Fire Of Heaven Book III Fire of Heaven Page 3

  The man coughed and gasped.

  “Guys,” Brandon protested, “be careful.”

  Frank broke into his famous smirk then turned to Tom and nodded. Immediately they half-dragged, half-walked the coughing man up the aisle toward the exit.

  Sarah turned back to her father. He was still bent over, clinging to the edge of a pew. “Dad? Daddy, are you all right?”

  “I’m okay,” he said, coughing slightly and trying to rise.

  She wasn’t convinced. “Are you sure?”

  “I said I’m okay.” He righted himself and carefully tested a rib or two. She glanced at Brandon, who nodded to her that he thought the man was all right. “Just tell me where …” Her father coughed again. “Just tell me where I’m supposed to sit.”

  “Over there.” Sarah motioned toward the front pew. “But if you’re not —”

  “I said I’m okay. Let’s just get on with this thing, shall we?” He started for the front pew and was immediately joined by the pastor, who had stepped down to assist him.

  Meanwhile, Brandon’s aunt had risen to help replace Sarah’s veil. Another woman began smoothing her dress. For the briefest moment Sarah stood disoriented, unsure of what to do … until she saw Brandon reaching out and taking her hand.

  She looked up at him. There were those riveting eyes. She felt them looking inside of her again, probing her heart the way they did when he wanted to know what she was really thinking. Sometimes she found the look frustrating, knowing there was nothing she could hide from him. Other times their intensity made her knees the slightest bit weak. This time she knew he was making sure she was okay and that she really wanted to continue.

  She swallowed hard and forced a smile.

  But Brandon still didn’t have his answer. He asked again, this time in a language only she understood — a language they’d first used in the hospital when he’d stayed all those nights at her side, praying for her recovery, when her face was bandaged so completely that she could barely utter a sound. More recently it had been his method to see if she’d fallen asleep as they watched old movies on late-night TV. It was a simple code. Childish, really. But it was theirs.

  He gave her hand two gentle squeezes.

  Sarah’s heart swelled. She swallowed again and then gave one simple squeeze back. That was the signal. It was going to be okay. Things were going to be all right.

  They turned and headed for the altar.

  Katherine was not fond of these afternoon sessions. Come to think of it, she was growing less and less fond of any of the sessions involving the Cartel. These were the times when Eric was the most vulnerable, when he made himself available for Heylel to speak through him and give them counsel. These were also the times Katherine wandered the adjacent hallway, visited nearly every secretary whose office was in the vicinity of the meeting room, and put down more than her fair share of coffee. Sometimes the meetings would go on for an hour, sometimes several. It all depended upon what international fire had to be put out. The current meeting had just begun its third hour.

  She sat in an armchair inside a lobby of one of the offices and idly flipped through another magazine. She didn’t mind the Cartel members themselves. In fact she almost liked a couple of them. Even though they were some of the most influential people in the world — international bankers, business moguls, past and present politicians — as human beings, they weren’t half bad.

  For Katherine and most of the world, the Cartel’s history was murky at best. Until they officially acknowledged their presence less than a year ago, many people weren’t even sure they existed. And that invisibility, according to the experts, was their greatest strength. Some insisted the group had roots as far back as the Knights of the Temple, or more recently, the Illuminati. Others insisted they were a major force behind the creation of the United Nations, the Trilateral Commission, and the European Union. Whatever rumor you cared to believe, the point was they were heavy hitters who had finally come out of seclusion for one purpose and one purpose only: “To assist global powers in bringing about permanent world peace.” That was it. Despite the conspiracy rumors and paranoid hearsay, they insisted they were not interested in “world domination.” They didn’t want to run the show, merely save it.

  And what better man to become their spokesperson than Lucas Ponte? Twice elected president of the United States, he had quickly earned a reputation not only for his compassion, but for his commitment to world peace. In the first term he had become a national hero. By the second, his admirers and followers were international. If anyone had the golden touch for peace, Ponte did. First there was the miracle of bringing fruitful dialogue to the Balkans, a region which except for Soviet domination had not known rest for over a century. Next came his peace brokering amongst the warring republics of central and western Africa. And finally there was his success in easing tensions between India and Pakistan. As his tenure in office drew to a close, many feared the world would become a less kind place with his absence. Fortunately, the Cartel would not let that happen. Instead, they stepped out of seclusion and asked Lucas Ponte to become their chairman — giving him the opportunity to complete the job he had so successfully begun.

  Still, even at that, Katherine didn’t entirely trust them. Not at first. After all, this was the organization that had bankrolled the research of the GOD gene. They were the ones who tried to have portions of Christ’s genetic code reproduced in Michael Coleman and who inadvertently infected her son. In short, they were the ones who had ruined Eric’s life.

  Of course that hadn’t been their intention. They were simply exploring the possibility of gene therapy to curb man’s tendency toward violence. And what better DNA to attempt to duplicate than that belonging to the Man of Peace?

  It was an intriguing theory. Until it backfired. Until a few greedy individuals tried to reverse the process, attempting to create conscienceless killing machines. Need some general to press the nuke button? Some infantryman to fight without fear or mercy? Just inject the reverse gene, something called antisense, into them for a period of time and stand back. Such a drug would prove invaluable to any nation or military with the money to buy it.

  Invaluable? Yes.

  Unconscionable? Absolutely.

  That’s why, after Coleman’s death, she and Eric did their best to avoid the Cartel … until the group’s clout and unlimited financial power finally flushed them out. Yes, the Cartel admitted, there had been a handful of “loose and very greedy cannons” in the program. But they had been discovered and promptly disposed of. The Cartel’s purpose was the same as it always had been, to promote world peace. And Eric, with his newly acquired powers and, more recently, with his ability for allowing Heylel to speak through him, could become an invaluable player in that process.

  But Katherine was not terribly interested in world peace. And, despite all the books she’d been reading and the counsel she’d received, she was becoming less and less excited about her son’s channeling abilities. No, it was the other carrot they offered that brought the two of them to the compound and persuaded her to endure these sessions. It was the Cartel’s offer to do everything in their power to find a cure for Eric — to stop the degeneration that had begun as a result of their own experimentation. Not a bad promise considering they were major stockholders in some of the largest genetic laboratories of the world … considering Eric’s condition had taken a turn for the worse … considering they were the only hope she had to stop her little boy from turning into some sort of antisocial psychopath.

  So, here Katherine sat, flipping through magazines in a plush office amidst the mountains of Nepal while her son met with and offered counsel to some of the most powerful men in the world. Then again, it really wasn’t her son. It was somebody or something else. And it was that somebody or something else that was making the Cartel’s offer less and less appealing, that was making Katherine think more and more seriously about getting out.

  “Only, the Arab Coalition will not call f
or a cease-fire until Israel agrees to return to the negotiating table … and, of course, Israel will not negotiate until there’s a cease-fire.”

  “What about a nuclear threat?”

  “Lots of saber rattling. But with the right guarantees, the Jews won’t go nuclear if the Arabs don’t go biological.”

  “Guarantees provided by … us?”

  “Who else.”

  The group sat quietly around the table as the former NATO secretary general finished his report. He gathered his papers, leaned back, and resumed chewing a cigar almost as big as his ego.

  Eric didn’t like the man, never had. Even his voice irritated him. In fact, it was all he could do not to shout the pompous old windbag into silence. But Chairman Lucas Ponte hated it when Eric did that sort of thing, especially at these briefings. It not only disrupted them, but it embarrassed Lucas.

  And Eric didn’t want to do that. After all, Lucas was his friend. In many ways he’d become the father Eric never had. And Eric was becoming the son Lucas had always wanted.

  Now, if he could just get his mother to go a little easier on the guy …

  “Mr. Chairman, once again I must insist that we delay the groundbreaking and that we seriously consider moving your installation into office to another location.” It was one of the bankers. The woman from South Africa. Eric hated her almost as much as the secretary general. So did the other nine members of the Cartel gathered around the table. At least that was Eric’s impression. “To stage such events at this time in Jerusalem will not only exacerbate the situation, but it will prove dangerously reckless to your own safety.”

  “I disagree.” It was another banker, this one from Germany. “An action like this will only show our resolve. It will underscore our strength and our insistence that world peace will not be held hostage to fragmentary elements.”

  Some around the table agreed, others did not. But it was the South African’s voice that rose above the din. “One can hardly call these Middle East outbreaks fragmentary!”

  More comments flew back and forth. But Eric barely noticed. He pushed up his glasses with his little finger and returned to work. At the moment he was secretly carving his initials into the side of the mahogany table with a $750 Mont Blanc pen. Like all the other meetings that were supposed to be so important, this one was going nowhere fast.

  A scientist spoke up. Swiss, if Eric guessed right. “One would think Scorpion should make them sit up and take notice. The disease has reached pandemic proportions. Every continent reels under its impact.” He turned to Aaron Stoltz, head of media. “A virus of unknown origin striking primarily the Semitic races, the Jews and Arabs … I am not convinced we are taking full advantage of this situation.”

  Aaron Stoltz nodded. “We’re continually flooding news services with the latest death toll. We’re playing the ‘judgment of God’ angle to the max, with the hopes that they’ll start cooperating with each other, but —”

  The secretary general interrupted, “— but everyone is listening except the Jews and Arabs.”

  Ironic chuckles circled the table. But Eric had had enough. “I say we just nuke ’em!” The words came louder than he had anticipated and the laughter quickly faded. Some glanced around the table; others shifted uncomfortably. Except Lucas. Lucas was cool. Even when Eric had his outbursts, Lucas Ponte always showed him the respect he deserved.

  “So tell me, Eric, do you think that would be a solution?”

  “It’d sure stop them from wasting all our time at these stupid meetings.”

  Lucas smiled. “You may have a point. And with all the other issues to cover it’s

  certainly —”

  “Eric …” It was Heylel. Eric could sense his approach as much as he could hear it.

  Lucas continued. “But I’m not sure nuking the entire Middle East will exactly solve the unrest or that it will stop this new disease.”

  “Eric …” Heylel’s voice was louder now, so loud that it had started to drown out Lucas’s. Eric shifted in his seat, pretending to ignore it.

  Lucas turned back to the scientist and asked, “What progress are we making toward a vaccine?”

  “Eric …”

  Not now, Eric thought back.

  “I have something very important to share with the group.”

  Lucas turned back to Eric. He was speaking to him, but Eric could barely hear now. The man’s lips moved but he sounded muffled, growing fainter and farther away. Despite Eric’s resistance, Heylel was taking over.

  “Eric …”

  It’s not that Eric resented Heylel. He’d shown him lots of neat stuff — astral projection, telepathy, bilocation. And the little mind game he’d played with Dr. Reichner, that psychic scientist in the States, was especially exciting. But there was a price: Whenever Heylel wanted to speak, he spoke. Whenever Heylel wanted to use his body, he did. Oh sure, Eric could resist, but lately it was getting harder and harder to say no.

  “I have another movie to show you, Eric.”

  But, things are just getting —

  “It’s another war.”

  But I … Eric hesitated. What type of war?

  “Oh, you’ll like this one. It’s much better than the last. All sorts of soldiers are stabbed and killed. Some even get blown up. And, if you watch carefully, you’ll get to see a decapitation.”

  Eric felt himself weakening. Really?

  The voice chuckled. “Child, have I ever lied to you?”

  Of course, he never had. From the moment he’d first appeared to Eric, Heylel had never lied. Granted, only a few of the promises had been fulfilled, but the bigger ones, the ones Heylel had made about worldwide fame and popularity, were definitely on their way. All Eric had to do was keep cooperating.

  “Here, just take a little peek …”

  Before Eric could respond, sound and images flooded his brain. It was like a movie, only a hundred times better. It was as if he was really there. Men in bright blue uniforms running, shouting. Cannons exploding, swords stabbing and skewering. Sometimes a person would explode and fly through the air screaming in agony. It was everything Heylel had promised and more.

  And, as Eric gave himself over to the images, he began to sink deeper and deeper — falling from his own mind, falling someplace very, very special. Soon he felt his throat being cleared, his vocal chords vibrating, and his mouth begin to move. But he could not hear what he was saying. It would be hard to come back up and take control. Each time it got a little harder. But that was okay. At least for now. Because right now the gore and killing that surrounded Eric was a thousand times better than sitting in some boring old meeting listening to a bunch of boring old-timers talk about controlling the world.

  Brandon sat with his shirt off on the hotel bed, as nervous as a schoolboy. For the second time he clicked on the TV and for the second time he clicked it off. He didn’t know much about romance but somehow he figured CNN was not the appropriate background for his wedding night.

  He threw another look at the bathroom door. What on earth was taking her so long?

  He shook his head, musing at the depth of his feelings. How was it possible? How could one person bring out such tenderness in him, such caring? He once considered himself the most selfish human on the planet … and now, in less than a year, he’d become so committed that he would do anything for her, give anything to her, be anything for her.

  He rose, crossed over to the twenty-fourth-story window, and pulled back the sheers. It was the same view he’d seen thirty seconds earlier — the Chicago River, the Navy Pier, and beyond that Lake Michigan. It was still just as impressive and still just as intimidating. He’d never been in a hotel, at least not like this. Sure, he’d seen the Hyatt Regency whenever he came up here to Chicago. But he never gave it a second thought. That’s where the rich and famous stayed. The hotshots. Not people like him. No way. Well, no way had come and gone. Now he was here, with his bride, spending their first night together.

  The room was Fr
ank’s idea. Brandon had made it clear that neither he nor Sarah had the time or money for a honeymoon. But Frank and the guys at the plant insisted upon pitching in for at least one night. And when Frank made up his mind it was pretty hard to change it.

  So here they were.

  Brandon gave another look at the bathroom door. He wasn’t entirely sure what she was doing, but he had his ideas. Ever since the accident Sarah had spent an inordinate amount of time on her looks — brushing her hair, checking her makeup, that sort of thing. He knew it was because of the scar. Before the accident, her beauty came naturally, something she took for granted. Now it was something she felt a constant need to work on. He sadly remembered her excitement the day she discovered her hair had finally grown out enough to start covering the scar.

  Brandon wasn’t crazy about the thing, either. But he hated it more for what it did to her on the inside than what he saw on the outside. He hated the way it made the once-confident woman suddenly insecure and self-conscious. And the closer their wedding approached, the more insecure she became, and the more she needed to be reassured of her beauty. Of course he did this gladly, but he also made it clear that there was an even greater beauty inside. Not that he had always been so sensitive. After all, it was her good looks that had originally taken his breath away. But that had been a long, long time ago. A different lifetime, a different Brandon. A Brandon who had been lost, searching for meaning and purpose. A Brandon who — like many of his fellow Generation Xers — had lived aimlessly for the moment and only for himself.

  Not that he’d completely changed. He’d be the first to admit that there were still plenty of rough edges to work on. But gradually, day by day, as he and Sarah studied the Scriptures, and as they poured themselves into people at the clinic and into each other, he saw the shift in both of their lives. Why hadn’t anyone told him how exhilarating it could be? How liberating? By taking his eyes off of himself and focusing upon others he was becoming a different person. And that was fine with him. It was fine with both of them. The sooner the better. Because from what they’d read in the Bible, it appeared that their role in the end times would be crucial. Very crucial.