The Last Day

concentration.

“Perhaps I should enlighten you, Jeza,” the cardinal prodded. “As the world will now see, there is far more to the story of your true origin than accounted for in that tabloid TV report. Let me begin by introducing you to your family. Your real family.

“The woman on the left in this photograph is your genetic mother, Anne Leveque. The woman on the right is your biological mother and identical twin sister, Marie Leveque.

“And the man in the middle is your creator. The person who invented you, Jeza, out of test tubes and biology and incubators. This is your true father. Your genetic father. The late Jozef Leveque, a brilliant bioengineer in the service of the Israeli defense minister, Shaul Tamin.”

Jeza's face steadily darkened, her invasive eyes poring over the image of the tall, white-haired man in the photo.

The prefect continued to press his advantage. “Jozef Leveque is the individual responsible for your celebrated mental gifts. The man who filled your mind with vast stores of information-supposedly through some unique process of passive memory budding. However, that explanation is only partially correct. As we now know, there is a far more sinister secret behind this miraculous intelligence of yours.”

Di Concerci gestured dramatically toward Santorini. “Here lies the truth, Jeza,” he asserted. “In Jozef Leveque's own words, carefully recorded in this, his personal journal, until shortly before his death in the Negev laboratory explosion.”

Santorini obligingly held the diary up high over his head, rotating it slowly. With the media and audience gaping in wonder, Santorini opened wide the book and quickly flipped through its pages. Hunter, who'd insinuated himself on the second step of the altar, zoomed his camera in tightly on the journal while the prefect continued his indictment.

“As revealed here, Shaul Tamin's ambitions went far beyond the sacrilege of artificially gestating human beings.” Slowly and methodically di Concerci began to circle the troubled prophetess, studying her intently like a predator salaciously savoring the death throes of its mortally wounded prey. “This is an accounting of how your father created you, Jeza. Not in God's image and likeness, but after the pattern and scheme of some profane military blueprint. In this diary we finally learn the true objective of Tamin's sordid experiments: an ambitious plan to develop human computers for military applications. Supernatural soldiers. Robotic beings less human than machine. Blasphemous experiments of which you, Jeza, are the only survivor.

“The reality is, your father did not merely tamper with your mind, Jeza. In defiance of God, he endeavored to alter the very structure of your brain! Surgically imbedding deep within your cerebral hemispheres thirteen profane, man-made contrivances. Thirteen silicon microchips through which your artificial intelligence flows.”

Santorini now opened the journal to a two-page, hand-drawn, 3-D illustration of a human brain. Throughout the image were distributed thirteen postage-stamp-size squares.

With the waggle of a stern index finger, di Concerci attempted to direct Jeza's attention to the drawing, but she remained steadfastly focused on the image of her late father.

“It is this, these accursed microchips,” the prefect declared, “that is the source of the stubborn delusions you now interpret as some God-given mission. Contrary to what your adulterated mind tells you, Jeza, you are not the recipient of a divine calling. And contrary to what your followers may believe, the malignancy of that laboratory was not purged from you by a stroke of God's lightning on Millennium Eve. Sadly, this artificially implanted evil still resides deep within you.”

Feldman had known full well that sooner or later this climactic moment had to happen. That this innocent, unwitting young woman he had grown to admire and respect must one day confront the coarse, disturbing truth about herself. But Feldman could not have imagined a more cruel or devastating end to her ministry. Here, in the stronghold of her enemies, center stage before the entire world.

His heart heavy, he prayed for a swift conclusion.

Mercifully, the prefect no longer directed his ruinous charges at the seemingly defenseless Messiah. Turning, he now appealed directly to the jury of converging cameras. “People of the world,” he exhorted, “it's time to bring closure to all of this turmoil, anxiety and conflict. It's time to accept for what they are the misrepresentations that have been perpetrated upon you. The visions that this confused woman sees in her mind, which she believes come from God, are in fact artificial images implanted for some sinister purpose about which even her father was kept in the dark.

“Finally, let it all now come to an end. Let all the fear and torment and anguish forever cease. This unholy plan, whatever its original intentions, is over. Sabotaged. Destroyed. Exposed. And all that's left from its ashes is this poor, defective test subject. This experiment gone wrong. This lonely, pitiful, deluded woman possessed of grandiose, messianic fantasies.”

He paused in his attack, allowing his audience to fully absorb the thrust of his damning expose. After a moment's purposeful reflection, the cardinal took a deep breath, looked over at his victim, and then bestowed upon her a kind, benevolent gaze of reconciliation.

“I do not mean to be unduly cruel to you, Jeza, with these disturbing revelations. We can all appreciate now that you are not responsible for your actions. Nevertheless, the seriousness of the world upheaval and violence caused by your misguided message has demanded a complete and final climax to the madness.” He moved toward Jeza and extended both hands to her.

“Jeza, in the name of God, will you kneel with me now, here, together in Christ's holiest of churches, and pray with all of us for God's blessings and deliverance finally from this long nightmare?”

Jeza said nothing. She neither acknowledged her opponent, nor reacted in response to his overtures. Other than her aggrieved eyes, which had been in constant motion over the displayed materials, Jeza remained motionless.

After a prolonged silence, she ended her scrutiny of the evidence, gave her accuser a disdainful look, stepped backward away from di Concerci toward the center of the altar, turned and directly engaged the main assembly.

Closing her eyes tightly, clenching her fists against her chest, she cried out at the top of her lungs, quoting the scriptures of the apostle, Matthew 23:27–28; 33–34:

“ ‘Woe to you, Scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! You are like whited sepulchres, which outwardly appear to men beautiful, but within are full of dead men's bones and uncleanness. So you also outwardly appear just to men, but within you are full of hypocrisy and iniquity.

“ ‘Serpents, brood of vipers! How are you to escape the judgment of hell? Therefore, behold I send you prophets, and wise men, and you receivethem not, but persecute them and scourge them in your tabernacles.’ ”

She opened her eyes but her voice maintained its rage and intensity. “I say unto you, it matters not the origin of truth, whether it be implanted artificially, or whether it be inspired by God Himself. It matters only that it be truth.

“ ‘There is nothing outside a man that, entering into him, can defile him; but the things that come out of a man, these are what defile a man. If anyone has ears to hear, let him hear.’ ”

With these last words of Mark 7:15–16, Jeza made a sweeping turn to face the pope, who had remained, all this time, in a quandary on his throne. Her arm extended above her, her forefinger pointed to the heavens, she called out in a loud voice, “As good can come from evil, and evil from good, so now shall the truth be proclaimed:

“Behold, on this day, at this hour, at this moment, does God forevermore reclaim from this Church His keys to the Kingdom of Heaven. No more is your covenant with Christ. Dissolved is your bond with Peter. And now shall the rock upon which this Church stands, the foundation of the house of God on earth which has stood inviolate for two thousand years, now shall all be put asunder!”

Her raised arm came slashing down until her condemning finger was leveled directly at the center of the High Altar. As she did so, there was a deep, resonating rumble that split the air. With a tremendous thunder, the huge, foot-thick center stone of the altar cleaved in the middle and came crashing down, shattering and sending bits of small marble flying off the dais, skittering and spinning long distances across the polished floor of the basilica.