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The Christ Clone Trilogy 03 - Acts Of God

By

James Beau Seigneur

CHAPTER SIX

Petra

1:30 p.m., June 3, 4 N.A. (2026 A.D.) — The wilderness of Jordan

Decker sat quietly in the back seat of a rapidly moving, dirty, four-wheel drive vehicle, his hands and feet firmly tethered, bouncing with each bump in the road. As the two men in the front seat spoke to each other in Hebrew, Decker observed everything, trying to memorize every characteristic of the Jordanian wilderness. If an opportunity presented itself, he would need to know every feature of the terrain to make good an escape. Outside the vehicle, the sun's rays beat down with blistering heat. Decker thought back to his escape from Lebanon twenty-three years ago. While it was true that when he fled Lebanon he was badly malnourished, he wondered which was worse: being malnourished or being old. Of course, he lamented, attempting flight by foot over this wasteland at his age would cause rapid dehydration and starvation to accompany his advanced years. It was hard not to be pessimistic, even though he knew discouragement was probably the worst impediment to his chances of getting out alive.

It seemed bitter irony to Decker that his life should be placed in jeopardy at this particular time. Had he been kidnapped an hour earlier he would have considered his life of little consequence. Only moments before he had told Christopher that when his time came, he would welcome death as rest. But that was before he really understood; before he learned that Elizabeth was alive. Now more than anything — more than ever before in his life — he wanted to live.

Passing the ruins of the ancient stepped village ofElji and the more recent but no less deserted village of Wadi Mousa, Decker scanned the horizon for any sign of their ultimate destination. In the distance the desolate jagged slopes ofSier, a rocky chain of mountains stretching from the Dead Sea to Akaba, rose above the gray stony wilderness floor. Looming above the rest of the range was the mountain Gebel Haroun, said to be the burial place of Moses' brother Aaron. It was another twenty minutes before they reached the mountains and it became evident that this was the end of their journey.

"We'll have to walk from here, Mr. Hawthorne," the taller of the two KDT said as the other pulled the jeep to a stop.

Decker looked around for what it was they were going to be walking to but found nothing but barren cliffs. Could they have brought him to these rocky crags just to kill him in some ritualistic execution? The KDT who had been driving pulled his seat forward so Decker could get out of the jeep. This was not an easy task with both his feet and hands bound.

"Where is it?" asked the other KDT who was behind the jeep rummaging through a small metal bin.

"It's in there," answered the other. "Just keep looking . . ."

"Oh, here it is," said the first at one. Coming around to the other side of the vehicle, Decker could see what had been the object of his search. Now standing directly in front of

Decker, the KDT revealed the knife he held in his hand. It was not very frightening in appearance but it was sufficient to do the job. Decker braced himself as the man dropped to one knee and raised the blade with a quick thrust and cut the cords that held Decker's feet.

"Let's go," said the other KDT as he took Decker by the arm to lead him. But still there was nowhere to go, and no explanation that did not smell like death. Furiously Decker surveyed his surroundings for any avenue of escape. If he was going to make an attempt, this might be his one and only opportunity.

They walked a short distance and Decker heard voices: they were not alone. Coming around a bend Decker saw them: scores of other people, nearly all KDT. They were all walking toward the mountain. There was no chance to flee — Decker's captors never left his side and except for the path before and behind them there was nowhere to go but up the rocky slopes. All those around him spoke in Hebrew, making it impossible for Decker to understand. Their path now brought them along the bank of a small stream — the wadi Mousa, or river of Moses — which they followed toward the mountain. Looking to his right, Decker was startled by the unexpected sight of three square stone pillars, each about four feet wide, the tallest of which rose twenty feet above its base. They had not been erected there, but were cut from solid stone, carved right out of the mountain. This was not the work of nature but rather of some ancient craftsmen. Rounding one more bend, they came upon a scene even more unexpected than the pillars. Carved into the white stone face of the mountain were two large facades that looked like buildings — weathered by thousands of years, one above the other like layers of a cake. The upper was dominated by four stone obelisks with a door in the middle. The lower was far more ornately designed, perhaps Roman or Hellenistic in style. In addition to a door, it appeared to have a rectangular window near the facade's leftmost corner.

It now appeared that the stream and the path they followed were heading for a dead end. Instead, the wadi made a sharp right turn and ran along the base of the sheer rock cliff. On the left was a dam of relatively recent construction, built across a wide fissure in the rock wall. Its purpose appeared to be to prevent flash floods from rushing into the passage at the base of the mountain. It was into this fissure that the flow of people now carried him. On his right, opposite the dam, Decker caught a quick glance at several small obelisks carved into the rock in low relief.

The rock walls on either side of the gorge they had entered were about twenty feet high. Just beyond the entrance on either side of the gorge were faint remnants of what could only have been a man-made arch, though it had long since collapsed. Along the foot of the left wall of the gorge a small channel had been cut into the rock and a stream of water from the wadi had been diverted through it. A little farther in, the gorge opened up, but this was not the end of their journey. Instead, along the path which sloped slowly but constantly downward as the rock walls rose steadily higher, the flow of people entered into another smaller fissure. The path went on and on, passing down long straight stretches and then winding through narrow turns, with the rock walls rising to as much as four hundred feet above them. From time to time they passed stone monuments, wall carvings, and niches cut into the stone walls, as well as steps leading up and away from the path. The color of the rock walls, which had been bleached-white before they entered the gorge, now ranged from pearly white to yellow gold to red to grayish pink. At places the narrowing path opened up wide enough for bushes and even a few trees to grow, but each time led into a narrower fissure. Along a few short stretches the path was marked by paving stones from some ancient civilization.

Decker was beginning to tire. They had gone on for over a mile through the narrow chasm and it seemed the journey would never end. Then finally, around a turn, at the narrowest and darkest point through the passage, Decker saw the most curious of sights: a large baroque Greek temple-styled tomb cut out of, or more precisely, cut right into the side of the mountain. As they exited the fissure — which Decker would soon learn was called the Siq — they entered into a deep wide canyon. Decker's captors allowed him to pause there a few seconds to take in the magnificence of the monument. It was beautifully preserved, cut deep into the mountain's face with perfectly formed columns, ornately carved capitals and pediment, and towering 120 feet from its base to its pinnacle. The color of the rock from which it was cut appeared a beautiful rosy red as it reflected the sun.

Turning right, they continued past numerous additional ancient facades cut into the canyon's walls. The most ornate were tombs, but many others seemed to have been carved as primitive homes — a purpose which they now served to a new set of residents. A little farther on they came upon a Roman-style amphitheater large enough to seat four or five thousand people. It, too, was carved entirely out of the stone. The canyon grew slowly wider and soon it emptied into an immense valley spreading out for several miles — a huge basin, surrounded on all sides by jagged-topped mountains. The massive cliffs were predominantly red but with alternating patches of black and white and yellow stone, and everywhere the sheer slopes were dotted by magnificent stone facades.

On the floor of the basin, there were tens of thousands, probably even hundreds of thousands of tents, housing a whole city of people. And there was one other thing: between the tents and on nearly every patch of ground there were fruit trees and well-tended vegetable gardens, all lush with produce waiting to be picked.

"Welcome to Petra, Mr. Hawthorne," one of the KDT said, as Decker took in the sight.

Ahead Decker saw a single wooden building about 15 feet wide by 25 feet long which could best be described as a cabin, with a small porch off the front. That being the only structure in sight with walls of anything more substantial than canvas, Decker assumed it to be his destination, the place where he would be imprisoned pending whatever action the KDT had in mind. This assumption was reinforced by the six large men who stood around the periphery of the building — obviously the guards who would terminate his exodus should he attempt to leave. The two KDT brought Decker to the front door.

The inside of the cabin was not at all what Decker had expected: it looked more like a rustic vacation home than a jail. Upon entering and looking around, Decker half expected to see fishing rods or deer antlers on the wall. The first room was a combination kitchen and sitting room which ran the full width of the building and about ten feet deep. The sitting room had two old but recently recovered chairs, a coffee table, and a couch. The kitchen, which was separated from the sitting room only by the placement of the furniture, was furnished with a gas stove and a small refrigerator. For future reference, Decker scanned the area for knives or other kitchen implements that might make a good weapon, but saw nothing more intimidating than a spatula and a large wooden spoon. In the center of the kitchen area was an empty space bordered by two straight-backed wooden chairs with padded seats, where it looked as if there had recently been a table. Slumped over in one of the wooden chairs with his feet propped up on the seat of the other sat a man with reddish-blonde hair. He was asleep. On his lap was a decades-old copy of Mad magazine in Hebrew. Decker noticed that he did not have the mark of the KDT.

"Charlie, wake up!" one of the KDT said. "Your guest is here."

The man sprang from his chair, though it was clear he was not yet fully awake.

"We'll let the appropriate people know he's here," the other KDT said. Then, cutting the bonds from Decker's hands, he added, "I know you won't believe this, Mr. Hawthorne, but I sincerely regret having to bring you here under these circumstances."

Decker just glared and after a moment the two KDT left.

"Welcome to Petra," the other man said as though he really meant it.

"So, are you my jailer?" Decker asked.

The question caught the man off guard. "I'd, uh, prefer not to be described that way, but I guess I can't blame you for thinking so." Decker would not so easily be charmed from his indignation by the man's disarming disposition. "Well," the jailer said uncomfortably, "your room's right over here." He pointed to a door behind them. "It's not the King David," he said, referring to the hotel in Jerusalem, "but it's better than most in Petra."

The jailer opened the door and motioned for Decker to follow. With six guards outside and hundreds of miles of wilderness all around, resistance seemed rather futile; and besides, from the looks of it, this was not the most uncomfortable dungeon he had ever been sentenced to. Inside the room was a metal-framed bed, a table (which looked to be the size of the empty spot in the kitchen), two chairs which matched the two in the kitchen, and a dresser. The room was light and pleasant with windows facing east and west. The curtains were made of colorful Israeli cloth which matched the chair seats and bedspread. Off the back of the room was a bathroom, and a closet in which hung two pairs of pants and four or five shirts that appeared to be Decker's size.

"This is where you'll be staying," the jailer said. And then turning to leave he paused to add, "I'm sure you must be hungry. If I had known when you'd arrive, I'd have had a meal waiting. I'll be back just as soon as I can put something together for you."

True to his word, the jailer soon returned with a tray that included a few slices of baked apple and small portions of beans and squash. The main course of the meal was a bowl of some type of porridge made of a sweet white flour. In his years at the United Nations Decker had eaten foods from every country in the world, but he had never tasted anything quite like this.

After lunch, Decker laid down on the bed, and despite his concern about his situation, slipped off to sleep. He was awakened at about 7:00 p.m. by a knock at the door. In protest Decker did not respond and after a moment, the knock was repeated. When Decker still did not respond, the visitor came in uninvited.

"Good evening, Mr. Hawthorne." The speaker was a large man, over six feet tall, in his mid-sixties. His thick curly hair, now gray with age, still held a trace of color, revealing that it had once been jet black. On his forehead beneath the curls was the blood-red insignia of the KDT. "I apologize for keeping you waiting," he said.

"Why have you brought me here?" Decker demanded.

"Only to talk with you," the man answered calmly.

"You mean to brainwash me, don't you? The way you did to Tom Donafin!" Decker watched for any reaction by his captor, and though there was none he continued. "That's right! I know what you did to Tom!" Tom Donafin had told Decker that he had been with the KDT: it was only logical to conclude that it was the KDT who had convinced him to assassinate Christopher. "Well, it's not going to work. Not this time!" Decker continued to study his captor's face closely for any reaction or hint of a weakness he might use to his advantage.

"Mr. Hawthorne, I assure you, no one brainwashed Tom Donafin." Decker was a little surprised that the man so freely admitted his familiarity with Tom.

"Oh, well," Decker sputtered in feigned contrition, and then very firmly added, "you'll forgive me if I think you're a liar!"

"If you wish. But liar or not, this is my stated intention for bringing you here: it is not to brainwash you, but only to talk with you. Whether you believe this to be a lie or the truth is up to you."

"So I'm supposed to believe that kidnapping me has nothing to do with my relationship with Christopher Goodman? Your thugs just picked me at random for a free trip to Petra."

"I apologize for my methods, Mr. Hawthorne, but there didn't seem to be any other way to get you here."

"If you think you're going to use me to get at Christopher, you can just forget it. And if you think that by holding me you can manipulate Christopher, you're not only mistaken, you're stupid. Or maybe you're just hoping to make him mad. Well, you might just succeed at that."

The man shook his head through each of Decker's conjectures. "I only want to talk with you," he repeated.

"You don't really believe that the U.N. Security Forces are just going to overlook the fact that you've kidnapped the Director of Public Affairs, do you?"

"You travel frequently in your job, Mr. Hawthorne. I suspect it may be several days before anyone is sure you're actually missing."

He was probably right, but Decker had no time to consider it. As he studied the man's face, suddenly something seemed vaguely familiar. Decker cocked his head and looked closely at him, trying to remember. He strained his memory but to no avail. "Do I know you?" he asked, finally. "I do know you!" he said, not giving the man a chance to answer. In part at least, Decker was bluffing: he wasn't really sure that he had ever seen the man before, but still there was something undeniably familiar about him.

"Yes, Mr. Hawthorne. We know each other," the man said. "My name is Scott Rosen."

Decker just stared. The name meant nothing to him. It had been many years since he had last heard it.

"My parents were Joshua and liana Rosen."

Decker remembered Joshua and liana well but could not immediately recall very much about their son, other than the fact that they had one. The family resemblance was obvious, however. In fact, as Decker considered the man's face, he realized that it was only this resemblance that had made him think he recognized the man. Then he remembered. "Oh, yeah," he said. "I know you. You betrayed your parents to ;|fj||| keep them from getting their Israeli citizenship." The reference ™ appeared to sting a little and Decker looked for some way to Illl exploit it. "So I see you're still an obnoxious bully," he said, as III he shook his head in disgust. He wanted to do everything he could to belittle his captor. It was not just to strike back at him for the kidnapping, however: it was the beginning of a plan. Decker knew from intelligence summaries and news reports that _ the fundamentalists did not kill their hostages before getting HI them to'convert.' He assumed the KDT probably did the same. It was a long shot and he knew it, but Decker hoped that if he could quickly convince his captor that it was hopeless to try to convert him, perhaps he might still get out of this alive. It was not that easy.

"Mr. Hawthorne," Scott Rosen answered, "what I did to ;l||| my parents was wrong."

"You're damn right it was!" Being a very literate man who never lacked for adequate vocabulary Decker seldom swore, but right now it seemed a good way to drive home his point that he had no interest in anything that this religious fanatic had to say.

mil Unshaken, Rosen continued his response without

HII acknowledging Decker's interruption. "As I have come to

realize, I was wrong not only for the way I treated my parents,

I was also wrong about my parents' beliefs. I now know they

were right: Yeshua — Jesus — is the Jewish Messiah."

"So this is all an attempt to make up for what you did to your parents," Decker said, without missing a beat. "Well, I can assure you that this is no way to go about it. I knew your parents well and I'm certain they would not approve of your kidnapping people! If you have any respect for the memory of your parents at all, you'll release me immediately and tell your friends to surrender to the United Nations authorities in Israel." Decker realized as soon as the words had left his mouth that he was pressing his luck with the part about the KDT surrendering themselves, but his adrenalin was pumping and he was on a roll.

"Mr. Hawthorne," Scott Rosen said again, "All I want is to talk to you."

"Well, I don't want to talk to you!"

Scott Rosen ran his fingers through his long thick beard. "As you wish, Mr. Hawthorne," he said as he got up to leave.

Decker felt a rush of success: he had gotten a reaction. He was still the prisoner, but he was in control; even if it was only control of the conversation. Though he would have liked to continue lecturing Rosen on the impropriety of his actions, he decided to hold his tongue. For now he would wait and see what came next.

As Scott Rosen reached the doorway, he turned in apparent afterthought with one question "Mr. Hawthorne, why have you not taken the communion? Why don't you have the mark?"

"I was on my way to get it when your people kidnapped me," Decker answered quickly, hoping to negate any significance that Rosen might attach to the fact.

"My friends — the ones who brought you here," Rosen said, "had specific orders not to take you if you had the mark. If you had, it would have been too late."

Decker glared at this kidnapper who would presume to judge him.

"It's not an accident that you've not taken the mark," Rosen continued. "It's the grace of God."

Decker laughed mockingly. "You people interpret whatever suits you as a sign from God. Well, you're wrong, Rosen. The whole idea of the mark was mine. I'm the one who originally suggested requiring the mark, and I would have taken the communion myself and had the mark by now if your thugs hadn't grabbed me!"

"Going to get the mark and having the mark are not the same thing, Mr. Hawthorne. God — I have learned — is never too early and never too late, but always right on time."

Decker's supper was much the same as lunch with the exception that it included a small mutton chop, and the sweet meal used earlier to make the porridge had been used as flour to make a sort of pancake which was fried in olive oil. After eating, Decker laid down and tried to go to sleep. It was only 9:30 p.m. but he was certainly tired enough to sleep. Besides, he knew if he was to survive whatever Rosen and the KDT had in mind for him, he would need all the rest he could get. The mountains which formed the walls of Petra did their part by shutting out the sun well before it grew dark outside this city hidden in the hollow of the mountains. Still, despite his best efforts, or in part perhaps because of them, he just couldn't fall asleep. No amount of sheep-counting seemed to help; there was simply too much on his mind. It felt as though he had been lying there all night. In truth, it was only about 11:30 when he finally dozed off.

June 4, 4 N.A. (2026 A.D.) — Petra

Rising early, Decker crept silently toward the window and looked out, hoping his guards might be asleep. They weren't. That, however, was not what caught Decker's attention. Shaking his head to clear his mind and his vision, he looked again at what seemed an impossible sight, for as far as he could see everything lay blanketed with a covering of what looked for all the world like snow. It wasn't snow — it couldn't be — it was a hot morning in June. But despite all his attempts over the next several minutes, Decker could come up with no other explanation. A hundred yards away, a woman and a young boy came out of one of the thousands of tents which speckled the ancient tableau and began scooping up the white material and putting it into a tub. Soon others came out of their shelters, carrying in their arms pots and pans and baskets, and they too began collecting the snowy material.

Decker heard the door open and looked over to see the jailer bringing in breakfast. "What is that?" he asked, pointing out the window.

"Exactly," the man answered.

Decker tried to determine what the jailer meant but his answer made no sense. "No," Decker said, trying again. "Is that snow?"

"No," the jailer laughed.

"Well, then, what is it?"

"Exactly," the jailer repeated.

This was getting nowhere and Decker was not going to ask again.

"I'm sorry," the jailer laughed when he saw he could press it no further. "I always hoped somebody would ask me that."

Decker was not amused.

"That's what it is: 'what is it,'" the jailer said as if that was supposed to be the answer. "The white stuff outside is called 'what is it.' At least that's the English translation. In Hebrew, it's called manna. Here, look," he said, motioning toward the tray he had brought in. On the tray was a bowl filled most of the way with the white substance. "Try it," the jailer said.

Decker took a pinch from the bowl and tasted it. It was crunchy and white like coriander seed and it tasted like wafers made with honey. He recognized the taste immediately as the grain from which the porridge and fritters had been made the day before.

"We use it for everything," the jailer said. "There must be a thousand different recipes. We've got manna bread, manna donuts, manna cookies, manna pasta, manna spaghetti, manna waffles; we've got fried manna, boiled manna, broiled manna, toasted manna, and even raw manna; we've even got manna manicotti. And this morning we've got manna muffins and manna cereal."

"But what is it?"

"Exactly," the jailer said again. Decker wondered if he was ever going to get a complete answer.

"When Moses led the people out of Egypt," the jailer explained, "God provided manna for them to eat. He has done the same here in Petra. Each morning, except on the Sabbath, a dew sets in and when it lifts it leaves behind the manna. Later, as the sun gets hot, the manna melts away, leaving no trace that it was ever there."

It was a preposterous story, but there it was, outside the window and in his bowl.

After breakfast the jailer returned for the tray and brought two cups and a plastic pitcher filled with cold water. Shortly after, Scott Rosen returned.

"When are you going to release me?!" Decker demanded as soon as Rosen walked through the door.

"I prayed about our conversation last night," Rosen said, as though he had not heard Decker's question.

Decker rolled his eyes conspicuously in a pained expression.

"And I realized that I didn't entirely answer your question about why I brought you here."

"You said you wanted to 'talk to me,'" Decker said, sarcastically.

"Well, that's true, but that's not all. I brought you here because I hope to show you that things are not as they may seem: that those you believe to be your friends are in fact your enemies, and those you think are your enemies are actually your friends."

Decker burst into laughter, then looking at the expression of sincerity on Rosen's face, he laughed even harder. The response was unexpected and Rosen was not sure what to make of it. "You mean" said Decker, finally, "that you want to try

to brainwash me! Just as I said last night." The laughter was gone now and his words dripped with sarcasm. "You want me to try to see things your way. Well, is that supposed to surprise me?"

Rosen did not respond to Decker's question but annoyingly returned to the same calm, sincere tone as if he were talking pleasantly with an old friend. "Mr. Hawthorne, you asked me if I was trying to make up for what I did to my parents. I've already said the way I treated them was wrong, but the answer to your question is still no. Your being brought here has nothing to do with an attempt to do penance for my past sins: that price has already been paid in full by Yeshua. Still, in a way, my parents do have something to do with your being here."

"I'm really not interested," Decker said, but to no effect.

"You see, I'm sure that they would have wanted us to talk."

"So now you not only know the will of God," Decker said, "you know the will of your dead parents, as well."

"What I want to tell you is no different than what they would say to you if they were alive."

"They would not have forced me to listen," Decker shot back. "I am quite certain that your variety of Christianity — if that's what you call it — differs markedly from the Christianity practiced by your parents."

"It is not our beliefs that differ, Mr. Hawthorne, but our times and circumstances."

"Your circumstances are of your own making!"

Rosen caught himself. He was letting Decker get control of the conversation and he had not yet finished his explanation. "We can discuss my methods later," he said. "For right now I'd like to finish explaining why I brought you here."

At every point in the conversation Decker tried to keep Rosen off balance, which meant weighing whether he should try to frustrate Rosen's agenda by interrupting or listen for information he might later be able to use to his benefit.

Sometimes the decision was based on his assessment of what Rosen was getting at, sometimes it was sheer intuition. For the moment, Decker decided to listen.

"Besides bringing you here because I think it's what my parents would have wanted, there are two other reasons. The first is that for a long time, almost since the day of my own conversion to follow Yeshua, I have felt drawn to talk to you. This isn't the first time I've made the attempt, either. Six years ago, you and Christopher" — even though most people referred to Christopher by his first name, Decker bristled at the sound of Scott Rosen's casual reference — "came to Israel before the war between India, Pakistan, and China." Decker remembered the trip well: it was just before Christopher had gone into the Israeli wilderness for forty days. It was also the first time Decker had heard of the KDT.

"I don't remember seeing you then," Decker said, not to inform but to challenge Rosen's assertion.

"You didn't," countered Rosen. "I backed down." Decker made a quick mental note of this piece of information. It showed weakness on Rosen's part: something had scared him, made him 'back down.' "Even though I felt that God had directed me to talk with you, you were so close to Christopher, it seemed impossible to me that you would listen."

"You mean it seemed impossible that I would betray him." The response had been intended only as an polemic jab, but as Decker heard the words he spoke, he suddenly believed he understood why it was so important to Rosen that they 'talk.' On the plane to Israel after his resurrection, Christopher had said that in a past life Decker had been Judas Iscariot, the apostle who, according to history, had betrayed Jesus. Two thousand years ago, Christopher said, it had been the Apostle John who had convinced Judas to betray Jesus. Now Scott Rosen was attempting to play John's role. Yahweh had indeed directed Rosen to 'talk' to him, Decker realized. Christopher had said that Yahweh would become more and more desperate as he saw the planet slipping from his grip. This must be a sign of that desperation. Well, Decker promised himself steadfastly, it's not going to work this time. Decker had never been able to recall any part of his past life as Judas, so he had no remembered experience to draw upon for guidance, but one way or another he was determined that he would not make the same mistake twice. He would rather die than betray Christopher.

"There will be no reason for you to die, Mr. Hawthorne," Scott Rosen said, unexpectedly.

Decker sat stunned. Rosen had read his thoughts. The one thing Decker had felt he could count upon — the privacy of his own thoughts — was shattered in a single instant.

Decker stared at Rosen in disgust. "You know," he said, "I admit that it was crazy, but somehow I had held on to this ridiculous notion that even though you were a kidnapper and who knows what else, there might be some small shred of decency in you, some little something that would compel you to play fair. You bastard, you've been reading my mind!"

"Not entirely, Mr. Hawthorne," Rosen responded, apparently unaffected by Decker's tone or terminology. "I only know what I am able to perceive from your behavior and by a few glimpses that God gives me of your thoughts."

Decker glared.

"And, though I'm sure you won't believe this either, those things that Christopher told you about John and Judas were lies ... all of them."

Decker's nostrils flared as he clenched his teeth in rage.

"We can deal with that later, however," Rosen continued, oblivious to Decker's reaction. It was as though suddenly he had lost not only his ability to read Decker's mind, he was also blind to the fury on his face. It was clear that Rosen's tactic was to ignore whatever Decker said or did that did not further his cause. "Right now," he went on, "I am determined to finish my explanation of why I brought you to Petra."

But Decker was mad. "That makes at least half a dozen times that you've talked about how I was 'brought' here! Why don't you just admit that you had me kidnapped! I wasn't just 'brought' here, damn it! I was kidnapped!! Can't you even be honest enough to admit that?!"

"Whether you were 'brought' here or kidnapped, it is too early to say," Rosen answered. "If when we are through, you still believe as you do now, then my crime will indeed be kidnapping. If however, I am able to convince you that you have been wrong about the KDT and the Christians — whom you call fundamentalists — and that you are wrong about Christopher, then I will not be guilty of kidnapping, but rather, of rescuing you."

"That's pure drivel," Decker responded disgustedly.

"As I was saying . . ." Rosen continued, "after I backed down from talking to you in Tel Aviv..." Decker's mind raced. For a second time, Rosen had admitted 'backing down.' Did he not care that this exposed a weakness? Did he think that since Decker had caught the point the first time he said it that there was no harm in saying it again? The man's not only crazy, he's stupid, Decker thought. Or did Rosen think that by bringing it up again it might make it appear that he either no longer held or cared about that particular fear? ... Or did Rosen really have only a limited ability to read Decker's mind, so that he didn't realize the importance that Decker assigned to the statement about backing down? Decker decided to test the theory. I'm going to slug this bastard, he thought. I'm going to slug him, he thought again, almost trying to send his thought to his captor. I'm going to slug this bastard. . . now! And then lunging across the small table between them and knocking over the pitcher of water, Decker planted his right fist on the left side of Rosen's face.

Scott Rosen spun around and fell from his chair with the force of Decker's punch.

Decker watched with great satisfaction as the big man tumbled to the floor. Now the question was: Had Rosen been unable to read Decker's thoughts or had he taken the blow just to make Decker believe that? Decker had watched Rosen's eyes as he hit him and there was no sign of an early flinch that would have indicated he knew the blow was coming. In the end, Decker realized the test was not really conclusive. Either way, it had felt good to hit him.

Rosen winced in pain on the floor, his clothing wet as he lay in the puddle of water from the pitcher, his head spinning. Then looking at Decker, he got up slowly and relocated himself in his chair. "I suppose you expect me to turn the other cheek now?" he asked.

"If you'd like," Decker said with triumph in his voice that disguised the throbbing pain he felt in his hand from delivering the blow.

Rosen continued rubbing his cheek, but he refused to be distracted, and amazingly went back to his story as though nothing had happened. His persistence was getting a little unnerving. "I continued to struggle with the feeling that I needed to talk with you," he said. "Then Saul Cohen, on the day before he was killed in Jerusalem, came to me and, without explanation, told me that when the time was right I would know, and I was to do as God told me. I knew immediately he was talking about you."

"So far you've blamed my abduction on God, your parents, and now Saul Cohen — none of whom, I notice, are here to defend themselves."

"And finally," Rosen continued, choosing to ignore Decker's comment, "there is one other reason that I brought you here, and it is that I feel that in some part I am responsible for the fact that you did not accept Yeshua as your savior long ago."

Decker rolled his eyes. "Oh, brother," he sighed.

"You see," Rosen said, "I once interrupted a conversation between you and your wife, that if I hadn't, might have dramatically changed your life."

Decker's eyes flared red, though he tried to hide it. He wanted to shout, "You leave my wife out of this, you son of a bitch!" but he knew if he did, Scott Rosen would realize he had hit a nerve. As long as there was any chance that Rosen did not always know what Decker was thinking, it was better not to react. "I don't know what you're talking about," Decker muttered through clenched teeth.

"It was in the hospital in Tel Aviv," Rosen said. "You and Tom Donafm had just returned to Israel after your escape from Lebanon. When I heard that you had actually been abducted on Israeli soil, I was outraged that the Hizballah had dared to take hostages from inside Israel. I insisted that you and Tom report the details to the authorities immediately, but everyone else said it could wait until later, so I stormed off to call the police myself. When I got back with the police, you and your family and my parents were talking." Decker remembered the event, though without so much detail.

"You are aware, I believe, that while you were a hostage, your family spent a lot of time with my parents."

Decker did remember that. Elizabeth and the girls had talked about Joshua and liana a lot before the Disaster. Apparently they had gotten pretty close.

"Well, that night after the event with the police in the hospital lobby, I overheard my parents talking. Apparently, I had walked in and interrupted your wife just as she was about to tell you that she and your daughters had accepted Yeshua as lord and savior and become Christians while you were in Lebanon. If I hadn't interrupted, they were planning to tell you that and to explain the gospel to you."

"You needn't have troubled yourself, Rosen," Decker said mockingly. "If my wife," Decker chose not to defile Elizabeth's name by saying it in Scott Rosen's presence, "had wanted to 'explain the gospef to me, she had ample opportunity after that night."

"True," Rosen replied, "no doubt, she did. And for that I bear no responsibility. However, your wife was certainly not the first Christian to make the mistake of thinking she had plenty of time to get around to sharing her faith with those she cared about. But then the Rapture came and there was no more time."

Decker stared blankly at Rosen, his expression unintentionally revealing that he had no idea what Rosen was talking about. Rosen supplied the answer.

"Your wife and children didn't die," Rosen said. "Nor did my parents or the millions of others who the world believes died in what they call the 'Disaster.'" Decker's expression made it obvious that he was incredulous at such a preposterous claim. Was Rosen insane? "There was no Disaster," Rosen continued, unabated. "Your family, my parents, and all the others, except of course, some who died in resulting accidents — didn't 'die.' They were 'raptured,' caught away by Yeshua so that they would be spared the horrors of the times in which we now live. What the world knows as the Disaster, Mr. Hawthorne, was really the Rapture, just as was described prophetically by the Apostle Paul when he wrote:

... the dead in Christ will rise first. After that, we who are still alive and are left will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. And so we will be with the Lord forever.

Decker shook his head repeatedly in disbelief and laughed. "You fanatics have an amazing ability to ignore the most obvious flaws in your theology," he said. "What about the bodies?! My wife and children didn't 'go up in the clouds to be with Jesus'; they died, just like your parents did! And their bodies are the proof"

"The bodies of the people who were raptured were corruptible — the decaying remains of the family of our fallen ancestor, Adam," Rosen concluded. "Those bodies never would have been permitted in heaven and so were simply sloughed off, or shed like old clothes. When they were raptured they were given new bodies, perfect, incorruptible, and without flaw. Again, I refer you to the words of the Apostle Paul:

. . . flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God, nor does the perishable inherit the imperishable. Listen, I tell you a mystery: We will not all sleep, but we will all be changed — in a flash, in the twinkling of an eye... the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed. For the perishable must clothe itself with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality.

Decker shook his head again, amazed that Rosen could believe what he was proposing. "And how do you explain all the Christians that were not 'raptured'? I don't recall hearing that all the churches were emptied by the Disaster," Decker noted sarcastically. "And what about the churches today? What about the fundamentalists?"

"Not everyone who claims to be a Christian is one, Mr. Hawthorne. Going to church doesn't make you a Christian any more than going to a football game makes you an athlete. As for those you call the fundamentalists, these are non-Jewish people who accepted Jesus after the Rapture."

"So you're saying that you and your fundamentalist allies are the only real Christians?" Decker challenged.

"For the most part, yes, that is true," Rosen answered without excuse.

"Do you guys just sit around making up this crap, or what?"

Rosen didn't answer but Decker was not through with him. "Explain this to me," he demanded. "If God wanted to have people accept Jesus as 'lord and savior,' it seems rather odd that he would decide to 'rapture' all the Christians out of the world and replace them with lunatic fanatics whose tactics drive away everyone except for other lunatic fanatics."

"As I already said, in part the Rapture was to spare those who were already Christians from the suffering, just as God spared Noah and his family before the flood, and just as he spared Lot and his family before the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah. But by far the most important reason for the Rapture was to remove from the world what was good so that the world would sink to its lowest levels. God wanted to show just how corrupt the world would become without the influence of the people who served him.

"Christopher and the New Age teach that 'Humankind' is on the verge of a great evolutionary advancement. But where is the evidence? Have people stopped hating each other? Have jealousy and envy stopped? I won't even ask if crime has been reduced because there is so little that is considered a crime anymore. All but the worst offenses have been legalized or are now considered matters of'personal choice.' The parks of your great city, Babylon, are filled with nudity and nameless, faceless sex. There are no limits: even bestiality is considered normal and healthy.

"Those who do not participate have turned a blind eye, ignoring what is all around them, until they have become numb to the depravity. What used to be limited to X-rated movies is now standard fare on daytime television. Abortion is looked upon as nothing more than birth control. Drugs, now legal and easily available, are used on a regular basis by more than 30 percent of the population. People have become gluttons, indulging their every appetite.

"Tell me, Mr. Hawthorne, have pride and greed and selfishness been eliminated as Humankind stands ready to enter the New Age? Have the number of murders dropped so dramatically or the cases of violence been so reduced? Is that why such things are so seldom reported by the news media? Or is it that they have become so commonplace that they are no longer considered newsworthy? And the psychic powers which Christopher has told us are the signs of the coming New Age — are they used to help others, or are they used almost exclusively for the benefit of the individuals who possess such powers?"

Rosen shook his head. "Left to its own devices, without God's influence, it is absolutely stupefying just how truly depraved the world has become. Are these things the evidence that should convince us that mankind is ready for godhood, or are they proof that all of us are hopelessly lost without a forgiving and loving God?" Rosen didn't wait for an answer. "God knew," he continued, "that only when things are at their worst will some people realize their need and turn to him. Many of these are the ones you call the fundamentalists.

"But I suspect there may have been one other reason for the Rapture," Rosen added. "I admit that I did not know many Christians before the Rapture, but from all the division that existed among them, I suspect that if God had left them here, many of them would be too busy arguing over trivial doctrines to have time for world evangelism. As for our tactics which you believe makes us 'lunatic fanatics,' I would submit that confronting people with the sin in their lives and calling them to repent is no different that what Jesus did in the story of the woman at the well."

"This is all very amusing, Rosen," Decker said with a forced laugh. "But I know what happened to my family and it has nothing to do with your religious fantasies." Then, even though he was sure it was a waste of time, Decker tried to reason with Rosen. "Can't you see what you've done?" he said. "You feel guilty for what you did to your parents and you've bought into this whole crazy story to convince yourself that your parents didn't really die so you won't have to deal with your guilt."

Scott Rosen apparently was not in the mood to be reasoned with. "We'll talk more later," he said, and got up to leave without explanation.

"You're a sick man, Rosen!" Decker yelled as Rosen closed the door behind him.