Light-headed and slightly nauseated, Mordechai wiped the sweat from his forehead with his handkerchief and sank back into the plush leather seats of the royal blue Mercedes. Then he took a swig of bottled water and signaled his driver to take him back to the Guest House, eager to pack his bags and get back to Israel.
As he stared out the window at the heat distortion on the horizon, it occurred to him that everything in this city seemed distorted, like a mirage.
Had Yael not taught him Jeremiah’s prophecy that the Babylon of the future would not only be the epicenter of evil but “a golden cup in the hand of the Lord, intoxicating all the earth” and driving the nations mad? What a fool he’d been to expect anything else.
Yael.
Just the thought of her triggered an unquenchable thirst to be with her, to hold her hand again and gaze into her beautiful brown eyes and tell her that he loved her. And that he was sorry.
Soon enough, he reminded himself. Soon they would walk together hand in hand through the streets of Jerusalem — streets paved with gold, streets filled with laughter instead of fear. Soon they would be together again, and not because of anything they had done but because God in His mercy had opened their eyes to the truths of prophecy and His precious gift of salvation.
But how close he had been to missing it all.
Mordechai had been sixty-two before he’d ever even read Micah’s prophecy that the Messiah would be born in Bethlehem. Or Isaiah’s prophecies that the Messiah would be born of a virgin, minister in Galilee, and be tortured and killed as a “guilt offering” for the sins of mankind. Amazingly, Isaiah also wrote that the Messiah would not remain in the grave but would rise again and “prolong His days.” How had he missed for so long King David’s prophecy that the Messiah’s hands and feet would be pierced and that His enemies would cast lots for His clothing and mock Him unmercifully? Or Daniel’s prophecy that the Messiah would be killed before the destruction of Jerusalem and the Second Temple in AD 70? Or Zechariah’s prophecy that men would look upon the Messiah “whom they have pierced; and they will mourn for Him, as one mourns for an only son, and they will weep bitterly over Him, like the bitter weeping over a firstborn”?
It was Yael who had first connected the dots, who had both understood and truly believed that the messianic prophecies all pointed to Jesus of Nazareth. It was Yael who first began to read the New Testament for herself and soon fell in love with the person of Jesus — His love and compassion and supernatural power. And every day Mordechai lived with the shame of getting so angry at her, of accusing her of betraying him and betraying the Jewish people by becoming a follower of Jesus as Messiah.
More than a decade had passed, and he still felt the shame of ever having feared that his wife’s new faith might cost him his career if any of his colleagues found out. And though he knew God had forgiven him, he was still not sure he could ever forgive himself for letting her die of cancer without ever taking her faith seriously.
It was the gaping chasm in his soul caused by her death — the unshakable sadness and loneliness he felt every day — that had forced him into the spiritual journey he had for so long resisted. Was there any hope of seeing the woman he loved again? Was there really a heaven? Was Yael really there? And if so, how could he know — beyond the shadow of a doubt — that he could go there too? Was the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob also a God of second chances, a God who would let him see his precious Yael one day, that he might ask for her forgiveness and tell her how much he loved her?
And three months to the day after her death, Mordechai had gotten down on his knees in the privacy of their large, empty home and surrendered. The evidence was overwhelming, and it demanded a verdict. Jesus had to be the Messiah. Yael had been humble enough to admit it was true. Finally, in his anguish, he was too.
There was just one problem — he was the head of the Israeli Mossad at the time. In his world, becoming a Jewish believer in Jesus was tantamount to treason. It would take years of prayer and study of the Scriptures before he would finally be able to turn such fears about his country and career over to the Lord. But now a new anxiety was rising in his souclass="underline" the gnawing, unshakable instinct that grave new threats lay just over the horizon.
13
The car pulled up to the Guest House.
Mordechai got out, thanked his driver, and took the elevator to his spacious suite on the third floor, grateful for the blast of chilled air that greeted him upon entry.
It dawned on him suddenly that he was no longer angry with Al-Hassani. Not like he had been, at least. Contact had been made. If that’s all Al-Hassani could handle for now, why should he be so dismissive? Had any Israeli had such high-level contact with an Iraqi leader since the prophet Daniel? Not that he could remember. Perhaps such a relationship would prove useful in the future.
And then he saw it.
Resting on the center of his royal blue silk bedspread was a large box. It was wrapped in emerald green gift paper that bore exquisite, hand-painted images of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon. The package was topped by a large bow.
What was it? What did it mean?
Mordechai closed his eyes for a moment and tried to replay his conversation with Al-Hassani in his mind. The assassination of Sa’id. The Libyans. Iran. Turkey’s veiled threat against the U.S. What was he missing?
And then it came to him.
In his anger, he had heard the words but hadn’t truly registered them. Hadn’t Al-Hassani insisted that he would go away neither “empty-handed” nor “disappointed”?
Was this what he had meant? Should he open the box? Perhaps it would be better to wait and let someone on the prime minister’s staff open it and evaluate its contents.
He was daydreaming, of course.
There was no way they could run off, like in the movies. Everything they had worked for was on the line, and they had to keep their eyes on the ball.
But it was at times like this that Bennett resented where he was. He hadn’t sought this job. He’d never wanted to be a “point man for peace.” He’d been drafted by a president to whom he couldn’t say no, and now he was in too deep for an easy exit.
Or was he? He had money—$22 million and change socked away from his years at GSX. It couldn’t buy him happiness, but it could buy him a change of pace. Maybe it was time to enjoy it for once in his life. Maybe it was time to lavish it on the woman who’d swept him off his feet.
Bennett was suddenly overcome with the desire to be with Erin, to hear her voice, even for a moment, to talk about their wedding, their honeymoon, their lives beyond the White House. He tried to imagine the look she would have the moment he told her how much he had stashed away and that she could spend it on anything she wanted — houses, travel, the horse farm near Winchester she was always talking about buying someday.
Whatever she wanted, he would give it to her. He didn’t care how much it cost. All he wanted to do was make her happy, and knowing she couldn’t care less about money made him want to spend it on her all the more.
Bennett grabbed the phone to give her a call when an instant message popped up on the screen. It was from Aleksandr Golitsyn’s private account.
“Jonathan, is that you? We need to talk.”
It was only the second contact Bennett or anyone in the White House or State Department had had with any top official in Moscow in nearly two days. He couldn’t afford to ignore it. But was it really Aleksandr Golitsyn, the foreign minister?