The Branch Page 16

  “You could pick a better Messiah out of the phone book,” interjected Black sarcastically.

  “How can you claim this … this animal is the Prince of Peace?” added DeJesus.

  Moore shook his head. “Will the pair of you try to get it through your heads that if he is the Messiah, then he’s the Messiah of the Old Testament? He is not the Prince of Peace or the Son of God. He is simply the person God—or someone—has chosen to establish a kingdom in Jerusalem—and for what it’s worth to you, once you get rid of all the rotten poetry in The Gospel of Moira, the facts are correct. They ought to be; she got them from me. Jeremiah did bring a drowning victim back to life; he did spend some time in Egypt; his name is Immanuel; and he may very well be from the Davidic line. At least, no one can prove that he isn’t.”

  “I oppose him because I know Jesus to be the Messiah,” said DeJesus. “But if in your opinion Jeremiah is the Messiah, why do you oppose him?”

  “He’s not my Messiah, Cardinal,” said Moore. “My interest in the future of Jerusalem and the Jewish race is minimal. Besides, if he’s the best that God could come up with, I don’t know that I care to have anything to do with either of them.”

  “That’s a very glib answer,” said DeJesus.

  “You want a better one?” asked Moore. “All right. If he’s the Messiah of the Old Testament, he’s just a man, nothing more. I don’t give a damn what he plans to do in Jerusalem. I care about what he’s doing now—and what he’s doing now is trying to kill me and take over my organization. That’s my motivation, plain and simple—and I’ll stack its staying power up against yours anytime.” He turned to Lewis. “As long as the Cardinal brought the subject up, let me ask it of you: if he’s the Messiah, why shouldn’t the Jewish Defense League accept him?”

  “You haven’t spoken to a hell of a lot of American Jews, have you?” said Lewis, taking a puff on his hashish pipe. “I don’t care if he is the Messiah. He’s a disruptive influence.” He paused thoughtfully. “Judaism isn’t so much a religion as a way of life. Our culture means more to us than the details of our religion, and this man threatens to destroy that culture. I don’t care if he sets up a kingdom in Jerusalem or not; after all, there are less than five million Jews in all of Israel, and there are twelve million in the Manhattan complex alone. But if he succeeds in taking over Jerusalem, he can’t help but change what being Jewish means, and we cannot allow this.”

  “Let me repeat this, just to make sure I’ve got it right,” said Moore. “Neither the Jewish Defense League nor the Catholic Church—or at least those portions that are represented here tonight—will back down even if Jeremiah is what he claims to be. Is that correct?”

  Lewis nodded.

  “He is not,” said DeJesus firmly.

  “But if he is?” persisted Moore.

  “If it seems that he is, then he is the Devil, the Prince of Liars, and we must destroy him.”

  Moore decided that he wasn’t going to get a better answer from the Cardinal, shrugged, and turned to Naomi Wizner. “How about you? Do you speak for your government?”

  “Absolutely. For all practical purposes, if it comes to an attack on Jerusalem, I am the government.”

  “And what is Israel’s feeling?”

  “Israel feels like it’s under attack.”

  “Israel always feels like it’s under attack from someone,” said Black with a chuckle.

  “And Israel always defends itself!” she replied hotly. “This time is no different from all the others!”

  “But it is,” Moore pointed out. “If Jeremiah is the Messiah, it means Christianity has been dead wrong for two thousand years—but why won’t Israeli citizens accept him with open arms? After all, you never accepted Jesus, so why shouldn’t Jeremiah seem like the fulfillment of the prophecies?”

  “He’ll come with the sword and the fire,” replied Naomi. “I’m sure God won’t mind if we protect ourselves.”

  “That’s not an adequate answer,” said Moore.

  “It’s the best you’re going to get, Mr. Moore,” she said. “What do you expect my government to do—turn the country over to him on a silver platter?”

  “What if he convinces your government that he’s the Messiah?”

  “And just how do you think he’s going to do that?” she scoffed.

  “By taking Jerusalem.”

  “Mr. Moore, do you have any idea how many times Jerusalem was conquered between the time of the prophets and the establishment of the State of Israel in 1948?”

  “No.”

  “Well, take my word for it: it happened more often than you can imagine. We never accepted any previous conquerors as the Messiah. Why should this man be any different?”

  “Because he is different,” said Moore. “When Moira Rallings writes of some of the things he’s done, she’s not exaggerating. I’m not saying that he is necessarily the Messiah—but he sure as hell is different.”

  “You sound like you’re more convinced than any of the rest of us, Solomon,” said Black.

  “That’s irrelevant,” said Moore. “Messiah or not, he’s a man, and he’s got to have a weakness. He’s been trying to ruin me, and I’m not going down without a fight.”

  “Bully for you,” said Lewis, clapping his hands slowly. “Now, do you have any plan in mind, or do you just like making speeches?”

  “I’ve got a number of plans,” replied Moore, turning to him. “I’ve come to the reluctant conclusion that whatever he is, we’re not going to be able to kill him. This means that we’ve got to consider alternatives.”

  “Such as?” asked Lewis.

  “Here’s the simplest one,” said Moore. “Let him take Jerusalem. That’s all he’s supposed to do, isn’t it?”

  “What?” cried Lewis and Naomi in unison.

  “Let him have it. It’s just a city. Your government can always relocate.”

  “It took the Jews two millennia to regain Jerusalem!” snapped Lewis. “Giving it up without a fight is out of the question!”

  “Is it?” asked Moore. “He’s got something like thirty million people who’ll buy guns and pay their own passage over there to fight in his Holy War. Why not just turn it over to him?”

  “It’s unthinkable!” said Naomi. “Why not just turn Czechoslovakia over to Hitler? That’s all he wants! Except that it wasn’t all he wanted, and Jerusalem isn’t all that Jeremiah wants. Once he’s got his army, he’s got to keep them fed and active. How do you think he’ll do that, Mr. Moore? He’ll march into Egypt and Syria and Jordan and Lebanon, and then he’ll cross the Mediterranean into Europe.”

  “With what?” scoffed Black. “He hasn’t got any planes or tanks, or even any ammunition.”

  “He’ll get them,” said Naomi. “Do you know how many churches would be happy to unload their treasuries on him in exchange for lenient treatment? How many officers would turn over military equipment to him in exchange for favored positions in his army?”

  “Not that many,” said Black. “He’s still small potatoes.”

  “Is he?” she said. “This man was a penniless beggar less than three years ago. Today he’s worth about four billion dollars, he’s got more than thirty million followers and is picking up half a million a week, and one church out of every ten has decided he’s divine. What, in your opinion, would it take to make him a big potato, Mr. Black?”

  Black seemed about to reply, then changed his mind and kept silent.

  “All right,” said Moore. “Since no one wants to take the easy way out, we fight him. But you have to understand that military action is out of the question.”

  “Why?” demanded Naomi. “We’re prepared to do battle with him down to the last man, woman, and child.”

  “More power to you,” said Moore dryly. “But Jeremiah doesn’t have a standing army yet. Where will you launch your attack? How can you cut a supply line that doesn’t exist? Even if you didn’t mind slaughtering civilians, you couldn’t attack his home base; no one k
nows where it is.”

  “The man is right,” said Black with a grin. “Until he mounts a legitimate army, there’s nothing to fight.”

  “Right,” said Moore. “So what I propose is a concerted and coordinated media attack on his credibility. We’ve done it in bits and pieces, but we’ve been working at cross-purposes. Naomi fears a military attack, the Cardinal fears that Jeremiah is the Antichrist, Piper fears a further loss of money, Mr. Lewis fears for his cultural values, Lord knows the Chinese and Indians and Africans have things to fear—but we’ve been speaking out as individuals, or at least as single interest groups. Jeremiah has to be discredited not just in the eyes of the Jews or the Christians or the Muslims, but everywhere at once.”

  “I’ll commit every cent I’ve got,” said Black. “But first there’s got to be an understanding.”

  “What kind of understanding?” asked Lewis suspiciously.

  “If we’re successful, there’s going to be a very healthy piece of change up for grabs,” continued Black. “Don’t go looking so superior, Mr. Lewis. You’ve still got all of your money. Do you really think I give a damn about Jews or Christians, or about who rules Jerusalem? And if Solomon cares one whit more than I do, it’s because he’s lost his objectivity. We’re businessmen, and whether the business is sex or drugs or stopping a would-be Messiah, we expect to turn a profit.”

  “Are those your sentiments?” Lewis asked, turning to Moore.

  “I have my own reasons for wanting to destroy Jeremiah,” said Moore, measuring each word carefully. “He’s the closest thing to a blood enemy that I’ve ever had, and I’m in this to the finish, with or without your help.” He paused. “But, as my friend Piper has pointed out, I’m a businessman, and I certainly intend to share in the spoils if we’re successful. However, I don’t think we need to go into the details right now,” he added. “You have my pledge that we won’t take anything that anyone else wants.”

  He stared directly at Black, who decided to let the subject drop.

  “Now,” continued Moore, “if we’re all in agreement, we’d better start talking about just what kind of media campaign we’re going to be mounting. Cardinal, how many television stations does the Church control in South America?”

  “We own stations, Mr. Moore,” said DeJesus defensively. “We don’t control them.”

  “No one’s keeping notes,” said Moore. “None of this will ever leave this room. In exchange for that, I feel I have the right to expect straightforward answers. Now, how many stations do you control?”

  DeJesus glared at him for a long moment, then shrugged. “Between six and seven hundred,” he said at last.

  “And the Jewish Defense League?” asked Moore.

  “Personally, I own or control five,” replied Lewis. “The League doesn’t control any, and that’s the truth.”

  “Newspapers and newstapes?”

  “Me, ten; the League, maybe two dozen.”

  “How long will it take you to raise enough money to blanket the papers and networks with a hate campaign?”

  “Three months, maybe four,” said Lewis promptly.

  “Too long,” replied Moore. “You’ll have to dip into your own capital and do it in six weeks.”

  “Why so quickly?”

  “Because if Jeremiah’s getting ready to move, it’s not going to take him four months to get his act together. These are religious fanatics we’re talking about. If he puts out the call tomorrow, they’ll start buying tickets to Jerusalem before the weekend.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” said Lewis.

  “I can’t commit any funds,” said Naomi Wizner. “Every penny is going to strengthen Jerusalem’s defenses.”

  “I wasn’t going to ask you for any,” replied Moore. “I just wanted to make sure that you weren’t planning on throwing in the towel after we’ve committed everything we’ve got. As for Mr. Black and myself, between us we control a third of the press time on the North American continent. I’m sure we can gear up to print a few billion anti-Jeremiah tracts in a matter of weeks.”

  “So that’s why you pulled me in and didn’t invite Quintaro!” exclaimed Black. “He’s strictly drugs and whores, but I’ve got printing presses!”

  Moore nodded. “Our contributions will be press time and distributional channels.”

  “Makes sense at that,” agreed Black.

  “You’re in?” asked Moore.

  Black nodded.

  “Good,” said Moore. “Then may I suggest that we meet here again in two weeks?”

  “Fine by me,” said Lewis, He stared at Moore for a moment. “Do you really think much good can come out of this meeting?”

  “Its usefulness is extremely limited,” replied Moore.

  “Then why are we here?”

  “Because I had to start somewhere,” said Moore wryly. “Tomorrow I’ll be meeting with a Greek Orthodox leader, the Foreign Minister of Egypt, and Henri Piscard.”

  “Who is this Piscard?” asked Lewis.

  “Another businessman,” replied Moore. “He provides pretty much the same services in France and Belgium that Mr. Black and I offer to the United States.”

  “And I assume you’ve got still more meetings lined up?”

  “Six of them. I think by the time I see you again we’ll have put together a pretty useful organization.” He got to his feet and walked to the door. “And now, let me suggest that you partake of some of the pleasures of New Atlantis before returning home.”

  DeJesus, Lewis, and Naomi Wizner filed out, and Moore closed the door behind them. Then he turned to Black, who hadn’t moved from where he was sitting.

  “Hi, Solomon,” grinned the mulatto. “We’ve come a long way, haven’t we?”

  “Hello, Piper,” said Moore, sitting down and returning his smile. “Yes, we have.”

  “Not bad for a couple of small-time hoods.”

  “Speak for yourself,” said Moore. “I was never small time.”

  Black laughed. “And here we are, fighting for Right, Justice, and the Christian Way.”

  “Or for Judas’ seat in Hell.”

  “Oh, well,” said Black. “I never did want to go to Heaven anyway. I like heat.”

  “I never really thought you were in much danger of freezing in the next life,” said Moore.

  “Which brings up an interesting point, Solomon.”

  “And what is that?”

  “I’ve been an atheist all my life—but if Jeremiah is the Messiah, that sure as hell seems to imply the existence of God, doesn’t it?”

  “You can’t have the first without the second.”

  “Well,” said Black, “if there is a God, do you suppose He wants us messing around with His Messiah? I’m going straight to Hell anyway, and I aim to go in style, but what about you—you never enjoy your money anyway, so why fight God for it?”

  “Don’t think I haven’t given it a lot of thought,” Moore said slowly. “I think there’s a good chance Jeremiah is the Messiah, with all that implies.”

  “Then why aren’t you keeping your hands off?” asked Black. “And remember that this isn’t Cardinal What’s-his-name asking you.”

  Moore picked up an ornate platinum cigarette lighter and toyed with it. “I could take the easy way out and say that you and I had paid our entry fees to Hell long before Jeremiah appeared on the scene,” he said ironically. “But I won’t. If there’s a God, and Jeremiah is His handiwork, then I’m acting contrary to His wishes by trying to kill him. But, damn it, Piper—look at the other side of the coin!”

  “What other side?” asked Black.

  “Why now, and why Jeremiah?”

  “I don’t think I follow you.”

  “Where was God when the Jews got thrown out of Jerusalem two thousand years ago? Why did He let us blow up Hiroshima and run an Inquisition and starve eighty million African babies?”

  “You expect God to take a day-to-day interest in what’s going on down here?” said Black with a smile.


  “If Jeremiah’s the Messiah, then that’s just what He’s finally done!” said Moore, his rage, held so long in check, finally boiling over. “Not when we needed Him, but now! And not with a healer or a peacemaker or even a reasonably wise ruler, but with Jeremiah!”

  “You know what they say: He works in mysterious ways.”

  “If Jeremiah is the best He could come up with, His ways are more than mysterious—they’re out-and-out irresponsible!”

  “Son of a bitch!” laughed Black.

  “What’s so funny?” demanded Moore.

  “I just figured it out,” said Black. “Jeremiah is just the goddamned battlefield. You’ve declared a Holy War on God!”

  “Look around you,” said Moore grimly. “There are nine billion people out there, each of them going a little crazier every day, and what does He do? He sends down a selfish, womanizing, slow-witted moron. If He truly exists, He may be your God, but He sure as hell isn’t mine!”

  “I didn’t know you had a choice,” said Black. “I mean, either He’s God or He isn’t. And if He is, then maybe we both ought to reconsider what we’re doing and start praying to Him.”

  “Never!” roared Moore. “If there’s a God, He gave me a brain, and then saw to it that the only way I could keep it active was to break every goddamned commandment He created. He set up the rules for a Messiah close to three thousand years ago, and we wound up with Jeremiah. He waited two thousand years for the Jews to kick and claw their way back to Jerusalem without His help, and now He’s sent Jeremiah to burn it to the ground and build a new kingdom. I’d sooner worship the Devil!”

  “My, you are one troubled criminal mastermind, aren’t you?” said Black, amused.

  “Not anymore,” said Moore, willing his emotions back into the tortured recesses of his mind. “I know what I have to do.”

  “Maybe you ought to see a good shrink, Solomon,” said Black, his smile gone. “Being angry is one thing, but you’re driven.”

  “Then I’m just going to have to get back in the driver’s seat,” replied Moore.

  “God’s a pretty sharp customer,” said Black. “Maybe He wants you to make all this fuss about getting back in the driver’s seat so Jeremiah can hang on to center stage. Maybe you’re being manipulated.”