CHAPTER 12
The celebration started the next morning. Most of the festivities took place in and just outside the Piazza Navona. As instructed by Sam, Ryan kept a low profile, remaining outside the plaza, doing only menial jobs. He handed out soft drinks and containers of ice-cold lemonade to thirsty celebrators at one point; at another, he helped some janitors clean up after a street dance. All the while, he kept his cell phone in his jeans pocket. Repeatedly, he phoned his wife for updates. So far, all Kristen could report was that the search was in progress.
In the meantime, Monica stayed with Rachel. As she had done on the previous occasion, less than three-and-a-half years before, during Rachel’s short-lived captivity, she told the young girl stories about previous assignments. All the while, the unearthly light shining on her kept the back of the store lit, so that Rachel could see her surroundings.
“You need to keep up your strength,” Monica said, at one point. She handed Rachel an orange and an energy bar.
Rachel accepted them, her mouth watering. Her stomach had been growling for almost two days, and her mouth had become dry. “Where’d you get them?”
“God gave them to me, to give to you.” Monica smiled.
“Thank you.” Rachel laid the energy bar on her leg, then peeled the orange. “Do—do you want a slice?”
Monica shook her head. “No thank you.”
Silently, Rachel ate the succulent orange. Sticky juice poured over her fingers and dribbled onto her jeans as she pulled slices off the orange and bit them in half. When she had eaten the last piece, she tossed the peels onto the floor. She then unwrapped the chocolate-covered energy bar, devouring it in four bites.
“Monica, is it true the pope is dead?” She licked her fingers.
Monica nodded. “Yes. He is.”
Rachel gazed down at her purse for a long moment. At last, she spoke. “Is—is he in Hell?”
Monica took a deep, shuddering breath. “He came very close to being sent there,” she said slowly. She furrowed her eyebrows as she leaned back.
Rachel looked at her. She shifted position on the thick braided rug. “What happened?”
Monica shifted position to face Rachel. “It was written in the Book of Revelation that the 10 kings would kill him, and that his new world religion would be dismantled.” She paused. “But the choice as to whether he would die with or without God’s mercy was still his to make. God sent angels to help him to make his choice.”
Rachel grinned. “He sent you!”
Monica nodded. “Me and Tess and Gloria.” She paused. “He had an orphaned nephew who was already making some bad choices of his own. Without God’s intervention, those choices would have cost him his life and his soul. God sent us to minister to the boy as well as to his uncle, Pope Benedict.”
Rachel bit her lower lip. “His parents were dead?”
Monica shook her head. “They were taken in the Rapture.”
Rachel frowned. “He’s Italian, right?” Monica nodded. “I thought Italians were Catholics.”
Monica smiled. “The majority of them were, yes. Including the boy’s parents and the boy himself. But Benito’s parents knew Jesus as their Savior, so when the trumpet blew, they went to Heaven.” She paused. “The pope took the boy in at that point, because there was no one else. Later, the pope moved both of them to Babylon in Iraq.”
Rachel made a face. “I’ll bet he hated that! That’s an awful place.”
Monica nodded agreement. “Yes. He did.” She smiled. “He never wanted to leave Rome, and he deeply yearned to return. Well, he’s back in Rome now, but it will not be long, now, till he’ll be forced to flee.” She paused. “Thanks to God’s goodness, he made the right choice in the end, and so did his uncle. His uncle died, but his spirit is with God now.” She smiled broadly at the memory.
Rachel smiled back. “Did Andrew take him to Heaven?”
Monica nodded. “Yes. He did.”
As Rachel furrowed her eyebrows, thinking about that, Monica bowed her head. “Father, we are alone in this store,” she prayed, “waiting for someone to find us. Please send help soon.”
“Amen,” Rachel added.
A soft coo! startled them both. Raising her head, Rachel gaped as a snow-white dove perching on the debris in front of them illuminated the back of the store even more; the Heavenly light nearly blinded her now. Rachel put her hands above her eyes, so she wouldn’t be forced to close them; she wanted to watch the dove. For several minutes, it perched on the pile of debris, turning its head this way and that.
A sense of unexplainable comfort welled up in Rachel’s heart. “God sent that, didn’t He?” she whispered. Monica nodded.
At last, the dove flew upward, disappearing. Only Monica’s Heavenly light illuminated the back of the store then, but the fear and anxiety that had lain in Rachel’s stomach like a heavy stone since the earthquake, weighing her down, had disappeared. Now she could lower her hands. Rachel shifted position, leaning against Monica and crossing her legs Indian-style. Her purse rested on her lap. A yawn escaped her mouth; her eyes felt heavy. Monica put her arm around Rachel’s shoulders and smiled at the young girl.
“Maybe you should go to sleep,” the angel suggested. “I’ll call for help if anyone comes while you’re napping.” Nodding, Rachel snuggled against Monica and closed her eyes.
Meanwhile, back in Rome, Ryan and David strode out the front door of their hotel. Another man bumped into them as Ryan shut the glass door behind them. “Excuse us,” Ryan said.
David froze. He gaped at the man for a long moment. In turn, the man stared at him, then brushed his dark-brown hair out of his green eyes. He was taller than Ryan. Muscles rippled in his arms as he folded them across his chest, staring at David. Ryan guessed the man to be in his thirties. He looked from the stranger to David, wondering what connection the two had.
At last, David choked, “Benjamin?!”
The man’s eyes widened in evident shock. “David?!” He swallowed hard. “David Weizmann?!”
The two men embraced and laughed. David turned to Ryan. “Excuse us! Ryan, this is my long-lost cousin—the one I told you about, who moved to Rome a few years ago. Benjamin Weizmann. Ben, this is my good friend, Ryan Whittaker.” He shook his head. “I haven’t heard from Ben or Esther since they moved here. You should have at least called, Ben!” A reproachful tone entered the man’s voice. Ben smiled sheepishly.
Ryan couldn’t believe it. This man was David’s cousin? The one who had moved to Rome years before? He wondered if this was part of God’s plan. If so, he wanted to know what the plan was.
Ryan extended his hand. As the two men shook hands, Ryan noticed a bitter expression carefully hidden behind the welcoming smile Ben gave. “David’s told me about you,” Ryan told him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ben.”
Benjamin nodded. “I know from your accent that you’re an American.” Ryan nodded. “Where do you live now?”
“Well, until recently, I lived in Rome, working for Antonio Puccini. But in recent days, my wife and I moved to Jerusalem.”
David pursed his lips. “He and his wife fled for their lives—Puccini was planning to kill them. He came with me, because I asked him to, and because Jehovah wanted him to.”
Ben’s face turned red. He gazed down at several ants scurrying on the pavement at his feet. He looked up at Ryan, then David. “So, Puccini wants him dead, does he?” His voice rose. “The man is a monster!” He shook his head, taking a deep breath. “Forgive me, David—I haven’t told you. My wife is dead.”
David gaped at him. “No.” Ben nodded. David swallowed hard. “How did that happen?”
“Puccini ordered her murdered.” Ben pressed his lips into a thin line. “My Esther accepted this Yeshua—this Jesus—as her Messiah. I didn’t like it, but I still loved her. Puccini—killed her!” Grief etched his face. “He’s going to pay for my wife’s murder with his life, David! I swear, he will!”
He shook his fist in the air. Desperate to escape the fury in the man’s eyes, Ryan looked past him to the EU flag waving in the breeze from the roof of a building across the street. Several swallows perched around it; one spread its wings and flew off. Where’s a dove when you need one? Ryan thought.
He and David exchanged troubled glances. Ryan laid a hand on Ben’s shoulder. “I understand your rage,” he said slowly. “Antonio Puccini is a wicked man—in fact, he’s a deceiver and a Satan-worshipper. My own wife can vouch for that. But—” He swallowed. “Well, you should know that even if you succeed in killing him, he’s not going to stay dead.”
David nodded agreement. “We have much to tell you about that man, Benjamin, but for now, all we can do is beg you not to try to kill him. It will bring you no comfort, trust me. Only more pain. And endangerment.”
Ben curled his lips into a sneer. He put his hands on his hips, glaring at David. “I don’t care. He deserves to die! All I have to live for, now, is getting justice for my wife. And she’s going to get it!” He ground a pebble with the toe of his sturdy leather shoe as he spoke.
Ryan sighed, sadness welling up within him. “May we pray for you, Benjamin?”
Benjamin shrugged. “You may, Ryan, but it won’t dissuade me. My mind is made up.” Dropping his hands to his sides, he turned to David. “Are you and David staying here?”
David nodded. “Yes. Dayan ordered me here to help him prepare this celebration for Puccini. Now that it’s in progress, he wants me to stay in Rome in case he needs me, but he’s giving me the time off to enjoy myself.” He scratched the back of his head.
“And I’m doing my best to stay out of Puccini’s sight,” Ryan added. “If he learns I’m here, I’m as good as dead. Then he’ll be after my family.”
Ben nodded. “You’ll be out of danger when I’m done with him, Ryan. You should be thanking me for eliminating this man.” He sighed. “In the meantime, I’m here to get a room for the night. I dare not stay in my own home at this time.”
He strode into the hotel; the glass door slowly swung shut behind him. Faintly, Ryan heard the bell tinkling the arrival of the latest newcomer.
Ryan sighed and shook his head. “Benjamin is so bitter and grief-stricken.”
“Yes.” David suddenly stopped, biting his lower lip, pain in his eyes. “You go on,” he told Ryan. “I’m going back to my room. I’ll be back later.”
Ryan nodded. “All right.”
David trudged back into the lobby, then took the elevator to his room. For a moment, he thought about going downstairs to find Ben, then changed his mind. Once in his room, he replaced the patch with a new one, then threw himself on the double bed and moaned.
As he lay immobile, his nose pressed against the soft rose-colored bedspread, waves of grief and guilt flooded his heart. Ever since the earthquake, he had felt guilty for the way he’d treated his sister. If only he hadn’t thrown Deborah out, she wouldn’t have been caught out in that violent earthquake! Or if she had, he would have been able to help her. If she had died, it was his fault.
“It’s my fault,” he said, over and over. “I threw my little sister out. I wouldn’t let her stay unless she renounced Yeshua. I forced her to choose between Yeshua and me, and she chose Yeshua. And now, her forced choice may have cost my Deborah her life!”
He sighed. “Is this what we escaped Yugoslavia for—so we could be killed in an earthquake years later?”
Images of that terrifying time came into his mind again—raising his head, he pressed his fingertips against his eyelids in a desperate attempt to block them out. He did not want to think about that now. God, help me!
He rose to his feet and stalked back and forth in a straight line, from the door to the window across the room. His shoes made soft thuds on the thick carpet. Once, he paused to watch a bank of gray clouds moving toward them. It’s going to rain, he thought, sighing. After several minutes of pacing, he threw himself back on the bed and moaned again.
A knock on the door startled him. “David? You OK?” Ryan’s muffled voice reached David’s ears.
With a sigh, David rolled sideways and sat up. “Come in, Ryan!” He rubbed his forehead.
The door swung open; Ryan stepped inside. “I have a feeling you could use some prayer, David,” he said softly. “This is a rough time for you.”
David swung his legs over the edge of the bed and nodded. “Yes, it is. And I could.”
Ryan perched on the edge next to his friend. He put his hand on David’s shoulder and bowed his forehead; David did the same. “God,” Ryan prayed, “I confess we don’t understand why any of this has to happen. I know it’s been foretold in Your Word, but knowing that doesn’t make it any easier to endure.”
He swallowed hard. “I ask You, God, to be with my niece Rachel. And with David’s sister, Deborah. If it is Your will, please save them and restore them to us. But if it is Your will that they die—uh, well, please give them grace in that moment and—and give us your comfort.” His voice faltered at the end, then choked.
“Amen.” David’s voice choked as well. He paused. “And God, please help my cousin. Amen. Don’t let him do something he’s going to be deeply sorry for later.” He put his face in his hands; Ryan put his arm around his friend’s shoulders.
While Ryan and David sat in David’s hotel room, praying, Benjamin stood at the corner of an intersection that bordered the Piazza Navona. For several minutes, as crowds of people passed him and milled around, he marked the spot where Puccini would stand on a platform to give a speech to the public the next day. The platform stood near the fountain that represented Neptune doing battle with a sea monster.
A raindrop landed on his head. He would have to find shelter shortly. He looked behind him at the Fountain of the Four Rivers. A huge crowd would be standing in front of that fountain, he knew.
“This will be a good spot,” he muttered. “I’ll stand near it—perhaps behind it—so I can see Puccini without him seeing me. From that spot, I’ll have a clear shot at him.” A bitter smile curled his lips. “And he will die just as my poor wife did.”
He clenched his hands into tight balls. He then reached into his jacket pocket to admire the revolver tucked inside. People passed him from all sides as lively music played in the background. Balloons hung from the fountains; vendor stands stood everywhere.
Pulling a pair of binoculars out of his jeans pocket, he focused them on a group of men gathered near the platform. Antonio Puccini stood in the center of that group, exchanging greetings with the others.
“Enjoy your last day of life, Antonio,” Ben muttered. “Because tomorrow, you go to Hell!” When another raindrop spattered the binoculars’ left lens, he lowered it to his waist. He hurried toward a nearby cafe to stay inside until the rain stopped.
Back at the hotel, Ryan and David continued to pray for him, heads still bowed. “Please don’t let Benjamin carry out his murderous plans,” Ryan prayed. “Please stop him.”
“It’s not going to work, Ryan.”
Both men sat up ramrod straight. Sam, the angelic cab driver, stood in front of them, hands clasped behind him. “It’s—it’s not?” David pressed his palms against the soft bedspread.
Sam shook his head. “No, David. It’s not. Puccini’s time has come. Your cousin will succeed in killing him.” He smiled at David as the obviously-dejected man slumped his shoulders. “Don’t despair, though. Even though God will not physically stop Benjamin from murdering Puccini, He is working on him.” His face became serious, and he shook his head. “In the end, the final choice is your cousin’s, and I cannot promise that he will make the right one. At least, not in the short term.”
“The choice is his,” Ryan said.
Sam nodded. “Yes. It is. God has heard your prayers, though, and He is working in Benjamin’s heart. Keep praying for him—he needs it desperately.”
David nodded acquiescence, rubbing his forehead. “We will, Sam. Thank you.” The Special Forces angel disappeared.
______
“What time is it?” Rachel yawned. “I don’t even know if it’s night or day.” She rubbed her eyes as she spoke; she had slept for hours. The same unearthly light that had been lighting the store since Monica’s arrival still did, she noticed.
“It’s day. Mid-morning.”
Monica stretched her arms. Her hair looked disheveled, Rachel noticed. Do angels get tired and cramped, too? the young girl wondered.
She sighed. “I’m hungry.”
Monica smiled. “Here’s another energy bar, Rachel.”
Rachel took it. “Thanks.” She forced a smile on her face. “I’m sure glad you’re with me. It’d be awful to wait alone.”
“I know.” Monica’s eyes saddened. “That’s why the Father sent me.” She smoothed her long brown hair back. Her pearl earrings glistened in the Heavenly light.
“You’ll stay with me till we’re found?” Rachel shoved the bar into her mouth and bit off half of it.
Monica nodded. “Yes, I will.”
“You sure you don’t want part of it?” Rachel held out the energy bar as she spoke. Smiling warmly, Monica shook her head. Rachel chewed and swallowed.
“I got a comb in my purse.” Rachel drew it out of her purse and held it toward Monica. Laughing, Monica took the comb and thanked her.
“Uh, Monica—did Andrew take Miss Weizmann to Heaven?” She ate the other half of the energy bar as Monica combed her luxuriant brown hair.
Monica nodded. “Yes, he did.” She slid the comb through her bangs.
“Are you sure she wasn’t scared?”
Monica handed the comb back to Rachel, then hugged the young girl to her side. “Yes, I’m sure,” she said gently. “God gave her His grace to face death with courage. And she’s with the Father now, in a place where she will never suffer again.”
Biting her lower lip, Rachel dropped her comb back into her purse. “I miss her. She was so nice!” She buried her face in Monica’s bosom and sobbed. Monica embraced her, comforting her.
Meanwhile, Christina leaned against a demolished wall, taking a deep, shuddering breath. Her face felt dirty, and her hair hung disheveled and matted from her scalp. Her face felt sweaty and smudged with dirt; cold despair lay in her heart. She feared that her daughter was dead. They might never find her. She glanced down at her watch and moaned.
“Honey, what’s wrong?” Richard asked. He looked as weary and disheveled as she felt, Christina noticed. Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead.
She wiped a stray tear from her face and sighed. “Maybe we should give up.” She bit her lower lip. “She’s probably dead.” She shook her head. “Richard, Rachel and Deborah have been missing for three days. They may both be dead by now, they’ve been missing so long.”
“Don’t give up, Christina Daly!”
Startled by the imperious voice, Christina whirled around to find Tess standing behind her, hands on her hips. The stern expression on Tess’s face softened.
“Don’t give up,” she repeated, the imperious tone gone from her voice. “God is with Rachel, and He will lead you to her when the time is right. When you do find her, you will also find Deborah.”
“Are they together?” Richard asked.
“They’re in the same vicinity,” Tess answered.
Richard nodded acquiescence. “We’ll keep looking.” He glanced at his wife, then rubbed his hair front to back. “Won’t we, Christina?”
Christina smiled wanly. “Of course.” She paused. “Is—is our Rachel still alive?”
“Yes, she is. Monica is with her, so she’s not alone.” She touched Christina’s arm as she spoke.
Richard sagged his shoulders. “Thank the Lord!” Christina wrapped her arms around her husband for a long moment. When she turned him loose, Tess had disappeared.
“Come on,” Richard said. “Let’s keep looking.” Christina nodded, then went back to work. The two trudged down the shattered sidewalk toward the next building.
Meanwhile, back in Rome, Ryan and David approached the Piazza Navona, where a now-massive crowd milled around. The storm had moved through the evening before; now the sky appeared cloudless. A breeze ruffled both men’s hair. Neither man had seen Ben since their initial meeting the day before.
“This is where Puccini’s supposed to give his speech,” David said. “See that platform over by that fountain over there? That’s where he’s giving his speech. Well, he should be on that platform any minute.” He gripped Ryan’s arm. “You’d better stay out of sight. If Puccini should see you…” His voice trailed off.
“Don’t worry. I will.” Ryan grimaced. “I’m staying behind this fountain till it’s all over.” He turned toward the Fountain of the Four Rivers as he spoke. For a long moment, he gazed at the rocks and grottoes covering the fountain, and the allegorical figures set inside. He then stepped behind it, placing himself where he could get a view of Puccini without being seen.
Minutes later, a band marched down the street, followed by several police cars and a black limousine. The limo stopped in front of the platform, and Dayan and Puccini stepped out.
Stepping up to the microphone, Elijah Dayan spoke first. “This is a day we have long looked forward to!” He raised his arms above his head. “In honor of His Excellency’s achievement in getting rid of the two witnesses, we are holding this celebration this week. And now—” He paused. “Please welcome His Excellency, Antonio Puccini, president of the European Union and ruler of the world!”
The crowd applauded as Puccini approached the microphone. He raised his hands for quiet, and the people stopped clapping. As Puccini began his speech, the back of a man’s head in the crowd caught Ryan’s eye. Dark-brown hair covered the man’s head. Ryan gaped at him for a long moment. Could it be—could it be Ben?
“I wish I dared get closer, but I’m afraid of attracting Puccini’s attention,” he muttered. “If it’s Ben, I fear he’s up to no good.”
Ryan had a bad feeling about this. If that man was, in fact, Benjamin Weizmann, he might be planning to shoot Puccini right there. Somehow, even though it meant risking his life, Ryan had to stop him, to make him reconsider.
Poking his head around the edge of the fountain, Ryan looked toward Puccini, then turned his gaze back to the man. Puccini had paused, to gauge the crowd’s reaction, his hands inserted in his pockets. The crowd now stood hushed and motionless, waiting for Puccini to resume his speech. Ryan ducked behind again.
“I’ll talk to him,” he decided. “Please, God, keep me out of Puccini’s sight and give me the words to say!”
An earsplitting gunshot rang in his ears, followed by horrified screams and yells. Sticking his head around the fountain, Ryan gaped at the sight on the platform. Puccini was clutching his head, blood pouring from the side. In the next instant, he collapsed.
END OF CHAPTER 12