Edge of Apocalypse (25 page)

Joshua was looking for loopholes. "So no multiple options available?

Look, if I'm way up in the stratosphere flying at Mach one and I encounter problems with my aircraft, I'm not going to limit myself to one single solution. I'll try multiple strategies to get control of that airplane."

"Let's use a communications model. You're up in that aircraft. You want to contact the control tower. The radio has to be set on the right frequency. If the tower has only one frequency available, it doesn't make much sense to say you don't like that frequency and you'd rather have multiple options..."

"So, what's the single frequency for God?"

"The Bible makes it crystal clear. The ultimate reason that Jesus came to earth was simple, but pretty mind-blowing. He came to be cruelly tortured and then to die in a Roman crucifixion just outside the city walls in ancient Jerusalem. That's the only way He could be a sacrifice. The perfect Son of God, offered as a perfect payment for the price of my sin--and yours."

Joshua was calculating the odds. Something didn't add up. "There are what...thirteen billion people who've lived on this planet, something like that? So how could one man, I don't care who he is...how could one man's blood possibly cover the sins of every single person? Couldn't be done."

Paul Campbell nodded. "You're right. Can't be done."

Joshua chuckled and sized up the man across the table. "Now you agree with me? What's the hitch?"

"Because an ordinary man could never die for his own sins, let alone billions of others. But then, that's the point of those Bible prophecies I was talking about at church. God has given us the guidance from His Word, like landing lights on an airport runway. Pointing the way directly to Jesus as the one and only Savior. God made into man. Fully human, yet fully Divine. Incomprehensible? Yes. But when Jesus was crucified, it was literally the blood of God being shed, which is the only thing that can cleanse the sins of thirteen billion people. Obviously, Josh, God thinks human beings are worth saving. It's that simple. And that profound. The only thing left is how we respond to that."

"So here's my response," Joshua said. "Some things are worth saving. Right? We can agree on that. In my case I want to save my country. I caught what you were saying last night. In fact, you and I have something else in common, beyond a close golf game I mean."

"What's that?"

"We both realize that this may be the last and best chance we have to stop America from being sucked into a global commune. A place where liberty gets destroyed by redefinition. Our borders start to evaporate. Where we have to ask permission of the international community before we take action to defend ourselves. Where the vision of men like Patrick Henry and George Washington gets erased from the memories of our grandchildren. According to what you said last night, if that happens, it could be the beginning of the end. One long, ugly global nightmare. Well, I'm not just going to sit back and watch it happen."

"Nations are made up of people. That includes you. So, you may want to consider looking to your own salvation first, Josh. You may be surprised what God has in store for you once you sign onto His team."

"You want me to do the same kind of spiritual conversion thing that Abby did? Which is fine for her. But what you're offering me, it's certainly not the right time."

"What do you mean?"

"Let's face it. Right now my life is tied up in a complicated struggle. I'm on a mission. Everything I am and all that I have, everything is going to be devoted to that task. My business interests, my energy. Everything. I appreciate what you're saying. But I'm on a different road right now. And I'm not stopping till I've accomplished the mission."

Campbell nodded and said. "You mentioned Patrick Henry. Wasn't he the one who said that God directs the destinies of nations?"

"Sure. But then he rose up, shook his fist at Great Britain, and fought for freedom. I can't wait for divine intervention, Pastor. I need to act."

"Just one thought. Something I didn't get a chance to share last night."

"What's that?"

"God's the keeper of the timetable. He's the only one who knows the exact timing of the end. I've made the Scriptures my lifelong study. You want to know where the United States is mentioned?"

"Sure."

"So would I. And I'm still looking. Why no clear, specific mention of America? Maybe He simply doesn't want us to know the fate of our nation in advance. So we can rise to the challenge. Seek His face while there's still time."

There was a penetrating power in Pastor Campbell's gaze. He was looking into Joshua's eyes with a strange kind of tranquility.

Finally, Joshua stood up from the table, saying he had to get to the office. He smiled and shook Paul Campbell's hand.

But before turning to leave the clubhouse, he had to give some credit where credit was due.

"Great game, by the way. You gave me a run for my money. Let's do it again sometime."

THIRTY-EIGHT

Vice President Jessica Tulrude's feet were killing her. She wished she hadn't worn heels, particularly for the tour down the ancient Roman stone streets of Pompeii. She pretended to listen intently to the tour guide and worked equally hard to keep her smile in place for the small contingent of international photo press.

Tulrude was part of a small entourage that included several officials from the European Union and the deputy assistant to the president of the EU. Tulrude had come to Italy for a joint conference between the EU and the United States on matters of common interest, including global finance.

Before the trip she had had a heated argument with Secretary of State Danburg over who ought to attend the conference. Ever the political survivor, Vice President Tulrude was able to muscle him out of the picture. She knew the public-relations value of the event. After all, her political advisors had told her she needed to increase her international prestige in foreign affairs if she wanted to give her future campaign a bump. This would be just the thing.

The luminaries in the tour group also included a handful of influential international entrepreneurs.

Caesar Demas was one of them. He was strolling in his short sleeves and smiling from behind his custom-designed Georgio Armani sunglasses.

Demas strode up next to Tulrude while he pretended to be surveying the Roman arched doorways and first-century stone houses on each side of the white cobblestone street.

Tulrude was careful not to face him but addressed him in a side glance. "Tell me again, Caesar, who cooked up this ridiculous idea to spend a half day walking through a dead Roman city?"

"I believe, Jessica, it was his eminence, the president of the European Union. This is part of his global media push for an international effort among the nations to jointly prepare for mass disasters."

Demas couldn't see it, but Tulrude was rolling her eyes at that one. When she responded, her voice was dripping with the kind of whiney, cynical tone that her advisors had warned her against.

"So he picks a city...from the first century...that was buried by a volcanic eruption, as the photo-op for his pet project on global disasters? Oh pleeease..."

"Look at it this way. At least it gives the two of us an opportunity to chat for a few minutes in a way that doesn't raise suspicions," Demas said. "I have been meaning to connect with you anyway. Tell you how sad I was that I couldn't work with the White House as an unofficial envoy to negotiate an arrangement for sharing the RTS weapons technology with other nations..."

"Yes, well all the polls went south on that issue for us. It sounded like a good idea at the time, but in the end we couldn't have survived the political fallout."

"Understood. But you and I now have other things to talk about." Demas patted her on the arm. "Like your political future."

Before Tulrude could respond, she spotted her chief of staff, Lana Orvilla, and a secret service agent walking at a fast clip toward her.

Orvilla handed her an encrypted satellite Allfone.

"Sorry, Madam Vice President," she said, "but we have an urgent call from the Department of Justice. Attorney General Hamburg needs to speak to you."

Tulrude excused herself from Caesar Demas and then stepped away from the group to take the call.

"Madam Vice President," Attorney General Cory Hamburg started out. "Sorry to break into your travels, but we have an important security issue that we need to verify. Both the FBI and our own terrorism people here at the Department of Justice need to double-check on something."

"Certainly. National security always comes first. What can I do for you?"

"There was a directive given from Homeland Security relating to a prime terror target. A known terrorist and assassin by the name of Mr. Atta Zimler."

"How does this concern me?"

"Well, Zimler has been high on our terror list for a number of years. But Homeland Security has asked us to stand down temporarily on any domestic investigations concerning Zimler. When we questioned them about it, they said we should talk to your office."

"Yes, now I recall the situation," Tulrude said. "The White House and Homeland Security have been discussing the problem of mistaken identities in our antiterrorism programs. You know, arresting the wrong people because of a glitch in the system. Similar names. That kind of thing. We simply can't tolerate those kinds of mistakes..."

The attorney general was quick to interject, "Yes, that's what they told us too. There was some unnamed diplomat who thinks he may be at risk, you know, to be mistaken for Atta Zimler. This diplomat is supposedly coming to the United States, and Homeland Security is concerned about international embarrassment if he is wrongly taken into custody. Truthfully, I'm a little uneasy about this one. We have no name for the diplomat. Frankly don't even know whether he exists..."

"Of course he exists," Tulrude said but refrained at adding anything else. She pursed her lips and started tapping her finger on the cover of the phone. After a few seconds of silence she said, "I'm not sure where you're going with this. How this involves me..."

"Just so you know," the attorney general continued, "Madam Vice President, this directive is highly irregular. It came from Homeland Security to the Department of Justice. Regarding a potential terrorism investigation...as you know, protocol is that it should work the other way around. They also told us that Zimler was taken into custody in Europe...maybe Paris. If Zimler is in custody, okay, fine, no problem...but we can't get verification of that. Nothing through the normal channels...zero information from the Paris police...nothing from INTERPOL--"

Tulrude's reply was curt. "What do you want from me, General Hamburg? Spell it out."

"While you are there in Italy, if you could talk to the EU folks, have their contacts in France put a rush on this intelligence issue. Confirm that Zimler has been caught. We need this information ASAP. Obviously, in the interim we will pull back on any investigation here in the U.S. regarding persons that might be mistaken for this Atta Zimler--"

"Yes, of course. When the timing is right..." Tulrude assured him. "And General Hamburg? I'll be sure to put in a good word for you at the EU conference."

"Thank you, Madam Vice President."

Tulrude handed the phone back to her chief of staff. The secret service agent was standing right behind her. The rest of the group had wandered farther down the ancient street, all except Caesar Demas, who was lagging behind.

The vice president ordered Lana Orvilla and the secret service man to walk up ahead and said that she would be there shortly. The secret service agent protested politely. He reminded the vice president that her safety was his responsibility. But Tulrude cut him off.

"Agent, would you like to be relieved of your assignment?"

He got the message. His face tightened.

"I'll be waiting for you right up the street, Madam Vice President."

When Orvilla and the agent were at least fifty feet ahead on the old Roman street, Tulrude strolled up next to Demas. When she did, she nodded toward the arched entrance of a stone building where they could talk. The two of them stepped up to the portico, looked both ways for photographers, and then stepped just inside the doorway and out of sight.

"You'll never guess, Caesar, who that phone call was from."

Before Demas could respond, Tulrude plunged ahead. "It was the attorney general," she said. "Calling about this Atta Zimler matter. Now I've gone out on a limb for you. We're delaying any domestic investigation into Zimler for the time being. Just like you asked. So you can tell your diplomatic friend...whoever he is...that he doesn't have to be worried about being harassed inside the U.S. by mistake. But I need you to ask your contacts inside the Paris intelligence office to verify with the DOJ that they've actually got this Zimler in custody, as you told me they did. I mean, really, Caesar, I am taking a serious risk here for you. Just think of the damage to me if you're wrong, and this Zimler actually ends up inside America somehow..."

"Not to worry. I'll have my friends inside French security give the necessary assurances to your Department of Justice people."

"Good."

Caesar Demas moved in closer for just a moment to grasp the vice president's hand.

"My foundation has deposited ten million euros in an offshore account for your election campaign. It will then be dispersed through a variety of American organizations and charities into your campaign. Very clean. We will deposit another twenty million--assuming you can pass the primaries in good shape."

"Oh, I'll get through the primaries, Caesar. Have no doubt about that."

"I'm just reminding both of us of the rules."

Just then something caught Jessica Tulrude's attention. She craned her neck to look closer at the faded paintings on the wall of the ancient building where they were standing.

"Caesar, what kind of building was this? I mean, in Roman times..."

He laughed.

"It was a brothel."

Tulrude broke out into a loud cackle.