C. Palov - Ark of Fire

“According to Ezekiel, Magog’s army will be supported by the nations of Persia, Cush, and Put.” This came from Edie, who was fast proving herself a font of biblical information.

“Iran, Sudan, and Libya, if my ancient history serves me correctly.” Caedmon took a moment to mull over what he’d been told thus far. Then, finding a glaring inconsistency with the prophesized scenario, he said, “Let’s assume for argument’s sake that the Ezekiel prophecy does foretell of a Russian-led invasion of Israel; what possible reason would Russia have for initiating such a war?”

MacFarlane stared at him as though he’d asked a simpleton’s question. “Economic and political instability are reason enough, don’t you think? Israel is, after all, the Silicon Valley of the Middle East.”

“And don’t forget that there’s a wealth of minerals to be mined in the Dead Sea, as well as the untapped oil reserves within Israel’s borders,” Edie piped in, her remarks leaving Caedmon unsure of whether she believed the apocalyptic tale. “Given that both Russia and Israel have nuclear weapons in their arsenals, the end result will be catastrophic.”

“I must confess that it’s not an improbable scenario; the Middle East is a volatile region,” Caedmon admitted in response to Edie’s last remark. “Although if that particular conflict ever manifests, it will be orchestrated by man, not God. The world’s thirst for oil is unquenchable, and Russia is undoubtedly concerned by the extreme lengths that the U.S. has gone to in order to secure a foothold in the Arab world. The Iron Curtain may have fallen, but the old rivalry still lingers.”

“The prophet Ezekiel describes the battle to come in clear, concise terms,” MacFarlane said with a manic gleam in his eyes. “One has only to read the daily newspaper to know that the prophesized Battle of Gog and Magog can come at any time.”

Unconvinced, Caedmon folded his arms over his chest. “Prophecy is always a slippery slope to navigate. Although I’m curious as to who you think will be the victor if this unholy conflagration were to occur.”

“Why, Israel, of course. And that victory will assure Jews and Christians alike that God is still in their midst, as he was in the days of old when he dwelled among them during the forty-year trek through the wilderness. With victory, a new temple will be erected in Jerusalem. Once it is constructed, the Ark of the Covenant will be restored to its rightful place.”

The Ark of the Covenant . . . finally, they had come full circle.

Caedmon glanced at the trio of men busily engaged in hauling their treasure trove out of the hole. Time was not on his and Edie’s side. And it was certainly against them if the excavation turned up anything other than the sought-after prize.

“Why are you telling me all of this? Aren’t such disclosures akin to letting the cat out of the biblical bag?”

MacFarlane took a step in his direction; Caedmon was surprised to see a look of entreaty on his face.

“I have a reason for sharing the prophecy with you . . . I want you to join us in our holy cause. The Lord always has need of good, stalwart men ready to fight his battle.”

CHAPTER 70

“. . . As with Paul on the road to Damascus, you have a chance to redeem yourself. Read the prophecies for yourself and you will see that I speak the truth.”

Astonished that the offer had even been made, Caedmon stood silent for several seconds. That is, until cynicism got the better of him.

“Ah, yes, ‘the sure word of prophecy,’” he drolly remarked, quoting another Church father, St. Peter.

“I know you to be a man searching for meaning in his own life and in the world around him.”

“Though that may be true, I’m not a malleable soul ready to latch onto the first prophet who offers a ready-made curative to life’s travails.” Purposefully he held MacFarlane at bay, knowing that if he committed too soon, he would show his hand.

“Your words imply a deep-seated fear. I can take that fear from you.” MacFarlane expansively gestured to the three men industriously working to haul their treasure trove aboveground. “My Warriors of God know no fear.”

“He’s feeding you a load,” Edie exclaimed, grabbing him by the arm. As though she feared he might step across the imaginary line that had been drawn between them and their nemesis. “I’ve read the Ezekiel prophecies, and do you know what I think? I think Ezekiel was a madman, a doomsday prophet who would have been on lithium and a very short leash had he lived in the twenty-first century. One of his so-called visions actually tells of how he came upon a pile of dry bones in the desert and supposedly breathed life into those same bones, creating a mighty army. Maybe I’m the crazy one here, but that sounds like the kind of delusional prophecy that would be spouted by some homeless guy pushing a shopping cart.”

Eyes narrowing, Stanford MacFarlane contemptuously glared at Edie.

Hoping to smooth the rough waters, Caedmon cleared his throat. “Although I won’t go so far as to speculate on Ezekiel’s mental state of mind, I know that many of the Old Testament authors wrote metaphorically, never intending their verses to be literally interpreted by later generations.”

“This I know above all else,” MacFarlane countered in an acid tone, “not only will the divine revelation given to Ezekiel come to fruition, but the Battle of Gog and Magog will be fought. Only those who put their trust in the Almighty will escape the coming doom. And those who take up arms against the soldiers of Magog will be doubly blessed. When the battle is fought and won, the Ark of the Covenant will be restored to its rightful place within the new Temple. Repent and you will live eternally. Turn your back on the Lord and you will be damned.”

“But why ask me to join your ranks? It’s been years since I last stepped foot in an Anglican church.”

“We can use a man with your specialized talents.”

Something in the offhand compliment gave Caedmon pause, leaving him with the distinct impression that MacFarlane knew about his tenure with MI5. Such skills would certainly appeal to a man like MacFarlane. Although he had a small army at his disposal, there was a world of difference between a soldier and a trained intelligence officer.

“I would be happy to join your ranks. However, there is a condition attached to my acceptance . . . you must free Miss—”

“Don’t do it, Caedmon!” Edie screeched over the top of him.

“—Miller. Needless to say, the point is not negotiable,” he added, hoping to check Stanford MacFarlane. And to check Edie as well. To that end, he cast her a stern glance, wordlessly ordering her to cease and desist.

“The woman knows too much. She can’t be trusted to keep quiet,” the other man uncharitably replied.

“I trust her implicitly. Is that not enough?”

“She is a degenerate vessel, unworthy of your consideration. My offer does not include the woman.”

Visibly rigid with the force of his contempt, MacFarlane glared at Edie. Loathing incarnate. Throughout history, men such as Stanford MacFarlane had voraciously condemned the female sex, blaming them for the ills of the world. He’d always thought the loathing stemmed from a deep-seated fear of woman’s innate wisdom.

With a heavy heart he offered Edie a silent apology.

Knowing that monsters, by their very nature, were devoid of mercy, he said, “Your offer puts me in mind of a medieval inquisitor attempting to convert a hapless heretic. Regardless of whether the heretic repented, it usually ended badly. For the heretic, that is.”