Awaiting him were a regiment of soldiers, squads of policemen, an honour guard, many TV crews, and perhaps five hundred dignitaries. Around the field and lining the road from it, people covered the low hills and the roofs of houses. They roared as he stepped out, roared so loudly that they could not have heard his greeting. But the microphones of the TV men must have picked them up.
Orme came out with the others then. There was much confusion for a while. Jesus had to meet and exchange a few words with the assembled heads of state. He held out his hand, not to be shaken but to be kissed. Sheila Pal, the president of the NAC, did not hesitate, though she must have been aware that millions of her constituents would be enraged. Neither did the Italian ambassador, though the Pope had denounced the Messiah and his government was officially Communist. To kiss Jesus's hand would, theoretically, offend the majority of the populace, still devout Roman Catholic, and also the officially atheistic high-state officials. But the government had announced that its ambassador was sent only to greet the head of a foreign state, Mars. The Messiah's religion had nothing to do with political protocol.
Most of the other Communist nations and many of the socialist democracies had adopted this line. China and the southeastern Asiatic nations had sent no representative, but India, though Communist, was represented by its president and prime minister. The Soviet ambassador to Israel had been given instructions, obviously, to follow the example of Italy. Hand-kissing was excepted, since no self-respecting atheistic Marxian would emulate this capitalistic opiate- of-the-masses custom. But when Anatoly Shevchenko extended his hand to grip Jesus's, the Russian was not only kissing his hand, he was down on his knees.
Speaking English, he said, 'Master, forgive me! I doubted, but now I know that you are indeed the Messiah and that there is a God! Forgive me my sins, which are many, and allow me to take sanctuary with you!'
Jesus said, 'You are forgiven, and you will hereafter be at my right side. Though you are not of the seed of Abraham, you are a son of those with whom the Creator made a covenant in the time of Noah. Rise, and from now on bend your knees only when you pray to the Presence.'
Orme was as shocked as the others, though not so much that he could not imagine the effect of this unexpected conversion behind the Iron Curtain. Or, for that matter, on this side of it. Every TV set was showing this; what a sensation it must be causing!
Surely the ambassador, though probably a third-generation Marxist atheist, had had some doubts. He may have been as unaware of them as St Paul was when he was persecuting the Christians. But, like Paul, he had been overwhelmed without warning. Paul had his road to Damascus; the ambassador, his road to. Jerusalem.
Or, and here Orme cursed himself for his ever-present suspicions, had the ambassador been given instructions by his government to pretend to this conversion? Then he could spy on Jesus. But the Soviets would be aware of the tremendous impact this public defection would make on the world. Would they dare to risk this just to plant an agent? It didn't seem likely.
Orme felt even more doubtful and weakened, physically and emotionally. This man, or being, spoke and acted as if with authority from God Himself. Yet, the Antichrist would seem to be good, to be, in fact, Christ Himself. Only by its fruit could you judge the tree. The Antichrist must be judged by the long-term results of his actions. But, so far, the Martian Jesus had done nothing the real Jesus would not do.
In time, the fruit would be ripe for the plucking. Then anyone with a good heart might see who was who, what was what.
Orme wondered if he should wait, should put off what he'd planned for this day. He hadn't given the so-called Messiah enough time to reveal the evil behind the seeming good. The seed should be allowed to grow until, instead of food, the harvest was weeds.
'Oh, Lord,' Orme thought, 'let me not take the road to the right nor to the left. Let me go straight ahead on the road that leads to Your beloved city.'
He looked around, and, seeing a familiar face, felt joy. Was this man's presence here a sign from God? It was Jack Tarlatti, a well-known TV- documentary producer and newsman.
Orme strolled over to him, aware that two Martian soldiers were watching him. But they would be doing so only to ensure his security. He grabbed Tarlatti by the hand and said, 'Jack, my old drinking buddy, my blessing and my cross! There were times I thought I'd never see you again! How are you?' Tarlatti, feeling the compactly bundled letter in his hand, quit smiling.
Orme said, 'Just take it. Put it in your pocket when no one's looking. Read it after you get back to your hotel. It's self-explanatory. Do as I say, please, Jack. It'll be the biggest scoop you ever had.'
Tarlatti, trying to smile as widely as before, said, 'Sure. Anything you say, Dick. How about an interview right now?'
Orme looked around. Azzur, Jesus's secretary, was gesturing at him to come immediately. Obviously, he was wanted for the greeting of the dignitaries.
Orme clapped Tarlatti on the shoulder. 'Sorry, I'm too busy right now. Sure good to see you, Jack. Have to run now.'
As he walked away he hoped that Tarlatti's curiosity would not overcome him. He must not read that letter until what had to be done had been done.
After what seemed to Orme an interminable time, the greetings and the diplomatic compliments ended. From the Maranatha issued thirty large canoelike vessels. Into these the Martians and a number of honoured Terrestrial guests seated themselves. The lead vehicle contained the pilot, Jesus, the Russian ambassador, the Israeli prime minister, the three Marsnauts, the fleet admiral, Jesus's secretary, and the presidents of the NAC, Uganda, and West Germany. Orme thought that the selection of the last three was curious, but he didn't doubt that Jesus knew exactly what he was doing.
The procession started with squads of motorcycle police and an armoured car leading. Behind them was a car with a TV crew and three cars of Israeli secret service men. Then Jesus's vehicle, two cars of more secret service personnel, then the Martian vehicles, then the cars with the Israeli and visiting dignitaries and behind them more secret service men, uniformed policemen, and soldiers. On both sides of the parade soldiers kept the crowd from pressing in or attempted to do so. The heat and the tumult were almost overwhelming. So great was the noise that Orme could not hear Bronski when he shouted something at him.
The plan was that the procession would go first to the Wailing Wall. There Jesus would pray for a few minutes. After that, he would to go the Knesset and make a short televised speech, and then to the new King David Hotel which would be occupied only by the Martians and several hundred security men.
Orme felt the butt of the laser under his baggy uniform. When he got to the Wailing Wall and Jesus got out, he would use the weapon. The whole world would see Richard Orme, captain of the Marsnauts, a recent convert to the Jesus of Mars, draw the laser and shoot the ray into him. Orme did not expect to live long afterwards. Nor was he sure that Jesus would be hurt. If he was indeed the energy-being, he would absorb the energy of the laser beam. If he were not the energy-being but the Antichrist - though they might be one and the same - he still might be invulnerable. A man who could walk in an atomic reactor, as Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego had walked in the furnace, would not be touched even by the ravening fire of a laser. On the other hand, if he were just a man, he might not have entered the reactor. He might have just pretended to do so.