CHAPTER 11
Half an hour later, at the Knesset, Barak turned his TV set on, then sat down on the leather-bound sofa to watch the developments. The curtains swayed in the breeze. The preparations had finally been completed; all that remained, now, was to await developments. He glanced at the wall clock; it was 11 o' clock.
Already, a special news broadcast was being conducted at the temple. The camera, he noticed, faced the altar in the courtyard where a priest was getting ready to prepare a lamb for sacrifice. The priest glanced at the camera with a quizzical expression on his face. Behind him, several other priests reacted in the same way.
Oh, no, Jacob groaned inwardly, I do believe it’s coming! He raised his head to gaze at the ceiling. God, help my people!
He picked up the phone. “Gloria, get General Meir on the line.”
“Yes, sir.”
A minute later, the general came on the line. “You got everything ready?” Barak asked.
“Yes, sir. Everything is ready. We only await your orders.”
“Good. Stay on the line, and turn on your TV set if you haven’t already done so. The desecration is about to start.”
“Yes, excellency.”
“I’m laying the phone down for now.” Barak set the receiver on the desk, then returned to the sofa. Leaning forward, he folded his hands in his lap.
A moment later, Antonio Puccini entered the temple courtyard, accompanied by a retinue of delegates and framed by security guards. Barak watched, grim-faced, clenching and unclenching his hands, as Puccini turned to face the camera, a satisfied smirk on his face. To the side, the priests stood stock-still, horror etching their faces. The sun poured into the courtyard, bathing the altar in a golden glow. The gems on the priest’s breastplate glistened in the sunlight.
“As should be apparent to everyone by now,” Puccini announced, “I am God, and I hereby order all Jews—and all Gentiles—to worship me! Henceforth, there is to be no more animal sacrifices to be made to a mythical Jehovah. Instead, a statue shall immediately be set up right here.”
He snapped his fingers, and a pair of security guards approached the priest tying the lamb as it squirmed and bleated in protest. The guards picked up the lamb, still squirming and bleating, and bore it out of the courtyard, then another pair of guards laid a wriggling, squealing piglet on the altar's brass surface. Puccini sliced its throat with a knife, then held it down until it died.
A noise off-camera caught Barak’s attention (and that of the priests, he saw). Shortly, several heavily-muscled men carried a huge bronze statue of Puccini through the courtyard toward the Holy of Holies; when they entered it, they stood it up where the ark of the covenant would have rested, had it been found. Barak gripped the armrest of his sofa, rage surging in his heart. He had not wanted to believe that Antonio Puccini would be capable of such an atrocious act, but it was quite clear now that David and Ben were right about him. How could he have been so blind?! Suddenly, he saw Andrew standing several feet behind the priests, deep sadness in his expressive eyes.
"Andrew!" he whispered. "What are you doing there?"
“You will worship Antonio Puccini!” a ghostly, yet mechanical voice boomed from the statue. “Worship him or die!”
“That is right!” Elijah Dayan appeared on the scene. Gazing at the camera, he wagged his finger. “I have given life to this statue, and you will all obey its orders or suffer the consequences. There is no choice—you will worship our living god Puccini, or you will face the guillotine!”
A bolt of lightning struck the Holy of Holies; every priest except one slumped to the floor, instantly incinerated. The surviving priest stalked toward Puccini, rage etched on his now beet-red face, his snow-white linen turban askew.
“How dare you?!” he shouted. “You are not God, and we Jews will not worship you! You are a devil incarnate—out with you!” He pointed imperiously toward one of the off-camera entrances. “Take your statue and get out! Now!”
A second bolt of lightning struck the priest before he could rage further; the incinerated body collapsed on the floor. At the same time, Andrew vanished. Barak had seen and heard enough.
“I’d love to kill him,” he muttered through gritted teeth. “But I can’t. I have to get our own people to safety. Right now!” He frowned. “What was Andrew doing there?”
Before Barak could act, Puccini stalked out of the Holy of Holies and re-entered the courtyard; there, another angel appeared. Standing ramrod-straight, with his shoulders squared, he stared hard at Puccini. A Heavenly glow poured off his bronze skin, illuminating his snow-white robe.
“You will allow all Jews to flee Jerusalem and seek safety elsewhere.” The angel’s voice boomed throughout the spacious courtyard.
“Michael!” Jacob whispered. “Thank You, God!” He clasped his hands into a tight ball.
Antonio laughed. “Let them go free?” he hissed. “Never! I meant what I said—every Jew who will not worship me will die! Today!”
Michael said no more, but pointed a finger at Puccini. The Antichrist froze, as did the others. Motionless, all looked like living statues.
He’s put them all in a trance, Jacob thought. It may not last long, so I’ve got to act quickly!
Leaping to his feet, he rushed toward the desk and snatched the receiver. “Did you get all that?” he asked General Meir.
“I did.” Barely-controlled rage hoarsened the general’s voice.
“Good.” Jacob nodded. “You have your orders—now carry them out! Those of us leaving by car will all meet in the valley outside Jerusalem, with our vehicles, to escort the refugees to Petra. Those leaving by plane will be taken to the airport. Send two of your officers to the control tower to make sure the flights are cleared for take-off. We can afford no last-minute delays.” He paused. “Also, send one of your men to pick me up immediately. I will go to the valley.”
“Done, sir.” The phone line clicked, replaced by the dial tone.
END OF CHAPTER 11