plagued by the fear that this time Jeza wouldn't be awaiting him. It was a worry brought on by another of those nagging, perplexing dreams he'd been experiencing with such regularity.
Arriving at the familiar hill, Feldman parked his Rover at the bottom and jogged quickly to the top, his heart racing more from anxiety than physical exertion. Disastrously, his worst fears were immediately confirmed. No Jeza. And with the dawning sun easily defining the flat desert horizon, she was nowhere to be seen across the vast panorama.
Feldman began to explore the humiliation and financial loss this major faux pas would visit upon him and his company. The entire world was poised in anticipation of this great event, with Feldman the manifest master of ceremonies.
Refusing to fall dictate to his dream, he resisted calling for Jeza across the wilderness void. He'd simply wait and hope. He looked at his watch. Six A.M. First light. She had said she'd be here at first light. He folded his arms impatiently.
“Good morning,” a voice spoke softly behind him.
Feldman spun around in startled relief. This time she must have come up the same hill as he, behind him. He had simply assumed she'd arrive from the desert, that being the direction in which she'd left.
Embarrassed, he responded “Hello” with a sheepish grin. “You look great this morning!”
She smiled back.
“Did you leave your bags at the bottom of the hill?”
“I have no bags,” she explained simply.
Feldman wrinkled his brow and wondered how she managed to get by with nothing more than the clothes on her back.
“No matter,” he said, cheerily. “God will provide. Or at least WNN will provide. We've got everything you'll need, from clothes to toothbrush. Are you ready?”
She nodded.
“Okay then!” He extended his hand, she took it and they trekked down to his vehicle together.
“Have you ever ridden in a car before?” he asked as they made their way to a rendezvous point with the helicopter that would shuttle them to the Cairo airport.
“No.”
“How about a helicopter or an airplane?”
“No.”
“You'll enjoy it,” Feldman assured her, although he had to wonder if this implacable lady ever really experienced true joy or pleasure. He'd never heard her laugh. And while she'd smile on occasion, it was usually fleeting and never exactly convincing.
The helicopter was a safety precaution. On the mere rumor that the Messiah would be departing from the Cairo airport crowds had jammed the public areas and gates for days. The easiest way to avoid any entanglements was simply to fly the prophetess over the crowds and deposit her at the plane.
WNN's clandestine arrangements for Jeza's flight, thanks to the full cooperation of the White House, had been well orchestrated. The chartered jet sat alone and undisturbed at a desolate area of the airport. But Feldman knew that a whole contingent of CIA security operatives were randomly scattered about in the immediate vicinity.
Other than four crew members and two stewardesses, Hunter and Cissy McFarland were the only other passengers Feldman and WNN had allowed on board. Feldman had felt at least one woman from WNN's staff should be available if Jeza required some manner of personal assistance on the flight. Under normal circumstances, Cissy would have been an automatic choice. But given her widely known conflict with Hunter, it had taken an
