The Last Day

his stomach knotted at the thought of her leaving.

At the crest she stopped to meet his gaze, her dark eyes reaching far inside him again. And the more he stared into that compelling visage, the more he was drawn into it.

“When will I see you again?” he asked her.

There was a troubling concern in her face. “For a while you shall not see me,” she said slowly, “and then in a while again, you shall see me.”

“But I want to be with you. I need to be with you!” Feldman pressed her, not liking the open-endedness of her answer.

The Messiah averted her eyes, turned and withdrew a few paces. “It is not to be,” she said.

Feldman was staggered. He moved close behind her and gripped her shoulders. “Please don't tell me that, Jeza. I couldn't bear the thought of that!”

She looked around into his turbulent eyes. “Jon, there is a great void ahead of you. A wide chasm that you will confront alone. A long and difficult leap.” She turned to face him and took his hands in hers. “And when you land on the far side, things will no longer be as they were.”

She squeezed his hands hard, her eyes filling with tears again, searching the depths of his soul. “But at that moment, you must remember, the Father has His purpose. And while you cannot change what is meant to be, you will always have what once was. Remember. And remember that I hold in my heart a love for you that is eternal.”

Feldman could no longer control his emotions. He simply lost himself to her. To her sorrowfulness. To her sincerity. To her spirituality.

In tender, selfless, pure and loving devotion, he leaned down to kiss her.

But her eyes prevented him. They shocked him, numbed him in the darkness of their icy blue waters. As he reeled, insensate, she released his hands and he fell heavily to his knees. She stood there staring at him, tears reflecting moonlight from her cheeks. And then, like an illusion, she slipped away, disappearing quickly and silently off into the night.

86

Na-Juli apartments, Cairo, Egypt 10:00 A.M., Monday, March 20, 2000

Before Feldman had left on his trip to Rome, he and Anke had made arrangements to get together today at his apartment to make up lost time. It was a decision Feldman was regretting. His state of mind after the previous evening was leaving no room for interpersonal associations. He desperately needed time alone. To rest. To reflect. To rebuild his damaged psyche.

Despite Feldman's best efforts, it was obvious to him the minute Anke arrived at his door that she sensed the distance. He was unable to convey the accustomed warmth and emotion in his greeting. His hug was fleeting, his kiss perfunctory. He smiled with his lips, but his eyes were far away. She closed the door behind her and placed her hands on his cheeks, searching his face for a clue.

He could not endure her scrutiny and turned away. “I–I'm just not myself today, Anke. The effects of the trip, I guess …”

“Of course,” she comforted him. “I can't imagine what it must have been like for you. It was more than I could handle just watching it on TV. We don't have to go anywhere or do anything special today. Come on, let's just sit down, relax and talk for a while. I have so many questions!” She took his hand and escorted him to the couch.

Reluctantly, Feldman acquiesced. He felt so unreconcilably guilty. Anke was such an amazingly vivacious and spirited woman. Such a positive force in his life. So full of optimism and happiness. So different from Jeza. Yet his romantic feelings for Anke had inexplicably gone into hiatus. Is it possible that a man could love two such different women, so differently? he wondered. Annoyed with the complexity, he closed his eyes and shook his head in a vain attempt to clear his mind.

Noticeably concerned, Anke sought to draw him out. “Jon, what happened yesterday has really upset you, hasn't it?” She reached over and turned his face toward her to catch his eyes. “Can you let me in? I'd like to help.”

He took her hand. Her soft fingers were slightly larger than Jeza's, but hardly as strong. What am I doing with these absurd comparisons? Feldman berated himself. He labored to meet her gaze, shook his head again, denying her.

“Anke, I'm sorry, I can't talk about it now. I've been through a lot. I just need to regroup a little.”

“Sure, Jon,” she accepted, reluctantly. “I–I was just hoping you could fill me in a bit about all that happened with Jeza. There's so much I don't understand.”

“I have a feeling,” he continued to sidestep her, “that a lot of your questions are being addressed right now. Why don't we see what the latest news reports have to say?”

Without waiting for an answer, eager to learn if any Vatican archival data other than WNN's might have survived the Swiss Guards, Feldman grabbed up the remote control and switched on the TV.

Anke snuggled up to him, as if working to bridge the distance, but he remained preoccupied and the disconnect continued. Acceding to his strange behavior, Anke sighed and settled back on the sofa. A little more removed from him this time.

The TV news report was chronicling world reactions to the previous day's events. Everywhere, more and more numbers of terrified, God-fearing people were polarizing into pro-Jeza or anti-Jeza alignments. Increasingly, the majority of Jeza supporters were rallying around the rising flag of the Messianic Guardians of God. Meanwhile, the opposition was dominated by their staunch archrivals, the Guardians of God. As the report elaborated, the current crisis was affecting all aspects of global society. The commerce and government of nations were crippled, falling apart, drifting, as many people simply canceled life, hunkered down and girded themselves for the coming unknown.

Reports on the Vatican Secret Archives were all over the tube. But, as Feldman soon figured out, most of the purported exposes turned out to be bogus-rehashes of known Vatican scandals dating back centuries and masquerading as new revelations. Stories of papal intrigues: mistresses, illegitimate children, secret marriages, homosexualities, pedophilia, murders, graft and assorted corruptions. On and on.

Feldman pointed this out to Anke with irritation, and Anke looked at him quizzically, surprised at his uncharacteristic level of emotional involvement.

At last, Feldman's remote control found a channel with the report he was seeking. This was the genuine article. Although not a WNN production, the report credited WNN and other networks that had been successful in smuggling materials past the Swiss Guards.

In a spirit of unprecedented cooperation, these several news media had shared their spoils of precious information, assembling the scattered bits and pieces of the archival puzzle for a clearer, although incomplete, picture of Jeza's revelations. Feldman and Anke watched intently as, once again, Hunter's camera traveled down the musty halls of the Vatican Museum, chasing Jeza through the massive bronze doors of Bramante's Corridor while the announcer revealed the findings:

“… penetrating the veil of the mysterious, forbidden Secret Archives of the Roman Catholic Church. Records previously hidden from all eyes but those of caretaker monks sworn to lifetime vows of silence, now exposed to the world for the very first time.

“This first series of documents,” the announcer explained, “is a collection of records detailing a portion of the Vatican's vast financial holdings.” And a number of accounting sheets were displayed in succession, with specific entries emboldened. The Italian was translated into English across the screen.

The columns displayed the assets of the Administration of the Patrimony of the Holy See-the Propaganda Fide. The viewer was taken quickly through the numbers, arriving ultimately in a bottom line of trillions of lire. Once this figure was established, the huge sum was converted to U.S. dollars and displayed at the top center of the picture. This financial figure was captioned “Vatican Assets” and remained on the screen as a running tally while the report moved on to investigate other records.