The Copper Scroll Page 6

  The crowd erupted with applause, but Al-Hassani barreled on.

  “No nation on the face of the earth—not the Americans, nor any of the Europeans—have done as much as the Republic of Iraq to bring bread to the hungry, water to the thirsty, clothes to the naked, shelter to the homeless, and medical assistance to all those in pain. We have already paid out more than half a billion dollars in humanitarian aid and emergency relief. But it is not enough. I would like to announce right now that the people of Iraq pledge a billion dollars more, and we will double it again if need be, because you are our brothers and sisters and we must stand together in this critical hour.”

  The entire assembly was now on their feet again. There were tears in the eyes of many.

  “We deserve no credit,” Al-Hassani demurred. “We are merely repaying a great debt. You came to our side in our moment of need. You helped us get back on our feet after a devastating war and a brutal insurgency, and for this the Iraqi nation will always be grateful. Baghdad may have been the epicenter of evil. But Babylon will be the house of compassion, hospitality, and unity among all the peoples of North Africa and the Middle East.”

  Once again, the hall erupted. The standing ovation lasted for several minutes, and Al-Hassani stepped back from the podium and lowered his head, overcome with emotion.

  When the crowd quieted and sat back down, he continued.

  “A great terror has befallen us, my friends. Some call it the Day of Devastation. Some say it was the judgment of God. But this cannot be true. How can it be? How could any god be so cruel, so vengeful? Regardless, the deed is done. It has changed our region and forever changed our hearts. Of this there can be no doubt. The question is not whether we will be changed, but how. Will we be defeated and divided or inspired and united?

  “In the last three months we have seen an outpouring of concern and care from the four corners of the earth. Beyond what has been provided by the people of Iraq, other nations have pledged enormous sums in relief assistance, and more is coming. But do not be deceived, my brothers and sisters. Such aid comes with strings attached.”

  A hush began to settle over the great hall.

  “In the last century, the British and the French and the Americans carved up our region, and we did nothing,” Al-Hassani continued. “We sat back and let it happen. We let them draw artificial boundary lines to create our borders. We let them exploit our resources without just compensation. Cash? Yes, they gave us cash for our oil. But what about our freedom? What about our right to govern ourselves and shape our own destinies? Were we not too quick to give up what was rightfully ours for mere trinkets from the West?

  “And now we have come to another critical juncture in the history of our people. What will we do? How will our children and grandchildren judge us? How will they remember us? Will we sit back and let Washington and London and Brussels and the U.N. Security Council claim to have ‘bought’ the privilege to draw new maps simply because we have accepted their aid packages? Is this the best for which we can hope?

  “I realize full well that you and the people you represent have had precious little time to think of such things. You and your colleagues have been consumed with thoughts of survival, which is only right and proper. But know this: larger questions are coming. The future of our entire region is at stake, and the imperialists are already sharpening their carving knives. Of this you can be certain.

  “At the moment, those of you from the devastated nations have little or no political power, clout, or leverage. Most of you have no formal governments, elected or appointed. You have no capital cities. You have no militaries, nor the national treasuries with which to rebuild them. Your ambassadors have no instructions, no idea to whom they should report, and rapidly dwindling funds with which to operate. For all intents and purposes, you are occupied by U.S. and E.U. and U.N. military forces, cloaked in the disguise of humanitarian workers.

  “How long can this last before you all once again become colonies of the West? Your only hope of resisting long-term Western occupation is to rapidly rebuild your oil and gas industries, as we in Iraq have done. But how are you supposed to accomplish this urgent task without desperately needed infusions of capital—large amounts of capital? And how can you raise capital if the banks are loath to lend you money? This, my friends, is a hard, cruel reality, and it leaves you dangerously vulnerable to the very imperialist forces you have long sought to resist.

  “Distinguished colleagues, I submit that the only way we can survive is if we unify. Only if we combine our economic and political resources will our region ever be able to get back on its feet and give dignity to our people. We Iraqis have done it. After a long, hard struggle, we have come together as one—imperfectly, I concede. But who can argue that out of the ashes of war and insurgency and despair a new Iraq has emerged as one nation, with one voice—Sunnis and Shi’ites, Arabs and Kurds, north and south, east and west—able to defeat the forces of evil within and the forces of imperialism without? Let this be a model for all. Unity must be our aim. We cannot rebuild if we allow ancient passions and prejudices to divide us. We cannot achieve our destiny if we allow the Western powers to divide and conquer us.

  “So I put these questions to you today: What if we seize the initiative and take our future into our own hands? What if a year from now there was a great power to rival the United States of America and the United States of Europe? What if there arose a single new nation, a single new economic and political force, encompassing the great peoples of southern Europe, the Mediterranean basin, North Africa, the Middle East, and the former Soviet republics of Central Asia? Perhaps it would be known as the United States of Eurasia, or perhaps the Republic of Namestan, or perhaps something else altogether. It is not a name to which I am wed. It is a single vision by which I am driven—a vision of one people, one government, one currency, one unified force with which the rest of the world must reckon.

  “And I ask you tonight: who among you will share my vision?”

  11

  MONDAY, JANUARY 12 – 8:05 p.m. – HIGHWAY 1 TO JERUSALEM

  “Tripwire to Dagger.”

  “Dagger, go.”

  “I’ve got a visual on the car. He’s coming your way.”

  “Who’s with him?”

  “Just the driver.”

  “Anyone else?”

  “Negative. You should have a clear shot.”

  “Roger that. Dagger to Wolf Pack, six minutes.”

  * * *

  Mordechai hung up the phone and stared out his window.

  Row upon row of oil wells blurred by as his car raced up Highway 1, trying to get him into Jerusalem in time for a BBC television interview scheduled just twenty-five minutes from now. Depending on traffic, they might just make it, thought Mordechai, but he wasn’t worried. He had done more interviews than he could count since “The Ezekiel Option” memo had been splashed across the pages of the world’s newspapers. Dozens of new requests came in every day. He couldn’t possibly do them all.

  Interest in his perspective on world events was growing exponentially. His weblog registered upward of 6 and even 7 million hits a day, and he was having trouble finding an ISP that was both willing and able to handle the actual volume, which several computer technicians estimated at north of 15 million hits a day.

  He leaned back in his seat and wondered what he would write about when he got home. He had already written extensively about the bombing in Washington on his flight home and uploaded all that at the airport. He couldn’t write about Jon and Erin’s wedding, of course. They hardly needed more publicity. But the truth was, that beautiful ceremony was what he was thinking about most.

  Mordechai had particularly enjoyed his conversation with Ken Costello and his wife, Tracy, just before the service had begun. They had been intrigued by his memo and fascinated with his theory. But they still weren’t sure they bought his conclusions. By their own admission, they had been agnostics before the world had taken a turn for the worse—�
�lapsed Catholics,” in their words—whose trips to church in the past had been on Easter and Christmas, but rarely in between. Now they were searching for answers and attending a Bible church in Bethesda, Maryland. Mordechai had no doubt they would discover the truth. He just hoped it was in time.

  * * *

  “Dagger, this is Periscope, over.”

  “Go ahead, Periscope.”

  “We have eyes on the target. Just hit some traffic. Slowing a bit. But still headed your way.”

  “Roger that. All units stand by.”

  * * *

  Something extraordinary was under way.

  In Ezekiel 38 and 39, the God of Israel had declared, “I will magnify Myself, sanctify Myself, and make Myself known in the sight of many nations; and they will know that I am the Lord,” and “I will not hide My face from them any longer, for I will have poured out My Spirit on the house of Israel.”

  And sure enough, these ancient prophecies were coming to pass.

  Never in history had so many Jews and Gentiles declared themselves followers of Jesus Christ. Every day Mordechai received e-mails with news from around the globe that made him literally weep with joy. Churches and messianic Jewish congregations were exploding in numbers. The term small-group Bible studies was quickly becoming extinct from the evangelical lexicon. Nothing was small anymore. Once-deserted cathedrals throughout Europe were filled to capacity. Tiny country churches in rural America were having enormous camp meetings in cornfields. Thousands of Buddhist and Hindu temples in India, Pakistan, and Southeast Asia were being converted into Bible churches. In Korea and Japan and throughout the Pacific Rim, millions of new believers were meeting for worship in soccer stadiums.

  Perhaps most extraordinary was word of hundreds of new Bible-believing, Bible-preaching congregations springing up throughout the Middle East, as well as news that once-clandestine house churches and underground gatherings of believers were now coming out into the warm Mediterranean sunshine. Muslims were turning to Christ in record numbers, and Mordechai could only shake his head to see former mullahs and imams on Al-Jazeera and other regional television and radio shows now preaching the gospel like modern-day apostles.

  He wanted to go and see it all for himself, firsthand. He wanted to visit the people, the homes, the rapidly growing assemblies of new believers in Libya and Sudan and especially Iran. He had received invitations from all over the region from believers eager to hear his teaching after reading his words online. But time was running out. The Lord was coming back soon. How could he best invest his time until the end?

  Mordechai scrolled through his Treo for new e-mails. As he did, he came across one from the pastor of Christ Our Shepherd Church, now the largest and fastest-growing congregation of Muslim converts to Christ on the Arabian Peninsula.

  Dear Brother Mordechai:

  Greetings from Mecca, where Jesus is now the King! Thank you so much for your very encouraging note, and even more important, for your unceasing prayers. I write to you with good news of great joy, an update on how our risen Savior is blessing our little congregation. Over the past thirty days, we have had the privilege of baptizing another 2,206 members, bringing the total followers of Jesus in our community to just over 14,000. We face great hardships here. As the shock of the earthquake and firestorm begins to lessen slightly, persecution is intensifying--but not from Muslims. Indeed, there are few true followers of Mohammed anymore. Most Saudis are experiencing great confusion over what they believe and where to go next. They have seen their god shattered, like the prophets of Baal, and now they are searching for the truth and asking us many questions. We can barely keep up!

  That said, the trials we face today come mostly from the U.N. peacekeeping forces who recently arrived to "keep order." They have shut down our church’s food-and-clothing-distribution efforts to families in need and are accusing us of trying to bribe people into our faith. They have denied us a building permit as well, refusing to let us build a church amid the ashes of the destroyed mosques. But we have not lost our joy! May it never be! We will persevere by His grace.

  Would you pray about coming to preach to us, to encourage us, and to help us choose and anoint elders who can guide us through these difficult times? We would be most grateful. The Lord’s family is growing so rapidly here, and as you well know I have only been a believer myself for a few years. I need all the wisdom and advice you can supply. Thank you so much, and may God continue to bless you and keep you in His mighty arms.

  Yours in Christ,

  Brother Faisal

  * * *

  One by one, the four men rechecked their weapons.

  And one by one they clicked off their safeties and eased into position. Dagger would take the first shots from a rock ledge, using a high-power sniper rifle smuggled in through Gaza from Egypt during all the chaos. The rest would follow suit, then disappear into the hills, never to see one another again.

  Their radios suddenly crackled to life.

  “One minute,” said Dagger.

  * * *

  Mordechai reread the e-mail.

  He felt a lump forming in his throat. He had never been in Saudi Arabia, even while serving in the Mossad. He had certainly never been to Mecca. What an amazing privilege it would be to preach the gospel there and strengthen the new followers of Christ. But when would he have the time? His schedule was already packed with speaking opportunities for the better part of the next year. Still, he would pray about it, and perhaps the Lord of the harvest would make a way.

  Mordechai’s phone rang.

  * * *

  “Now!” Dagger shouted into his radio.

  He took careful aim at the oncoming vehicle and pulled the trigger. His snipers immediately opened fire as well, blowing out the tires and riddling the doors with armor-piercing rounds. The car swerved violently. It veered into oncoming traffic, then came back again into its own lane, barely missing a tractor trailer, as the shooting continued without pause.

  * * *

  The windshield exploded.

  Mordechai ducked below the seat as the cell phone, still ringing, fell to the floor. His driver abruptly slumped forward. He’d been hit in the face and chest multiple times.

  The car again swerved violently. They were headed for the guardrail and a thirty-foot embankment. Mordechai reached over the front seat and tried to grab the wheel. But more machine-gun fire now erupted from both sides of the road. It was a classic ambush, and for the first time in his life, Mordechai was caught utterly unprepared.

  Shattered glass flew all around him. Armor-piercing rounds penetrated the thick metal doors of his government-issue Volvo. He felt one rip through his arm. Another ripped into the small of his back, and Mordechai cried out in pain.

  He felt the car crash through the twisted metal of the guardrail and plunge through the air, and for one brief moment, all was silent. No gunfire. No pain. Just the horrifying realization that he was about to die and then the sudden, unexpected joy that he was about to meet his Savior face-to-face.

  Mordechai never saw his attackers run for the hills. He never heard his car smash on the rocks below. He did not feel the force of the explosion or the searing, roaring flames consuming his flesh. He felt nothing and heard only the echo of his wife’s name as he drifted into darkness.

  12

  MONDAY, JANUARY 12 – 9:17 p.m. – BABYLON, IRAQ

  Al-Hassani retired to his suite.

  There, in the sprawling executive conference room adjacent to his almost equally spacious office on the sixtieth floor—overlooking the city of Babylon, which seemed to be rising like a phoenix from the ashes—the Iraqi president met privately with a dozen of his foreign guests over hot tea and sweet cakes.

  “Mr. President, with all due respect, you have caught us all completely off guard,” an Iranian CEO began when Al-Hassani opened the small meeting to questions. “If I understand you correctly, you are essentially proposing that we give up our sovereignty and turn over our oil assets to yo
u.”

  Al-Hassani paused a moment and scanned the other faces. “Is that how you all see this—as a power grab?”

  “On the contrary,” said one of the few Saudi princes who had survived the near destruction of his country. “I believe you have been quite generous. You are proposing that we band together and maximize our economic and political clout rather than remain divided and thus defeated. I think it makes great sense.”

  “I agree,” said the son of the Kuwaiti oil minister, who had lost his entire extended family. “Under the circumstances, it is the most hopeful news I have heard since this nightmare began.”

  The Iranian businessman could not believe what he was hearing. “After all the Iraqis have done to your countries—and to mine—how can you both sit there and say that with straight faces?” he demanded. “How can you be so naive? Can you not see what is going on here?”

  “How dare you lecture me about Iraqi history?” said the young Kuwaiti man, his face turning red. “Don’t let your passions blind you to the truth, my friend. The rape of our countries was not committed by Mustafa Al-Hassani. It was the act of a single madman, and President Al-Hassani is not Saddam Hussein. He is not about to invade my country or yours or fire Scud missiles into Saudi Arabia.”

  “He won’t have to,” the man from Isfahan shouted back as he jumped to his feet. “You’d gladly hand over your children on a silver platter.”

  “Enough,” demanded Syria’s former finance minister, who had been on vacation in Switzerland when the devastation occurred. “Enough. This is exactly our problem. We are in the midst of a terrible crisis. We must make decisions very quickly or have them made for us, and we haven’t the luxury of feuding among ourselves.