The China War & the Third Temple Read online

  Two to go, David counted to himself. Missile number 11 headed southwest. “Where is that going?” David wondered aloud. He didn’t have to wonder long. When it reached the border of Georgia, it swept downward like a deadly serpent into the center of Atlanta.

  The last Chinese missile sped toward its target. David feared that he knew its destination. He could only hope that Washington, D.C. had been targeted by one of the downed nuclear warheads. But it wasn’t to be. Swiftly and surely, the long, sleek, powerful missile arched downward. David grimaced when the explosion ripped through the capital of the United States. The Senate was gone. The House of Representatives was gone. The White House was no more.

  The radar screens were empty now.

  But what about President Benton? David knew that he should be somewhere in Air Force One—the mobile command center of the United States. This President, who had wanted so badly to be known as the “Peace President,” would instead be linked eternally to the worst slaughter ever unleashed upon the human race.

  “It’s not time to relax yet,” David reminded himself. “Too many things could still spin out of control.” Of course, the foremost concern was Russia with her massive and still lethal nuclear arsenal. His eyes continued to scan the radar screens that watched the Russian frontier. Every minute that passed, without sign of activity from that front, increased the likelihood that the war would not widen.

  David knew that the U.S. President was probably at this moment on the red hotline phone with the Russian President, delivering assurances that this catastrophe had occurred only because of China’s nuclear attack on Los Angeles. He was sure that President Benton was already explaining that the United States had no desire to attack Russia or any other country.

  Chapter 3

  The hellish inferno that engulfed every major population center in China was beyond anything ever experienced by man. The bombs in the U.S. arsenal were 20 times more powerful than those dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki during World War II. Everything within a twenty-mile radius of the detonation was instantly obliterated. The elements literally melted. Buildings that stood one minute were simply gone the next. Whole cities disappeared in an instant. Millions of human beings were vaporized, never to be seen again. Seven hundred million Chinese died, just in the initial onslaught.

  Len Choi was one of those unfortunate souls who happened to be on the periphery of the force of the nuclear bomb that hit Beijing. When he saw the incoming missile, he froze in his tracks. Before he could react at all, the power of the explosion hit with the force of a thousand freight trains. Even where Len stood 25 miles from the epicenter of the bomb’s force, the temperature immediately shot to 1,500 degrees. The blast knocked him unconscious, as well as melted the corneas of his eyes. When he came to, he found himself thrown into a new world of darkness. The putrid smell of burning flesh surrounded him. When he reached up to touch his face, he realized the burning flesh that he smelled was his own.

  Len struggled to his feet. Where had he been standing when he saw the missile? Waves of horrible pain began to overwhelm him. He forced the pain back. Now he remembered! He had been in front of his house talking to his neighbor Zen Chinroy. “Zen,” he called. Dead silence answered him. In the distance Len heard the faint wail of sirens.

  What should I do? Len wondered. “Is anybody around here?” he called. Silence. “Help! Somebody help!” he screamed.

  In his darkness he heard another voice scream, “Help! Please help me!” That’s when it hit him. There was not going to be any help. Everyone was as bad off as he was, if not worse. Without forewarning, nausea swept over him like a tidal wave. He began to throw up violently. The pain was becoming unbearable. “O God,” he cried out. “Please help me.” Len didn’t know whether he believed in a God or not; their Communist leaders had told them that there was no God. But for some reason this horrible situation made the existence of God seem very real.

  Five years ago, a classmate named Chang had risked his life to tell him about Jesus, but Len had made fun of him. Len now wished that he had listened.

  What to do? It was too late to worry about all of that now. Len understood that he couldn’t last long in this horrible condition. The never-ending pain would soon render him incapable of functioning. He knew he would die a slow, very painful death.

  Len’s mind went to the pistol in the drawer beside his bed. He calculated where the door of his house was. He slid his foot along the sidewalk until his toe made contact with the steps that led up to the porch. When he came to the door, the brass handle was still too hot to touch. Pulling his handkerchief from his pocket, he used it to open the door.

  Len paused just inside for a moment, ignoring the pain, mentally reconstructing the layout of his home. He calculated that the stairs leading up to his bedroom were about six strides from where he stood. He had felt his way through the house many times in the dark, but it was much more difficult when you couldn’t see at all.

  His groping hand found the railing. Good! He had reached the staircase. He bent his knees to climb the first step—and felt his skin breaking. The pain was intense! He willed himself to take each step. He had to escape this living hell that he suddenly found himself thrown into the middle of!

  Pausing at the top of the steps, he again attempted, in his new, totally dark world, to visualize the location of his bedroom. Second door on the right. No, third. He had forgotten about the bathroom door. When you can see, you never think about how many doors there are. You just go where you want to go. Things are so different in the world of the blind!

  As Len entered into his bedroom, he knew that he needed to move in the direction of approximately 11 o’clock. When he took the fifth step, he felt his leg bump against the edge of his bed. Pain shot up to his hip.

  He sat down on the side of the bed, pausing to regain his strength and to gather his courage. Could he go through with what he planned? Memories of his mother and dad came floating to the surface of his mind. He had no doubt about what had happened to them. They lived in downtown Beijing. They never knew what hit them. It was better for them that way.

  His sister Lipeng lived out in the country with her new husband. Perhaps they had a chance of surviving. Len didn’t know whether that would be good or bad. He wished he could know if she was all right, but if she wasn’t, he was in no condition to help. And if she was all right, he would only be an additional burden. Had Lipeng and her husband survived, they sure didn’t need a blind invalid like he was going to be burdening them down. Yes, the route he had chosen was the best for everyone. Now, if he could just find the gun.

  Len groped for the drawer that he knew was there. When he tried to pull it open, his fingers slipped off the handle. At that moment, he realized that his burnt hands were bleeding. Despair swept over him as he realized how utterly hopeless his situation was. He sighed. His whole life should’ve been ahead of him. He’d had big plans. It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

  Len gripped the drawer with both hands and felt it slide open. Searching around inside, he finally felt the barrel of the Colt 45 pistol. It was one of his prized possessions. He had bought it from an American he had come to know when they both served with the UN in Bosnia.

  Was the gun loaded? Len tried to remember. He had to do this right the first time, while his courage still held. He slid his finger along the barrel until he found the release that opened the cylinder. He spun the cylinder slowly, feeling for bullets. Empty! Where did I leave those bullets? I’ve got to find them while I still have the strength to do this!

  “The closet! I remember now. I put them on the top shelf clear over to the left.” Len felt his way along the bed until he reached the closet. Opening the door, he slid his hand along the top shelf. Finally, reaching all the way back, his fingers closed around the box containing the ammunition. In spite of himself, he felt the tears flowing down his hot, burnt cheeks at the realization of what he was about to do. Well, it didn’t really matter now anyway.

  Mak
ing his way back to the bedside, he thought about calling his sister to say good-bye. “Stupid,” he muttered to himself. “There’s no phone service left anywhere in this country.” Len thought of the times he had wanted to tell his mother and dad that he loved them, but showing emotion was frowned upon by the party. It supposedly showed weakness. He wished now he had done it anyway.

  The thought occurred to Len that he could lie down for a while. Maybe help would yet come from somewhere. He started to lower his head onto the pillow, but the pain wouldn’t allow it. “There’s no use. I’ve got to get this over with now. There’s nothing ahead for me but pain and darkness. There’s just no hope.”

  Len slid the bullets into the cylinder one by one. He decided to put all six in, even though he didn’t intend to need but one. Maybe someone else would come along who could use the other five.

  “God, I don’t know You—if You’re there at all. I didn’t take the few opportunities that I did have to search after You. If You are there and can hear me, please forgive me. I’m sorry I’ve lived such a self-centered life.”

  With tears dripping down his cheeks and off his blackened chin, Len slid the barrel of the pistol into his mouth and quickly squeezed the trigger.

  When help did arrive much, much later, the technicians were unmoved by the sight of the corpse. They had encountered numerous scenes like this one—and worse—all over China. Most of the stories were never told since members of the media knew they signed their own death warrants if they tried to go into the contaminated areas.

  For several days after the initial nuclear inferno, the nuclear clouds unleashed their death-dealing rains. For most, there was no place to run, no place to hide. The unthinkable was occurring while the world looked helplessly on. It was, in reality, “hell on earth.”

  Special radiation units were quickly organized under UN supervision. They began to go into the less contaminated areas in an attempt to save anyone who could be saved. The results were not good. It was estimated that 10 million Chinese were dying each day. At that rate, in another 30 days, an additional 300 million Chinese would be dead! That would bring the Chinese fatalities alone to 1 billion.

  The force of the nuclear attack had been greater than the United States had intended. Death was everywhere. It covered China like a heavy gray blanket. The scenes were horrific.

  As fate would have it, winds swept the massive nuclear clouds toward the one billion people living in India. Individuals of means paid extortion prices to catch the few flights that were leaving India’s airports. Tickets out of the country were going for $50,000 per person!

  When the nuclear contaminated rains began, India’s highways were immediately clogged with people attempting to flee the liquid death pouring from the sky. It did not take long for the highways to become huge clogged arteries of death. Those who had motorcycles and scooters had the best chance to outrun the invading nuclear death cloud. People would actually gauge the direction of the wind and plan their escape routes accordingly. The scooters and bicycles could be seen cutting through open fields in desperate attempts to flee the plague of death. It was as though the pale horse of the Apocalypse pursued them…and was winning.

  For most, fleeing was nothing more than an exercise in futility. The rains overtook them and millions clung to each other in mortal fear as the raindrops of death streamed down their faces. Young and old, male and female, high-ranking and low-level, ran into caves, homes, stores, barns—anyplace that afforded shelter. But even if shelter was found, the pungent smell of the nuclear-infested air burned its way into their lungs. Death wouldn’t come as quickly to those who only breathed the air, but it would come nevertheless.

  As the massive nuclear clouds swept through India, the death toll they began to exact was tallied in the tens of millions. Satellite pictures of the course of the nuclear clouds were shown daily on television. Of course there was little, if any, on-site reporting. Broadcasters with major news services who in the past had held apocalyptic predictions in derision now wondered aloud if the plagues of the Apocalypse itself had not been unleashed. Within 90 days, the count of India’s dead and dying reached 500 million.

  Even as the nuclear clouds moved over India, the death toll in China continued to mount. Now the UN had a new goal: Spare enough of the Chinese race to save it from total extinction. It was that bad. The Chinese would be fortunate if 100 million of their original 1.3 billion ultimately survived.

  Normally the United States would have been in the forefront of the relief efforts in China and India. Instead, the nation had more than she could handle in trying to bury her own dead and dying—some 20 million of them. Every hospital was jammed with those experiencing radiation sickness. Complicating the problem was the fact that so few doctors really knew how to treat radiation victims.

  Then there was the massive job of rebuilding eight major cities, or at least of reviving what could be reclaimed out of the rubble. The federal governmental offices had been moved to Philadelphia until it could be decided where the new United States capital would be. There was no possibility of rebuilding it in Washington, D.C., since that would be a no-man’s land for the next one hundred years.

  Many major U.S. corporations had suffered the loss of their headquarters and their leaders. The financial losses were absolutely staggering. In effect, the United States had been hit with a body blow that knocked her to her knees.

  All across the globe, world power structures were being altered forever. China, who had been projected to dominate the 21st Century, was gone. Instead of having an India that was prepared to assume its proper role in the World Community as an emerging superpower of 1 billion people, the world now had a nation of 500 million that promised to be the “sick man” of the world for the foreseeable future.

  When the full magnitude of the destruction was finally assessed, a stunned world realized that two billion human beings, one-third of the world’s population, had been wiped out. The United States tried to place the blame on China, but there was no one left in China to blame. World opinion turned very ugly toward the U.S. because of the unthinkable carnage she had perpetrated upon the human race.

  World news was filled with recrimination toward America. Charges of nurturing the “One China” policy, then triggering a nuclear holocaust when China tried to enforce it, flew against President Benton. One nation even accused the U.S. of deliberately planning the conflict so that China could be eliminated as a threat to U.S. leadership in the 21st Century. More and more, the media portrayed America as an imperialist state seeking to impose her will on the entire world. Overnight, U.S. influence was greatly diminished, and the world’s leadership passed to Europe and Russia.

  Chapter 4

  For many years, the passing of Pope Paul VII had been expected, and even anticipated by some. Those who feared the New Age tendencies that had become rife in the Church saw the Pope as the last bastion against the avalanche of liberalism just waiting to seize control of Roman Catholicism. Others saw Pope Paul VII as the primary obstacle to the Church’s becoming relevant in the modern world.

  But, in spite of his many infirmities, the Pope had simply refused to die. Paul VII, himself, knew what was coming after his demise. He could read the message in the dark clouds looming on the spiritual horizon. Consequently, he had continued through the last several years by the sheer force of his iron will.

  Before the news ever hit the wire services, the word of Paul VII’s death swept through the hierarchy of the Roman Church like a sweeping prairie fire. Most of the powers-that-be already knew who would be considered as prime candidates to replace the long-reigning pontiff. There was Cardinal Binge Zingarni of Nigeria, Cardinal Louis Glouster of France, and Cardinal Marlos Lustini, the powerful archbishop from Italy.

  Over the past few years, alliances had been carefully constructed by the different factions of the Church. There were the traditionalists who wanted to reestablish the basic tenets of the Church that had been steadily eroding since Vatican Coun
cil II. These rallied around Glouster of France.

  Those in alliance with Zingarni of Nigeria envisioned a true world Church espousing an all-encompassing global spirituality. Zingarni was a mystic who believed that all of mankind would suddenly come together, if only distinguishing religious doctrines were laid aside and a gospel of love were promulgated.

  Then there was Archbishop Marlos Lustini. He was cosmopolitan, complex, intelligent, shrewd, and ruthless. Many in the Church feared this man because he possessed what some viewed as a dark side. True, he stood head and shoulders above his peers in ability and intelligence. And his worldly connections were unparalleled. Over the past several years, many heads-of-state who visited Pope Paul VII had felt compelled to stop by the diocese of Lustini also in order to pay homage and to cultivate a relationship with this man who most believed would become the next pope, leader of almost one billion of the earth’s inhabitants. The supporters of Lustini were confident that it was their man who could restore the Roman Catholic Church to its proper place of power and influence in the world.

  As the Cardinals descended upon Rome for the conclave that would choose the replacement for Pope Paul VII, each one was poignantly aware that this would not be just another conclave. The world was at an unprecedented juncture. Plans for true world government had been painstakingly developed over the past one hundred years. The computerization of society had now rendered all of mankind interdependent. The United Nations was on the verge of becoming a bona fide instrument of global governance. Dreams and destinies were converging. The pope chosen in this conclave would either position the Church to sit astride the New World Order, or allow it to be swept aside by the powerful New Age Revolution that was, even now, surging throughout the bloodstream of humanity.