Free The Last Day by Glenn Kleier Page A

there was a significant roll of thunder from the distant storm, and Feldman took full advantage of it. “Exactly when and how will this transformation take place, Mr. Astarte?”
    The “Mr.” was deliberate, and Astarte looked annoyed. He answered patiently. “It will occur at midnight, of course, and the signs, as you can see”—he gestured to the storm with his head—“are already upon us. We do not yet know the manner of the transition.”
    “All right, we thank you for your time and we'll let you get back with your group in time for the transition.” Astarte closed his eyelids to the camera, made a stilted bow and exited. No doubt, Feldman thought to himself, this last guest would hold the Christians in their seats long enough for them to ensure that good triumphed over evil.
    More crowd shots. “And we're coming up on five minutes until the turn of the millennium,” Feldman announced. The wind had picked up only a trifle more and, unfortunately, Feldman realized, the squall seemed isolated and still too far away to bring any real fire and brimstone to their melodrama.
    Into Feldman's earphone came the breathless voice of Bollinger. “Jon, we got one of those Witness delegates coming up. He saw our broadcast on a portable TV and found his way over here. We're gonna put him on, get ready.”
    Beyond the blinding camera lights, Feldman made out the form of a short, shaggy-haired man being led toward him. Without skipping a beat, Feldman announced to the camera that WNN had been successful in locating one of the Jehovah's Witnesses mentioned earlier, and the delegate was ushered onto the balcony.
    “Your name, sir?” Feldman inquired.
    The small, bearded, serious-looking Witness, who reminded Feldman of a miniature Rasputin, squinted up at the reporter and said in a surprisingly deep voice, “I am John Jacob Maloney of the Watch Tower Bible and Tract Society governing board, and official delegate to the Second Coming of Christ!”
    “Mr. Maloney, I understand you're here on behalf of Joshua Milbourne representing the Jehovah's Witnesses. Can you tell our viewers exactly what you believe you'll be witnessing here tonight?”
    Maloney stepped forcefully toward the camera and glared into its lens with the feverish expression of a certified fanatic. “The hour has come, O ye of little faith! The Judgment of God is at hand and it is too late to save your-selves. You would not listen, you would not repent, you would not make ready the way of the Lord. And now the Hand of God is upon you. It is the Last Day!”
    His eyes bulged and his hands flitted wildly above his head. “It is the Abomination of Desolation and ye shall be smitten and marked and damned forever to the bowels of hell! Praise be the Name of the Lord! Praise be the Paraclete of Kaborkah! O Lord, in Thy glorious Name—”
    So frenetic was his delivery, Maloney unintentionally expectorated on the camera lens, which forced the production team to cut away to a side shot. The view of him raging into an inanimate machine removed much of the sting of his comments and gave the whole encounter a ludicrous perspective.
    Taking back control, Feldman placed a firm, calming hand on the doomsdayer's shoulder as the smaller man looked around, bewildered, for a live camera. “Thanks, Mr. Maloney. I'm assuming you'll make yourself available later for some follow-up commentary?”
    Maloney was guided off the balcony, still railing and spouting. The production crew could hardly contain itself. This was precisely the mania the New York headquarters had been wanting to showcase.
    Feldman repositioned himself in the center of the balcony and initiated the final sixty-second countdown to the new millennium. As the cameras and searchlights panned over the uneasy scene, Feldman considered what a sweet touch it would be to play a little “Auld Lang Syne” from loudspeakers. Everyone could certainly do with a little forgiving and forgiveness tonight. But he knew the humor