The Last Day

evaporating. Our congregations deserting us. I implore you, Holy Father,” a tone of urgency entering his voice, “do not subject yourself to this humiliation.”

“It's precisely because of the disaster we face that the Holy Father must hold audience with this Jeza,” asserted a young cardinal from the Roman diocese. “Just as we are divided here in our own Curia over this issue, so, too, are the lost sheep of our congregations. This is our opportunity to assume a more assertive role. We must be seen as the unshakable standard-bearers around which the remaining faithful may rally.”

Another young cardinal rose in support. “I wholeheartedly agree. I cannot abide some of the recommendations that I've heard here today. I cannot accept that our best course of action is to simply stand idly by, trusting that the passage of time alone will be sufficient to expose this false prophecy.

“Have we not learned from past experiences how powerful the allure of the Apocalypse is to many people? The Seventh Day Adventists are a perfect example. Their very existence is predicated on an imminent Second Coming. And yet, each time their proclaimed target date passes, the governing fathers merely invent a rationalization and set another date. We cannot allow this current emergency to continue unchecked. Pontiff, you must counter this woman. Personally and forcefully. Head-on, with reason and the courage of our faith.”

Through all of this, Antonio Prefect Cardinal di Concerci had been sitting quietly, observing. He tapped the ends of his fingers together and waited for the pope to have his fill of everyone's ventings.

Finally, Nicholas turned to the prefect. “Antonio, will you also offer your opinion to our colleagues? You've had nothing to contribute as yet.”

Nicholas was well aware of di Concerci's perspective on the issue from their lengthy conversations of the previous day. This roundtable discussion had simply been the pontiff's failed hope for building a consensus.

“Yes, Holy Father. If I may also speak for Cardinal Santorini, who was present with me at the convocation?” And Santorini nodded his assent.

Di Concerci stood and extended his arms to the assembly. “I don't believe anyone here needs to be reminded of the seriousness of the current situation,” he said in a relaxed and reasonable tone. “In short, the harsh pronouncements of this self-proclaimed Daughter of God have created extraordinary antagonism and animosity toward all organized religions, not just the Church.

“Nevertheless, while all religions must face this common threat, Nicholas, with direct lineage to Christ, and with the consecrated authority to administer Christ's will on earth, is the only religious entity with the mandate to counter the problem.

“At first I, too, thought this proposed meeting a mistake. However, it is now my fervent conviction that this challenge is a test from God. And a preordained opportunity. If we can meet this challenge-if we can be successful in confronting this false prophetess, if we can deliver mankind from the irrationality and wanton emotionalism of this destructive millenarian movement, if we can restore spiritual order and peace once again to a world racked by panic and confusion- if we can accomplish all these things, we will have within our reach a goal toward which the Church has labored ceaselessly for two thousand years: the ability to reunite not just the Christian faiths once again, but to convert all peoples. To bring all religions under the auspices of the one true Church!

“My fellow cardinals, it's our sacred duty as defenders of the faith to confront this, the greatest of all schisms. His Holiness must meet with the woman, Jeza. Here in the Vatican. Before God and the eyes of the world. And together, with your prayers and God's great blessings, Holy Mother Church will find a means to resolve the apostasy that has brought such anguish upon this planet.”

There was a moment of stillness in the palace auditorium. And then, from the hands of the pope, a solitary clapping began. Joined by the young Franciscan cardinal. Then the monsignor from Latvia. Another cardinal stood, and another, and the applause became an acclamation as everyone in the entire hall, Nicholas also, rose to their feet to endorse the inspired objective.

76

Brookforest subdivision, Racine, Wisconsin 7:50 A.M., Wednesday, March 8, 2000

Michelle Martin hurried a stack of hot pancakes from her stove to the kitchen table, thinking a hearty breakfast might help quell the sour moods of her husband and son.

“I don't care what all your friends are doing,” Tom Senior growled, “I'm not letting you get involved with any cult!”

“It's not a cult, Dad,” the son protested. “It's the Guardians of God. You know, the organization trying to stop all the Jeza freaks from taking over the world. Even the pope supports us.”

“Pope or no pope, you're not getting mixed up with those religious kooks. They're just stirring up trouble. You keep your nose clean, son, and in your books where it belongs. With the run on the bank and me out of work, I'm afraid you're going to have to earn a scholarship like Shelley if you want to go to the university next fall.”

“How come you let Shelley join those fool Messianic Guardians of God?” the son complained, stubbornly. “They're the reason why the bank folded-all those idiots running around claiming it's the end of the world, scaring the heck out of everybody.”

Michelle Martin added a fresh pancake to the untouched pile in front of her son. “When you go off to college, Tommy, you'll be able to make more decisions on your own. But your dad's right, those Guardians of God people scare me, too. They're hateful. You stay away from them.”

Apparently the father did not consider this satisfactory rebuttal. “I don't like Shelley getting caught up with that damn cult, either, Michelle.” His large face was turning red and his blue eyes flashed like warning lights beneath his glasses. “I should never have let you two go to Salt Lake City. That's what got Shelley's head all turned around. And I know you've been encouraging her to attend those damn Messianic Guardian meetings at the college. I want it stopped, right now, you hear?” With that, he slammed his big fist on the table, upsetting young Tom's milk, which splashed across the front of the boy.

Michelle Martin was taken aback by her husband's uncharacteristic vehemence. Fretting, frowning and trying to come up with a conciliatory smile all at the same time, she leaned down and placed a tentative hand on the man's shoulder. “Honey, if only you'd been there at the airport with us. Seeing her in person was such a … religious experience.”

His anger was not abating. “You drive all night, hundreds of miles, stand around in the cold all day-just for a five-second glimpse of the girl! And then you act like you've seen God or something!”

“It was like seeing God!” Mrs. Martin exclaimed. “When Jeza walked past us at the fence, when she turned and stared right at us … Maybe it was only for a second, but when I looked into those eyes of hers, I tell you, Torn, it was like nothing I've ever experienced.”

“I should never have let either of you go.” The father was despondent. “That girl Jeza is turning everything upside down. She's cost me my job, and now she's costing me my family.”

Moving to clean up the spilled milk, anxious to ameliorate the situation, Mrs. Martin abruptly changed the subject. “Did you vote in the primary yesterday, sweetheart?”

Her husband gave her a look of wide-eyed incredulity, exaggerated all the more by the thickness of his glasses. “Vote? Vote? Who the hell cares about that?”

Taking advantage of the disruption to slip away, the boy went upstairs to his room to change his wet clothes. Halting in front of his mirror and checking to ensure no one was following him, he peeled off his shirt, admiring a tender, solo tattoo recently stitched over his heart. It was of two femur bones shaped in a T, flanked by a sword and ax and bearing the golden Latin inscription, “Custodes Dei.”

77

Na-Juli apartments, Cairo, Egypt 7:00 A.M. Thursday, March 9, 2000