Abe Marks had flown in late last night to attend the talks that the Russian Government had requested. His papers stated that he was a legal attaché, and it was true that Abe had obtained a degree in law many years before; however, little of his law education had remained at the forefront of his mind. All Abe knew at this moment of time, was that he was very tired. He was greeted by some functionary at the door to this ornate conference room and was shown to his seat at what once was the dining table of the Tsars. The walls were decked with pictures of presidents of the Russian Union, with some obvious omissions of presidents who would now be seen as embarrassments. There were no pictures of any of the notable figures of the period of the old USSR, many of these had now been classed as enemies of the state, and had been expunged from Russian history books.
Abe's part was to merely observe and report back, not on the proceedings but on the attitudes of the central players, and those things that were not actually said. His portable computer/com-unit had a camera in the lid, not unusually, but it was connected to some very special software. The software, in a hidden sector of the memory, measured minute changes in body temperature, galvanic resistance, measured the frequencies in the minute levels of light that every living thing emanates, among many other physical factors. When the British diplomats were all seated the Russian delegation trooped in and took their seats at the opposite side of the long table. Every chair was filled, with the exception of one chair, positioned centrally. The participants sat looking at each other across the table, some showed embarrassment, others trepidation, some even displayed open hostility. After some minutes the double doors in the centre of the room opened and Boris Luzhkov, the president of the Union walked in without any sign of recognition of any one in the room.
Without any form of preamble Luzhkov launched into his dialogue. “Welcome to the British and EU diplomats and thank you all for coming, the reason that I have requested these talks is to attempt to pull Russia back into the international community,” Luzhkov explained. “As you know the war with the Ukraine caused a rather large rift between the western world and this country and the terrorist nuclear bomb that devastated Moscow brought Russia to her knees. Russia is now prepared to throw herself at the mercy of the European Union, in an application to join. Russia has always had close ties with Britain, from the time of the Tsars, and all through the unfortunate period of isolation that the Soviets brought upon us, we regarded the British people as our cousins. We therefore hoped, fervently, that, as a principle member of the EU, Britain would sponsor Russia's application.”
“The time that follows, is left open for discussions of conditions and I hope that you will help us to construct the document of submission that is needed to join Europe. Although our land stretched across Asia, we are at heart Europeans,” Luzhkov continued in his plea. “The team before you is fully briefed and authorised to negotiate on behalf of myself and Mother Russia, I believe that coffee will now be served, so please mingle and get to know each other, and if there is a God, as recent discoveries suggest, may He bless your efforts.” Luzhkov then stood, made a short curt bow, turned and left the room, again by the double doors that were directly behind his chair.
It was Saturday, the Sabbath, in the whole of Israel and especially in Jerusalem, the God Tapes, or ‘Cretan Revelation’, or whatever anyone wanted to call it, had caused a mass return to both Synagogue and Church. So here at the epicentre of the Jewish faith Saturdays were a quiet day once more, a day of worship and observance of God's laws, just as it had been for thousands of years. The National Synagogue was full, and the overspill hall had less than twenty vacant seats; the fundamentalist Jews had gathered as close to what was left of the Temple Mount and the Eastern Wall to pray and lament the destruction. Things had gone very quiet since the day the fissure had arrived at the Mount, and there had been no volcanic activity, not even an after-shock, but the open fissure was still there, cutting across half of the Kidron Valley. Today there was an almost palpable silence hanging over the city, the cloud cover was low, almost oppressive and the smell of sulphur hung in the windless air.
There were few tourists around these days and most of the stalls that sold religious souvenirs had closed and left for more lucrative markets. The famous King David Hotel had been only half full at best for the past year, but today occupation was up, mainly thanks to the hoard of geologists and experts on volcanoes that had flowed into the Israeli capital over the past weeks, all waiting to see what would happen under the Mount. Their wait finished at exactly nine on this very morning. As clocks struck, or beeped, nine o'clock the earth shook beneath Jerusalem. The many geologists grabbed their instruments, cameras, and equipment and dashed out into the street, as did so many others, both residents and visitors. There was little to see at that moment other than the strange movement of the clouds directly above the area of the Temple Mount.
As the crowds grew and the Synagogues emptied the cloud cover above the Temple Mount broke and a roughly round hole of blue sky appeared. The shaking ground gradually increased in frequency until it was more of a deep vibration. Then it happened. From the centre of the Mount, the sacred Mount Morah, the green-blue beam that had been seen years before, shot vertically through the hole in the cloud, with a scream like a thousand banshees. Around the base, where the beam left the rock of the Mount, the volcanic gasses and fizzing lava bubbled and spat at the cool air, and smoke rose to be dissipated just feet from the surface.
Within minutes the air around the Temple Mount was full of aerial craft, government LIMO's, helicopters and quad-copter drones with their mounted cameras. The international observers also moved in and transmitted their pictures to a dozen authorities. The viewing public was totally silent and stood open-mouthed at the sight of the spectacle before them. Then the scream subsided and morphed into an electric pulsating buzz that everyone within earshot could feel, even to their stomachs.
The whole family were ensconced at the Cyprus compound, as well as many of their friends and staff member’s families. A lazy breakfast was just finishing, and Jim with Carol, were helping to clear the debris away, when the TV caught Jim's attention. “Hey guys, look at this,” he called to everyone in general. Owen Gwilliam was deep in some discussion with Peter and took a few seconds to react. “Good Lord, that's the Temple Mount, isn't it,” exclaimed Owen.
“Yes and the blue beam’s back,” remarked Jim.
“Turn the sound up then man,” said Owen with a chuckle.
“...looking at the scene live from Jerusalem, Israel. Just about an hour ago Jerusalem was subjected to earth-tremors, then just minutes ago this beam of light appeared. No one has yet commented on the event but as soon as we have any information on the event we will report it. Meanwhile our cameras will continue to monitor the situation. You heard it first on Euro-news.”
'Well there's something we haven't seen for a while,” commented Jim.
“Dad, have you seen the TV,” said Jo as she and John entered the dining room.
“Yes Jo, we're watching it,” answered her brother Peter. “Do you think that is the same beam that cracked the Temple Mount two years ago,” asked Jo.
“Well it looks very much like the one we saw on the video at the time, Jo,” said Owen.
“Except that there were no volcanic puddles at the base then,” commented Jim.
“Have you seen what's on the news. . .” said Howard Fulton as he entered the dining room almost at a trot, “Ah, I see you have.”
“Maybe the energy from the volcanic activity has triggered what ever that beam is,” suggested Owen.
“It would be interesting to know what has happened to the control room under the Mount,” mused Jim.
“Yes,” agreed Owen, “especially with that force-field and the dampening field active.”
“Shush!” called Jim, “some thing's happening.”
“. . . seems to be something happening on the plateau of the mount, . . . Oh my goodness, there seems to be a figure emerging from the base of the beam. . . they are actually walking on the lava.
. . What the hell is happening here, yes it's a man, he's just walked out from the centre of the volcano and he's just standing there with his arms stretched upward, still standing in the bubbling lava, I can't believe this is happening, who is he? People closest to the Mount are starting to bow down to this figure, could this be the second coming of Jesus Christ, Oh my God, are we really witnessing this Bible prophesy? We are trying to move a camera drone in closer but the military are trying to stop us. . .”
Suddenly Owen stood up and approached the TV screen for a closer look “What in the name of God. . .
.Jim that's Rick, Rick Pickles, what the hell is he trying to pull off.”
Sure enough, the zoom lens cut through the hot air distortions, showed the unmistakable face of Rick Pickles, standing there with hands raised like some sort of demi-god, like the Phoenix rising from the ashes.
“I told you there was something wrong with that guy,” said Owen.
“Yes you did Owen,” said Jim, “and I think I know exactly what he's up to.”
“If you're thinking what I'm thinking, I do too,” added Owen.
“Do you think the world will fall for it,” Jim asked. “Sadly, yes,” answered Owen.
“So now it starts then,” said Jim before going very quiet and then leaving the room.
Prime Minister, Heidi Goldbloom and her Internal Security Minister Benjamin Marks had once more taken to the air in the executive LIMO belonging to the Israeli Military. The PM was astounded at the site of someone emerging from the lava and the beam, her preliminary feelings were ones of awe and wonder, but the sight of Rick Pickles has changed that. Goldbloom's awe had now turned to anger, she turned to her Minister, “Ben, I want that man arrested, just as soon as he gets clear of that blasted inferno.”
Ben immediately drew his com-unit from its pouch at his waist and tapped the appropriate button. “Major, I assume you have a visual on the Mount, [pause] good, I need you to arrest the man who is now standing on the Temple Mount,” there was another short pause, then, “I appreciate that Major, but please make the arrest as soon as you can get access, and Major, please do it discretely.”
The British born Major Ethan Davidson assembled his crack security team and moved in a little closer to the Mount, where he could see the man who was even now moving away from the blue beam and onto the actual rock of the Mount. Even here, five-hundred meters away the ground felt warm beneath their feet, like the sand of a beach on a hot, sunny day. Behind them the public were obviously confused, some were kneeling, thinking that the Messiah had at last arrived, others saw it as the second coming, but most did not know what to think. This man, whoever he was, must be super human, maybe he was just what this blighted world needed. Then a shaft of sunlight fell on the figure on the Mount, the hole in the cloud cover was increasing in size, and this was the first time in months that the denizens of Jerusalem had seen blue sky. The effect just added to the surreal scene and did nothing to dissuade some that this was a god.
The security detail spread out along the approach, the route that this man had to use to leave the area of the mount, and Sergeant Goodman had taken up position in the middle of the access way to arrest this man. Davidson was informed over his COM that the target was on the move towards the security detail; the major relayed the information to his Sergeant.
“Yes Sir. I have him in view,” Goodman replied.
The target reached the point where steps had once marked the entrance and started down the rubble. The buildings that used to stand were now gone and for the next hundred meters it was open ground, and the target walked into what had been Aqbat e-Saraya Street. When he was fifty meters off Sergeant Goodman called a challenge, “Please halt there, you are under arrest by order of the Prime Minister.”
The figure just kept walking towards the security detail, and the Sergeant issued another challenge. “Stop or we will fire on you, stop there!”
There was no response and the Sergeant lifted his firearm and brought the figure into the sights, he fired a round just over the targets head, without affect, then aimed for the right leg and fired again. Nothing. Twenty meters away the target stopped and held out his right hand and pointed towards the solders.
Without warning there was a flash and the roadway in front of the security detail erupted in a hale of tarmac fragments. The Sergeant dashed for cover, as did the remainder of the detail, as did the Major. From their meagre cover of doorways, garbage bins and small ally- ways they opened fire as the target walked past them, unaffected by the projectiles that were aimed directly at him. Then as he passed close at hand the solder’s weapons failed to fire at all, he just looked at the security detail and laughed.
The eyes of not only Jerusalem but the whole world were on one man and what would happen next. The squad of solders that had surrounded him now cowered behind any cover they could find, fearing what this man would do next. Then to everyone’s surprise he held his hands in the air and walked on toward the Major, then surrendered himself. Major Davidson secured the target with plastic manacles and marched him to the waiting Mk 8 Hummer where he was locked into the armoured compartment in its rear. Suddenly the onlookers started booing and hissing at the solders, then stones and building blocks started to rain down on the vehicle as it accelerated away.
Rick Pickles was booked in, and then allocated to a cell in one of the basements of this faceless building, and the door was locked. Major Davidson and two agents wound their way back to the reception area on the ground floor.
“Major, Sir,” said the custody officer, “what are the charges against the Englishman?”
“To be honest, I have no idea, I was just carrying out the orders of the Prime Minister,” he answered, “I can only recommend you speak to Minister Marks, he relayed the order.”
“Thank you Major, I will get General Weiss to contact him.”
Major Davidson .joined his troop outside and drove back to their HQ, whilst inside the Mossad building General Weiss was already speaking to Ben Marks.
“. . . but what do we do with him Minister, we need some reason here, the man's an international businessman, we can't just lock him up for a publicity stunt.”
“Well for now, let's just say it's a national security issue,” said Ben Marks.
“Very well Sir, but we will need something more substantial if the PM wants to keep him here for more than twenty-four hours.”
“I want to know what Pickles thinks he's up to, Ben,” said the PM, “who on Earth would pull a stunt like that, anyway.”
“OK, we can keep him for twenty-four hours and I'll get someone to debrief him this afternoon and release him in the morning,” said Ben.
“Go easy on him Ben, after all he is a friend, or maybe I should say 'was' at this point.”
“I'm told that he seems to be taking everything very easy, seems to be totally unconcerned about things,” Ben stated.
“Well at least he's not trashing the cell,” said Goldbloom, with a rye smile. Just then the desk intercom chimed and the PM touched the button, “What is it?”
“We seem to have a situation Madam Prime Minister.”
“What sort of situation,” asked the PM.
“Outside, Ma’am, we have a very ugly crowd,” said the PM's secretary, “seems they are demanding the release of the, you won't believe this, the 'Messiah.'
“They think Pickles is the Messiah based on a publicity stunt,” asked the PM incredulously.
“It would seem so Ma’am,” answered the PA.
“Thank you John,” said the PM as she touched the off button, “this could be interesting Ben.”
“Interesting, yes, but what do we do about it,” questioned Ben.
“We just tell the truth, reveal it as a stunt,” said the PM, “we know he's developed that energy field, with the help of Professor Gwilliam, we can even demonstrate it.”
“We will also need to explain that laser-beam that came from his hand, I think we need some luck with that one,” commented Ben.
“You'd better get the army in to disperse the mob before there is trouble,” said Goldbloom. As if by some unheard cue, there was a sudden crash and the sound of breaking glass. The PM crossed to the newly replaced picture window behind her desk and looked down to the street and garden below. “My life! Ben they are trying to break in.”
“Impossible, we have top security on this building,” answered Ben.
Just then intruder alarms started sounding throughout the building and two security men entered the PM's office.
Apologies Ma’am but security has been breached, come with us please,” said one of the security men, “you too Minister.”
The two officers made for the door to the outer office and pushed a small decoration on the wall to the right. The teak panel beside it immediately slid to one side, revealing an elevator. The officer motioned for the two politicians to enter the lift and then followed them in. The small compartment shot up four floors and opened onto the roof, on the LIMO pad was a vehicle of the Security Forces with engines running and doors open. The two were ushered inside and the security men closed the door then returned to the elevator and disappeared.
The LIMO took off immediately and headed south-east toward the Mossad building, where there was heightened security measures. The building was built like a fortress and dated back to the earlier conflicts with Israel's Arab neighbours. On the roof the LIMO moved directly into an armoured hanger, the roof was protected by four anti-aircraft cannon and had an electrified mesh covering the entire room, which was always active when there were no personnel on the roof. The bomb-proof doors closed behind the LIMO and the PM, together with her Minister were guided to another elevator, which this time dropped the forty-nine floors to Israel's command centre.
In the command centre the video screens showed the feed from cameras placed around The Knesset building. True enough the mob around the building had broken into the ground floor, but had been held by the army and the Security Force to that floor. However the video showed that the reception area had been totally wrecked. Reports that were coming in suggested that there had been several fatalities, and a series of ambulances were now taking the many injured to various hospitals.
“OK, enough is enough,” stated the PM with more than a little anger, “get Pickles in here, now!”
One of the senior officers left the room, almost running, and five minutes later returned with Rick Pickles in manacles,
“Take those things off,” commanded Goldbloom, the officer complied and snipped the strong plastic with safety cutters.
“Heidi, thank you, so nice to see you,” said Pickles, “how have you been?”
“No better for your stunt this morning, do you realise what you have started,” spat the PM.
“It was just a demonstration, I want to help sort things out, the Arabs will listen to me, I have enormous influence in the Islamic world, many of my companies are based there,” explained Pickles.
“Well look at the video feed here,” The PM indicated the main screen, “at what your demonstration has started,” Pickled turned to view the video screens.
“My god,” stuttered Pickles as he saw the destruction and the placards demanding his release, “but why?“ “Because Rick, they believe you are the Messiah, see,“ said the PM pointing to another screen. “They don't know your little trick with that gizmo of yours was just technology, they think you came out of the fire on the Mount.”
Rick Pickles was silent for what seemed like an age, but his mind was working faster than ever. “Well, why not let them think it, it will be to our advantage if they are fools enough to believe that. Think about it Heidi, how much more power and control that will give us in dealing with the Arabs.”
It was the PM's turn to be silent as she paced the room, “I must be mad, but you may be right, we can use this to our advantage. But the first thing is to stop this insanity at The Knesset, and prevent more people from being killed unnecessarily.”
“Yes,” said pickles immediately, “can we go there now?” The Prime Minister turned to the security detail and ordered, “Get Mr. Pickles to The Knesset roof and give him every assistance to make himself known, but anything other than restoring peace, I want him back here in manacles. Understood,” she said to both Pickles and the security detail.
The LIMO containing Rick Pickles, AKA 'The Messiah', landed on the roof almost on the stroke of four o'clock. Pickles left the LIMO and told the solders to keep out of sight, and then he approached the parapet of the building. Standing on the very edge he shouted down at the mob below, but no one heard. Lifting his hand he pointed at a piece of open land just beyond the mob and a beam of light shot down and exploded at the rear of the crowd. Pickles switched on his personal ESD and jumped from the parapet; he dropped like a stone, and just hoped that the ESD would absorb the energy of his fall. This had never been tested before and Pickles steeled himself for the landing that may end his life. The device worked twenty meters from the ground he felt his acceleration fall off and he slowed to a landing no heavier than the settling of a snowflake.
The crowd gasped, and formed a ring around Rick. That act certainly dispelled any doubts about his Messiah-ship, 'wasn't Jesus once challenged to throw Himself down from the temple' Pickles thought. Just one person in the front row started to bow an kneel, then one more, then another, and another, it was like a wave as around three thousand people knelt before him. Rick assumed his best, most friendly smile and told everyone to rise.
“My friends, brothers and sister