Stones of Fire

74

Opening the storage compartment in the middle of the Range Rover’s dashboard, Stanford MacFarlane stowed away his well-worn Bible, the words of the prophet Ezekiel never ceasing to inspire him.

Beside him, in the driver’s seat, his gunnery sergeant muttered under his breath, complaining yet again about having to drive on the left side of the road. Stan ignored him. They would be in Margate soon enough. A small fishing boat docked at the harbour would enable them to bypass British customs.

Again, he craned his neck to look at the well-padded crate in the back of the Range Rover.

The Ark of the Covenant.

It had taken more than twenty years for him to find the most sacred of relics. During this search ordained by God he had followed every lead, every rumour, every crackpot theory, his quest taking him to the distant corners of the globe. Ethiopia. Iraq. France. One by one, each theory had been discredited, leaving only the quatrains of Galen of Godmersham.

Again, he glanced at the crate, experiencing a tingling sensation. As though his entire body was enveloped in a static electric field.

The Lord was near at hand! He could feel it!

For it was at the Ark that God, made manifest, had appeared to Moses. The Ark not only embodied the Almighty, it was the symbol of God’s promise to his chosen people. Nothing had changed. It was now as it had been then. Adorned with the Stones of Fire, he would be able to speak with the Almighty. Just as Moses had conversed with God in the wilderness. With that heady thought in his mind, Stan was able to hear the blast of trumpets and the clash of cymbals, the shouts and cheers, the joyful hosannas. As though thirty-five hundred years had come and gone in the blink of an eye.

All praise to God the Almighty!

He knew full well that God’s plan for mankind had been formulated in the Garden of Eden and that it would end with a new paradise where those worthy of his blessings would enjoy a thousand years of peace and prosperity. Finally, their rest well deserved, the warriors would put aside their bloody weapons and lie side-by-side with the meek and gentle lamb.

With astounding clarity, the prophet Ezekiel had seen the crimson future that would precede this golden dawn. Stan did not doubt that Ezekiel’s prophecy would soon unfold, taking an unprepared world by storm. The future was already written, prophecy the gift that God gave to quell man’s fear in the face of the dark and violent nights that were to come. And when Ezekiel’s prophesied war came, sinful man would have no doubt as to God’s existence.

Those would be dark days. Days that would push man to the limit of his endurance. But those who refused to traffic with the enemy would be reborn in the new world to come. A time of rest for the people of God. When the deserts of the earth would be made fertile and when the Dead Sea would no longer be dead. Ezekiel had foretold how those waters would be stocked with the very fish that would feed the new kingdom of God.

A thousand of years of peace. Time for an old warhorse to at long last take his rest.

Reaching into his pocket, Stan removed his BlackBerry and rapidly keyed in a numeric code with his thumbs. Double-checking each digit, he sent the message, knowing it would simultaneously reach the Warriors of God stationed in Europe and the Middle East. Battle orders issued, he returned the device to his pocket.

As they approached the outskirts of Margate, Stan thought of the Englishman and his harlot. Their execution well-deserved, he felt no pity. Instead, a wave of hatred washed over him. Hate was good. Cleansing even. Hate enabled a man to slay the infidel and slaughter the sinner.

He would put his hate to good use in the days to come.