Scott Mariani - The Doomsday Prophecy

Theories abounded. Some scholars were more moderate, suggesting that St John might have been the author of Revelation but written it under the influence of hallucinogens. Others were more hard line, pointing out that this John of Patmos could be just about anybody; in which case Revelation might have no legitimate claim to be included in the New Testament at all and should possibly be scrapped. But the frustrating lack of proof either way prevented the issue from being settled once and for all.

Meanwhile, as Ben could see from Cleaver’s book, core evangelical belief remained untouched by the raging debates within academic theology circles. As far as the Georgia preacher was concerned, his direct line to St John was all the proof anyone needed that this generation was living in the Last Days.

And somehow, this all had something to do with what had happened to Zoë Bradbury. Whatever hold it was she had over Clayton Cleaver, it involved Bible prophecy.

But how?

Ben thought about it for hours. He was still thinking about it as seven o’clock approached and it was time for dinner with Miss Vale and the man himself.

Ben left the carriage house and wandered over to the main residence. Mae greeted him with a smile, and chatted warmly as she led him into the grand hallway. He could hear Miss Vale’s voice, and a man’s, coming from the drawing room. He was shown inside. Miss Vale’s visitor stood up and strode over to meet him.

He was a man in his mid-fifties wearing a well-tailored light grey suit that looked Italian. He obviously played squash or tennis and was in good shape, with only a little spare padding around the middle and under his chin. He was about Ben’s height, just a little under six feet. His hair was thick and dark, swept back from his brow, maybe tinted to hide the grey. He approached Ben with a broad smile and an outstretched hand.

‘Clayton, this is the young man I was telling you about,’ Miss Vale said. She gestured towards Cleaver with a glow in her eyes. ‘Benedict, it’s my great pleasure to introduce you to my dear friend Clayton Cleaver. Or should I say Governor Cleaver?’

Cleaver flashed a white grin at her. ‘God willing, Augusta. God willing. But we’re not there yet.’

‘With ninety per cent of Georgia behind you,’ she said, ‘you soon will be.’

Cleaver seized and shook Ben’s hand in a dry and powerful fist, greeting him like a long-lost brother. ‘It is a true pleasure to meet you, Benedict,’ he said with absolute sincerity. ‘May I call you Benedict?’

‘I’ve been looking forward to meeting you too, Mr Cleaver.’

‘Please. Call me Clayton. Augusta tells me you’re a believer. That’s just wonderful. Just wonderful.’

The maid came in with a tray of canapés and martini cocktails. They made small talk for a while, chatting about the difference between English and Georgia weather; the things Ben really had to see while he was staying in Savannah; what it was like to study theology at Oxford.

‘Final year, I guess you would have branched out a little,’ Cleaver said. ‘Do you have a specialised interest, Benedict?’

‘Actually I do.’ Ben sipped his drink. ‘My special subject for my final year dissertation is Bible prophecy.’

Miss Vale and Cleaver exchanged knowing, approving glances. ‘I just knew this was meant to happen,’ the old lady said. ‘You couldn’t be in better company, Benedict. Did you get a chance -’

‘To read Clayton’s book?’ Ben filled in. ‘I’ve been reading it this afternoon. I couldn’t put it down.’

‘Why, thank you, son. I can sign that copy for you, if you’d like.’

‘That would be an honour.’

The butler came solemnly into the room and announced that dinner was served. Ben followed Miss Vale and Clayton into a spectacular dining room. The table was more than fifteen feet long and glittering with silverware beneath a crystal chandelier. Miss Vale sat at the head of the table. Ben was shown to a seat on her right, as guest of honour, and Cleaver sat opposite him. The maid lifted the lid of a silver dish in the centre of the table.

‘The smoked salmon is from Miss Vale’s own fishery,’ Cleaver said. ‘It’s the best in all of the South.’

They ate and drank champagne. Cleaver looked completely at home.

‘So, Benedict. We were talking about Bible prophecy…’

‘Ask him anything you like,’ Miss Vale urged Ben. ‘Nobody knows the Bible like Clayton.’

‘For a young Bible student, you couldn’t be living at a more exciting moment of our history,’ Cleaver said. ‘The time isn’t nigh. It’s now.’

‘I noticed that in your book, you were very insistent that the great apocalyptic prophecies of the Bible are about to come true.’

‘You’ve read it, Benedict,’ Cleaver replied. ‘You know it’s going to happen.’

‘I know about the various interpretations that scripture scholars have made,’ Ben said. ‘For instance, some theologians say that the Book of Revelation isn’t a legitimate part of the New Testament.’

Cleaver reddened. ‘Interpretations my ass.’ He glanced at Miss Vale. ‘Excuse my language, Augusta, but I’m about sick of hearing about these scholars. The way I see it, these fellows are walking around with their eyes shut.’ He clenched his fist against the table. ‘Look around you at the signs, Benedict. Governments, the rule of law, economies, cultures, our whole world system is just about ready to collapse. Total chaos and destruction are right around the corner. Exactly as the Good Book tells us.’ He wagged his finger for emphasis. ‘All the signs are there. Time to get ready and accept our Lord Jesus Christ into your heart, because we are standing right now on the brink of the End Times. And all these scholars can do is chase their own tails talking about interpretations? How do you interpret the literal word of God? What’s wrong with just opening our ears to what he’s telling us?’ Cleaver paused for a sip of champagne.

The performance was beautifully polished. Cleaver was a fabulous showman, winding himself up into full-on televangelist mode, and it was all for Miss Vale. Ben could see from the rapt look on her face that she was completely captivated by this man. As far as she was concerned, he was worth every penny of her hundred million dollars. He wondered whether Cleaver had had his big payday yet. He might have, judging by his absolute confidence and composure.

‘You know, Benedict,’ Cleaver went on, ‘a poll in 2002 showed that sixty per cent of Americans believe the prophecies of John in the Book of Revelation will come true. Twenty per cent – that’s fifty million Americans I’m talking about – believe it will happen during their lifetime. That’s any time now. We could walk out of here this very minute, turn on the TV and see the events have already started rolling right before us.’ Cleaver’s eyes were locked hard on Ben’s. He stabbed his finger on the tabletop. Then he smiled. ‘Notice anything strange last spring, Benedict?’

‘All the plants came out too early.’

‘You got it. Not just in England. It’s happening here too. Weather systems are shot to hell. The seasons aren’t seasons any more. Earthquakes and great floods in places that never had them before. They call it global warming. I call it a global warning. And you know what, it’s all right there in John’s Book of Revelation. Disasters that level cities. The sun heating up so much, everyone is scorched.’

‘Don’t forget the giant hailstones,’ Ben said. ‘“ And there fell upon men a great hail out of heaven, every stone about the weight of a talent .”’

‘You know your Bible. That’s about seventy-five pounds,’ Cleaver said. ‘Then there are the plagues. Well, Benedict, I hardly need to remind you about the superbugs that threaten us all, the rise of other diseases like the avian flu and untreatable new strains of tuberculosis.’ He waved his hands in the air expansively. ‘Then you open up New Scientist magazine and what do you see? Plagues of African locusts in the south of France. Just like the Bible says. And who knows what else is just around the corner?’ Cleaver thumped on the table with a flourish. ‘I’ll tell you who knows. John knows. And he tells me everything.’