The days before the wedding passed quickly. Much that had been puzzling was clarified as the four friends spent long hours talking—sometimes in quiet sorrow for things past or regretted, sometimes in exuberant and joyous laughter as they rehearsed the ways in which God had led them to this hour. The tragic death of Viktor at the hands of an Archon after Carla had half-carried him out of the disintegrating auditorium and pleaded with him to accept Jesus was discussed with great sorrow.

Carla’s account of her surrender to the Lord and how He rescued her from the Nine brought great joy. The diabolically clever metamorphosis of Del Sasso and the probable increasing persecution of the Messiah’s followers in the near future as the New World Order was established was discussed with concern.

“What happens if the police are waiting for us?” asked Miriam. Looking down from clear skies at the menacing smog bank shrouding Rome’s Leonardo da Vinci Airport, she was reminded of the perils facing the two fugitives as soon as they landed. “Tel Aviv could have called by now.”

“Relax,” Ari admonished, putting a protective arm around her. “If we look nervous, they might take us for drug smugglers. Have a dog sniffing our bags and find that kosher sausage,” he added with a laugh.

“I’ll just hang on to your arm and look like I’m in love. How’s that?”

“Great. Just try to make it convincing.”

“Ari! I’m serious. Suppose the Mossad is down there waiting for this flight?”

“Can you be in the lobby of the King David in thirty minutes?” The urgency was apparent as soon as Yakov heard the voice on the other end of the line.

“Ah, David… I was just getting ready to go out to visit Ari. What’s up?” 

“This is related. I’ll see you at the King David!” There was no hiding the suppressed excitement in his friend’s voice.

“Haven’t I seen you somewhere?” asked Ari. With great effort, he directed the question to the new orderly who stood before him balancing a medical tray. “What’s your name?”

In one of his more lucid moments, Ari was sitting on his bed in his large, shared room. Having difficulty knowing where he was and remembering almost nothing since he had returned to Israel, he was, nevertheless, getting disjointed memory flashes of more distant events. The medic, who had just been assigned to this wing in the psychiatric hospital, had come into the room with two guards to administer medication.

Confined to a small apartment on one of Tel Aviv’s back streets and under constant guard, Ari found the next few months to be the most difficult period of his entire life. Miriam had promised to marry him as soon as possible—and now he was unable even to see her. In an earlier time, Ari would have made his escape and given the Mossad a run for their money. Now, however, instead of taking things into his own hands as he had always done in the past, he waited patiently for God to give him the direction he so urgently needed.

After about an hour’s wait, Ari was at last escorted in by a secretary. As soon as he entered the room he could sense the animosity. He was no longer one of them. He’d already been written off as the enemy.

Besides the Chief and David, the other four were strangers to Ari. He knew of them by reputation but had never met any of them, nor was he properly introduced now. The Chief simply recited their names and positions as a matter of formality. No one made a move to reach out and shake the hand Ari offered, then withdrew in embarrassment.

Early the next morning, David came by the apartment, picked up Ari and the tape he and Yakov had made the night before, and drove him to Mossad headquarters in Tel Aviv. Wondering why it was required, Ari brought along the suitcase with two weeks’ change of clothing that he’d been told to pack. David looked grim but seemed unwilling or unable to explain his somber mood.

“Don’t say anything about being allowed to stay at your apartment last night,” David began as soon as they were in the car.

Take another look! Had he heard a voice? Or had the words just emerged from his mind? Take a closer look! There it was again, and still he couldn’t tell whether it was a voice speaking to him from outside or words sounding in his head. What did it mean? Take a closer look at what? At the fissure blocking his route? At possible ways to bridge it?

Hesitantly, Ari stood up and looked around. Nothing had changed. Go closer, to the very edge! Impelled by that command, he cautiously approached the brink once again and peered down into the void, then searched either side of that awesome chasm. The roar of the river below was nerve-shattering. Still he saw nothing that he hadn’t seen before—nothing to give him any hope.

Dead… alive… some state in between? Ari sensed only the searing pain suffusing his body. How long he’d lain there drifting in and out of consciousness he did not know. When at last he had fully regained his senses, he moved first one limb, then another, and decided that, though horribly bruised, he was all in one piece. Had any of the others survived?

“Hello!” he called out into the blackness. Nothing but echoes. “Anybody there?” he cried again. The echoes bounced back and forth as they faded into the distance—then absolute silence. Alone! That realization was suddenly terrifying. Where was he?

The press corps, limited to thirty reporters from the world’s most prestigious newspapers and magazines, and handpicked by Carla, had a block of seats in the center of the auditorium. No television coverage was allowed. Ari found his assigned place and sat down. Behind him, the delegates were pouring in. Ari found it strangely ominous to see these sophisticated political leaders jostling their way, seemingly as eager and excited as children at a Saturday movie matinee.

Ari had earlier heard the rumor circulating among the guests that the President of the United States had been deluged with requests from ambassadors, members of parliament, senators, and congressmen from around the world who were eager to attend. Thousands had apparently been turned away for lack of space. And now the small, three hundred-seat auditorium was filling rapidly with those fortunate enough to have been invited. Simultaneous translators were in their booths at the rear, and those delegates who were not proficient enough in English were putting on earphones and dialing their particular native language.