The Spear of Tyranny Read online

  As Ehud wrapped the dead bird in a newspaper, Isaac made a mental note to call the vet when he returned home.

  “For the authorities,” Ehud said, placing a strip of tape over the wrapped newsprint, “if they come to call.”

  “You should probably contact them,” Isaac said. “After you call Mr. Arnan. I’ll be sure to knock on his door, just in case you can’t reach him by phone.”

  “Thank you,” the vendor replied. His round face had gone pale, and, despite the chill, beads of perspiration shone at his temples. “And thank you for helping this woman. You dared to risk a kindness, and kindness is a rare thing these days.”

  “Indeed it is.” Isaac found his newspaper and tucked it under his arm again. After whistling softly to Lily, he picked up his cup of now-cold coffee. “Indeed it is.”

  Ehud’s words echoed in Isaac’s brain as he and Lily made the walk back home. The newspaper vendor was right—life for the average man had drastically changed in the last few months, and Israel had not been the only nation shaken to its core. Since the dawning of the new millennium, the entire world had suffered cataclysms unlike any others in history.

  The experts could not agree which events launched the current troubles with crime and unrest, but no one could dispute that Israel had nearly experienced complete catastrophe during the war they now called Gogol’s Invasion. Not long after the turn of the century, Russia had allied with Israel’s Arab enemies. The ensuing invasion threatened to decimate the tiny nation until a monstrous earthquake rattled the Middle East on the morning of December 21. Like a thundering attack launched by the Holy One himself, the earthquake threw Israel’s approaching enemies into confusion. Biological and nuclear weapons intended for Israel’s destruction fell instead upon the Arab and Russian armies, including Vladimir Gogol’s elite troops. By the end of the day, Gogol was dead, the enemy was vanquished, and Israel’s rabbis were proclaiming that the Master of the Universe had provided Israel’s miraculous deliverance.

  Isaac himself had been caught up in the religious fervor. He and his men had fought to repel the Russians, and Isaac had risked his life to single-handedly drive a Katyusha rocket launcher toward a column of advancing enemy troops. When the enemy fell, he danced in the street with his fellow soldiers, knowing that his father-in-law the rabbi would rejoice to know that his secular son-in-law had finally embraced the idea of God.

  His dancing stopped, however, when he received the urgent message from HQ and learned of his son’s death. Eighteen-month-old Binyamin Ben-David, his son and Sarah’s, had been mortally wounded in his crib when the earthquake toppled a bookcase in the child’s bedroom. A rugby trophy, one of Isaac’s college mementos, struck the child and fractured his skull.

  Sarah had not been home, of course. As a member of Israel’s Shin Bet security service, she had been out doing her part to save the nation. Unaware of the danger, the baby-sitter cowered in a closet for hours, assuming that Binyamin slept. When the doctors were finally able to care for the child, they told Sarah they wouldn’t have been able to save him even if confusion had not reigned at the hospitals. The boy suffered a tragic accident, nothing more.

  Later that week, when he and Sarah buried their little son, Isaac watched the crowds of religious celebrants with clearer, wiser eyes. If God saved Israel with an earthquake, God was a murderer of innocent children. For the first time he understood the Talmud’s saying, “A childless person is counted as dead.” The feeling of death went far beyond the knowledge that his name would perish with him—something in his heart died with Binyamin, too.

  As he struggled with his son’s death and his wife’s silent grief, Isaac thought he faced the worst life could offer, but the earthquake that toppled Gogol seemed to have shifted the entire world from its accustomed axis. The earth had literally shifted in several major cities, including Tokyo, Athens, Rome, Sydney, San Francisco, and Mexico City.

  While those urban areas dug themselves out of earthquake rubble, New York, Atlanta, Washington, D.C., and Los Angeles dealt with a different kind of devastation. In the reigning confusion at the end of Gogol’s Invasion, the Russians had activated an automated defense system that fired nuclear missiles at several targeted American cities. In the succeeding months, the proud, confident Americans seemed to close ranks around their wounded nation, all but vacating the world stage. Within the last few months, Israel’s greatest ally had become one of her bitterest enemies. Though Isaac doubted that the United States would ever take military action against Israel, their lack of support made it abundantly clear that most Americans believed their present troubles sprang solely from the Jewish nation.

  Because the world had known earthquakes and war before, Isaac knew life would have resumed its normal course eventually. But nine months after Gogol’s Invasion, the world reeled from an unprecedented and unexpected upheaval known as the Disruption. Depending upon what newspaper you read, either millions of people disappeared from the face of the earth in an instant or they died in the anarchy that arose immediately after the war.

  Isaac didn’t know what to believe. He had seen reports ranging from tabloid newspapers to classified IDF documents stating that millions of people—the vast majority from North America, China, and Africa—disappeared without a trace, but recent intelligence bulletins from the European Union headquarters implied that most eyewitness accounts of vanishings were nothing but fabrications. One of the European Union’s computer analysts told a senior Israeli intelligence officer that a computer search on the names of five hundred missing people in the Netherlands proved that such people had never existed. The names were false identities in which certain properties and assets were unlawfully held in an effort to manipulate the rules of taxation.

  Though several thousand tourists and a few hundred citizens apparently vanished on that Sunday in September, Israel had not been terribly affected by the Disruption. Most of Jerusalem was too busy preparing for Rosh Hashanah to notice that a few hundred tourists left the city without bothering to check out of their hotels. Isaac read one interesting editorial from a rabbi who wondered about the significance of the Disruption occurring just before the Feast of Trumpets, but none of the other religious leaders seemed to care if a few Christians chose to vacate an already-overcrowded earth. A few reporters hinted that the event might have been “the Rapture,” an event ranting evangelicals had foretold for generations, but since several thousand self-professed Christians and church officials remained in Jerusalem after the Disruption, this argument seemed a moot point.

  Speaking for the powerful and relatively unscathed European Union, Adrian Romulus appeared on international television and assured the world that life would continue as usual. “The Disruption,” he told a global audience on a satellite network, “is a minor complication compared to the death and destruction still surrounding Israel and the disaster-struck nations. Mankind needs to focus on the task at hand and work for the future. We must not let the shenanigans of a few tax evaders distract us from the reconstruction process.”

  To aid with the task of rebuilding, Romulus proposed that the entire world unite in a single network of nations, a “universal movement” to combine resources and effort to work for the common goal of peace so “the world will never experience the horrors of war again.” Since the United Nations building in New York had been destroyed and the United States seemed unwilling to put forth the effort to reestablish a global confederation, Romulus suggested that his European confederation lead “until the time that every surviving nation can be represented on the Universal Council.”

  As his image beamed into every home on the planet with a television, he outlined his plans for the future: “We will make plans to link the world by computer network, so that every man, woman, and child will have access to information, the most valuable commodity of the future. Through our Universal Movement, we will make certain that food, clean water, and medical supplies are available to all. And through our Universal Force, formerly known as the Europ
ean Union Army, we will guarantee the peace and halt those who would continue to advocate unrest and violence. We want peace for our children. You may be certain we will obtain it.”

  Lily strained at the leash as if catching the scents of home, and Isaac felt the memories leave him as the roofline of their tiny bungalow came into view. He wanted to go inside and share the bizarre events of the morning with Sarah, but he had promised to visit Mr. Arnan.

  He whistled to the dog and opened the Arnans’ gate. It was probably good that he had this little task to complete, for Sarah might not be in a listening mood . . .

  As Isaac turned onto his neighbor’s walkway, his gaze fell upon the small stone wall bordering his own property. Since Binyamin’s death, a wall seemed to have risen in his marriage, and he could do nothing to breach it when death, disaster, and disruption stalked the earth.

  Tucked away in the ultra-Orthodox community of Mea She’arim, Rabbi Baram Cohen stood in his small office at the Ateret Kohanim Yeshiva and fastened his tefillin to his left arm, then his forehead. With the small boxes, each of which contained portions of the Hebrew Scriptures, firmly in place, he lifted his fringed prayer shawl over his head and prepared to say the Adon Olam, the poem to open the Shacharis, or morning prayers.

  A year ago he had led a classroom of boys in these prayers . . . but that was before Gogol’s Invasion. That classroom had been damaged in the attack, and the students dispersed to other yeshivas within the Orthodox quarter. Baram regretted the closing of the old yeshiva, but the cloud of tragedy bore a silver lining—according to the most recent reports, thousands of new students had been welcomed into the Orthodox community’s schools. Many indifferent secular Israelis had seen evidence of HaShem’s hand in Gogol’s destruction, and many of those who had formerly spurned the Master of the Universe now sought to enroll their children in religious education.

  Even the secular Zionists had begun to realize that the Holy One watched over Israel. Soon they would understand that he intended to dwell among his people.

  Baram closed his eyes and began to sway back and forth in the ancient practice known as shuckling as the words of the psalm floated in his consciousness: All my limbs will say, “HaShem, who is like you?”

  His body obeyed the command to pray, but his rebellious thoughts kept drifting toward earthly concerns. Oh, how sweet would be the day when the Zionists realized that even they had been used by the Almighty! Those who established and governed the State of Israel were generally nonreligious and often antireligious men who cared more for nationalism than for the things of God. They believed Jews could bring about their own salvation through political and military means. But they would soon discover that HaShem had used them to serve his own purposes.

  Baram would live in the land of Israel no matter who controlled the government. Living in the Promised Land was a mitzvah, a holy commandment, and he could never be happy living elsewhere.

  “Master of the World who was King before any form was created,” he prayed, lifting his eyes to the water-stained ceiling. “At the time when he made all through his will, then his name was called ‘King.’ And after all is gone, he, the Awesome One, will reign alone. And he was, and he is, and he will be in splendor.”

  A cold wind hooted outside the window, rattling the glass. Baram ignored the sound and closed his eyes, concentrating on his prayers.

  “And he is One, and there is no second, to compare to him or be his equal. Without beginning, without end, to him is the power and rulership. And he is my God and my living Redeemer, and the Rock of my fate in times of distress.”

  Israel’s recent trials had tested the faith of many, but Baram’s faith remained strong. The great sages had predicted trials and struggles during the Ikvot Meshicha, the dire time just before the Messiah’s appearance. The trials had begun slowly, like a woman enduring the early pangs of an impending birth. Children began to forsake the way of their parents, youths insulted their elders, and insolent pride infected young and old alike. The travail escalated with the invasion of Vladimir Gogol and his Arab associates, and though Israel had been spared at the eleventh hour, Baram felt the situation would grow worse before the Messiah defeated Israel’s enemies once and for all.

  Though the country now dwelt in relative safety, evil still stirred in the land. A malevolent presence hovered over the earth, stifling the rains and stunting crops. Even the animals seemed to sense the foreboding atmosphere. Evil stalked the land in the forms of pestilence and peril, and though many of his fellow rabbis assured their congregations that all was well, Baram knew it was not.

  “He is my banner and he is a refuge for me, my portion on the day I cry out, in his hand I entrust my spirit, when I sleep and when I wake. And my soul shall remain with my body, HaShem is with me and I am not afraid,” he murmured.

  He would not be afraid, no matter what happened. The time was drawing near, and he was doing his part to usher in the mashiach, the Messiah. Like all Orthodox Jews, three times every day he prayed for the elements required to bring the mashiach: the ingathering of the exiles, the restoration of the religious courts of justice, an end to the wicked and heretics, a reward to the righteous, the rebuilding of war-torn Jerusalem, the restoration of the line of King David, and the reinstatement of the Temple service. Three times a day he prayed, “May it be thy will that the Temple be speedily rebuilt in our own time.”

  TWO

  OUTSIDE THE KNESSET, ADRIAN ROMULUS SAT IN AN armored limousine. The driver put the car in park and cut the engine, then tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as a pop song played on the radio. Six security guards, all from Romulus’s Universal Force, piled out of escort vehicles and stood outside the black limo, their eyes alert behind their dark glasses.

  Though Romulus sat in the backseat of the vehicle with his eyes closed, he saw everything. He had been meditating throughout the half-hour drive, and now his spirit floated above his physical surroundings. With spirit eyes he could clearly see the Knesset, even the men waiting within the squat, modern building. They were waiting for him—some eagerly, others with a fair amount of trepidation. But by the time he left today, his name would be upon every man’s lips, his praise upon their tongues.

  He lowered his gaze and addressed himself to the guide who accompanied him on the journey. “What shall I say, Nadim, if they ask for more information about the Disruption? They are certain to be curious.”

  The golden light surrounding his spirit counselor fluctuated softly. “If you feel it necessary, give them the truth,” he said, his red lips parting in a dazzling display of straight, white teeth. “But the Disruption was a supernatural event, and one must have faith to accept supernatural things.”

  Romulus tilted his head, acceding the point. “Many of these men are Jewish rabbis. They are accustomed to dealing with matters of faith.”

  Nadim gave him a bright-eyed glance, full of shrewdness. “Then explain to them why the master of all authored the Disruption. Like removing a blemish from a painting of perfect purity, he instantly eliminated all those who would hinder the Universal Movement of Faith. You are working with a fresh canvas, Adrian. Every individual remaining on the earth is capable of uniting with us. Only those with irreparably hardened hearts were obliterated.”

  A smile tugged at Romulus’s lips. “The master of all is wise. But still, the task is great.”

  Nadim’s dark eyes shimmered with light from the rising sun. “You are capable, Adrian. And you are beloved. The master has formed and fashioned you for this hour. To you have been given the keys of the world’s kingdoms, and soon, if you serve him well, you will be given the keys to life and death.”

  Romulus felt a warm glow flow through him as he bowed his head in an expression of gratitude. The whistling wind seemed to permeate every particle of his flesh.

  “They are coming for you now.” The glory of Nadim’s presence began to dim. “Return to your place. The master will empower you to convince the stiff-necked children of Israel th
at you are the one who can lead them into the future.”

  “I will do it.” Romulus looked up as his spirit descended through the shimmering morning air. “Do not worry. They are not called children without reason.”

  THREE

  ENTERING HIS HOUSE, ISAAC UNSNAPPED THE DOG’S leash, then dropped the newspaper on the kitchen table and followed the dog to her water bowl in the corner of the kitchen. He filled a pitcher with water from the tap, and accidentally splashed half of it on the tiled floor when he looked toward the bedroom. The television morning news still rumbled from the doorway, but there was no sign of Sarah.

  Isaac wiped up the spilled water, tossed the damp towel in the kitchen sink, and went in to wake his wife. As he suspected, Sarah was still asleep, a petite mound beneath the comforter.

  He sat on the edge of the bed and nudged the mound with his elbow. “Time to get up, Wife.”

  The comforter rocked slightly. A hand appeared at the upper edge, then fell limply back to the mattress.

  “Come now, get up.” Isaac nudged her again as his gaze moved toward the television screen. Sarah had never been an early or eager riser. A night owl by habit and temperament, she enjoyed working late hours and dreaded morning. The only time she had ever sprung out of bed with any energy was when the baby cried . . .

  Isaac forced his thoughts back to the television broadcast. A news reporter stood on the street in front of the Knesset, where a group of men in dark trench coats stood around a black limo. Isaac knew without being told that the men were security personnel—their erect posture, dark glasses, and watchful expressions gave them away.

  “ . . . is meeting with the prime minister and several religious leaders,” the reporter was saying. “This is Romulus’s first trip to Israel since Gogol’s Invasion. He has expressed nothing but admiration for how Israel has recovered from the war, and yesterday expressed particular admiration for the nation’s cleanup efforts.”