© Johny Noer -

Chapter 13

One of the men leaving the Throne Room in Babylon, on this mild April morning, was an Egyptian diplomat. He was leaning lightly on his walking stick, topped by a silver dragon head. His name was Saad Nasser Ibrahim. He limped with a twisted foot.

You wouldn’t think this handicapped person to be a threat to Jerusalem. But Israeli security had pinpointed this 54 year old professor of Sociology as one of the most dangerous men in the new World System.

Sacred vessels from the temple of Jerusalem had been brought into the festival Hall. The diplomat glanced at them with a peculiar smile on his bearded face. The wine was poured. He reached for a temple cup and drained it to the last dregs.

Mr. Nasser Ibrahim had been taken into custody several times because of his shrill protest, whenever the Cairo parliament spoke of peace with Israel. His discriminating attitude towards the national minority of Coptic Christians had brought him to jail. Now he took part at the Babylon Summit Meeting as one of the most hopeful candidates for the job of Minister of Foreign Affairs in the coming world government.

Two important themes had been prepared for the next day. One was "Israel’s position in the ten Sections of the World". The other was "The Project of building another tower of Babel". For both themes the Egyptian Diplomat gave an introduction. He stated that they were connected. With equal importance for world peace…

His career took off some time before the Gog War. On a September 9th, in a star-lit night, he heard a knock on his door, and was taken to jail. Journalists Peoples’ Rights groups campaigned for his freedom and succeeded. Then, with an American passport in his pocket, he was heard lecturing in the American University of Cairo. It seemed the ‘White House’ was on his side.

One of his newspaper articles stated that the Third Temple in Jerusalem would be a hindrance to world peace. "No voice must be louder than the protest against this Zionist building! No voice," he wrote, "must override the appeal for the erection of the tower of Babel. Either we are for Zion, or for Babylon! We must choose Jerusalem or Babylon as the capital of the new world empire!"

These words echoed interest in the Arabian world. But when he added: "The Twin Towers in N.Y. had to fall, to make room for the tower of Babel that was when the White House closed its door on him! Europe stepped in, and that led the EU vice president to call him into the spotlight on April 10th, at the Summit Meeting in Babylon.

Satisfied and relieved, John Edwards strolled into one of the Hanging Gardens. A subtle attack at the summit meeting had been averted; he could enjoy this soft April morning. In a few minutes professor Saad would give his speech in the conference hall of the palace.

The vice president took a seat on a damp marble bench, fingering the dew on the smooth stone.......when it happened again! That invisible stranger sat down beside him. The marble seemed to burst. Some tall being spoke into his thoughts.

"A contest! the soft voice said. "Six teams coming together to build the tower. Number six is mine. They’ll have the responsibility of the project...."

John Edwards wanted to sneak a view at the stranger. Had he met him before? On a TV screen? Huge! Jumping from roof to roof! A dark bat cape?

Designs must be finished at the end of next month. On May 25th!

John tried again. A 3-D super hero? He was interrupted: "Listen and do not look!" the voice said. "If you see me, you are dead! Listen carefully: A high peak, like a dynamic spiral, exactly 1,666 feet high. The Twin Towers in N.Y. were short one foot!"

"Cultural rooms, concert halls and theatres. I am a man of the arts. A religious sanctuary. Man will be the center, - the wonderful being, developed into the victor and Lord of the world. Elegant halls for festivities. Science and common sense to be rewarded there…

"Ten faithful world leaders. My center of power; the World Bank. The Babylonian commerce. business. The spirit of a new emotional, free, sexual love flowing through the world, joining man to man, woman to woman...."

A long, wistful sigh; "but I am on top! My office is not oval but six-cornered, like the tower! All the world’s kingdoms and splendor belong to me, and...."

The expressionless, gray face turned to John Edwards. "I give them to whom I will."

An ugly, low chuckle; "you have four months until the first spade is turned. It must happen on September 11th!"

The midnight cape left the marble bench. Cool eyes! A dignified walk through the garden. Roses, lilies and irises bent their heads while their petals fell wilted to the ground. Weeping willows burst into tears. Greenery was torn off; branches looked white and naked. The wind whirled in the deepest minor key over an invisible cello. The birds took to flight!

John Edwards stared dumbfounded at the marble bench: A visible split in the glistening marble! A streak of morning dew seeped into the crack. Blood-red dew drops fell like from an open wound…


A typical Rosh Hashana morning. Women were on their way to the temple site. The Jewish New Year in the Old Town of Jerusalem.

The building of the Third Temple had begun. The women came to pray according to the Jewish month of Nissan. Several families celebrated a Bar Mitzvah. Orthodox Jews did their usual worship services. Small snack restaurants opened for tourists. Church bells rang, and the call for prayer rang out from the minarets of the mosques.

But something unusual was on its way. 3,000 EU-policemen – instead of the usual 700 –tried to keep the crowds in order. A surplus of journalists and TV cameras were following the military efforts of ‘keeping peace’ Hundreds of Arab youths stood to one side, while hundreds of Jewish, ultra-national men, young and old, stood on the other side. Between them thousands of pilgrims, Jewish and Christian on their way to prayer on the temple site. Prayer on the temple grounds had been forbidden before the Gog war. Tourists only could walk around to view sacred spots. This prohibition came because of the Muslim sensitivity to their ‘Haram al Sharif’ (dome on the rock) and the El Aksa Mosque.

By now both sanctuaries had been razed to the ground by the mighty earthquake in the 3rd world war. It seemed that room had been made for the building of the new temple.

This, however, did not calm heated tempers. The Arabs still wanted to rebuild their lost sanctuaries. They threatened an uprising like ‘the Second Intifada’. "It began", they said, "on September 28th, 2,000, when Ariel Sharon put foot on the temple grounds."

Among the restless crowd, a small group of people gathered around Professor Joseph Fruchtenbaum. Coming from many countries, they were eager to hear his lectures.

"This place is meaningful for Christians as well," he explained. "Jesus used to walk around here and teach. As a twelve year old, he entered (what we call) ‘Herod’s Temple’. His mother came to seek him. He retorted: "Don’t you know, mother, I must be in my Father’s House!"

At 33 years old, He rode triumphantly into Jerusalem on a donkey. An enthusiastic crowd covered the dusty road with cloaks and palm branches. Then Jesus entered the temple. He made a whip and drove out merchants and money changers. "This sanctuary is a House of Prayer for all nations, but you have made it a den of thieves!" he shouted.

Professor Fruchtenbaum bent down to write in the sand. Suddenly, uniformed policemen arrived. Among them Adolf Engels. It was clearly not accidental …

The high-ranking officer observed this Jewish-Messianic Rabbi for a long time. Ever since a certain house investigation where books had been confiscated, EU-agents kept a constant watch. The house was under surveillance. Secret microphones had been installed; all conversations could be heard.

This beautiful April morning was the moment to arrest him. Clearly the professor was in league with the ‘rebels’. This movement started off in America and other parts of the world and had now spread all over Europe.

The officers surrounded the professor, still writing in the sand.

"… writing what? asked Mr. Engels ironically. "Does it mean anything?"


"What do you mean?"

"What I am writing in sand shall soon be gone with the wind. What I wrote in books, you can read anytime."

"What did you write in sand?"

"Ten Words."

"Ten Words?"

"The same Ten Words written by the finger of the Almighty on stone tablets on Sinai!" "Explain!" Adolf Engels noticed his men watching him. Authority was not to be undermined. He only needed an excuse to arrest the man. The writing on the temple grounds was sufficient reason, he inquired. You are writing slogans on the temple grounds!"

"The same words that the Finger of God wrote 2,000years ago in this very sand..."

"Listen to him! The Finger of God writing on the temple site? Never heard about it! When was it?"

´"… that day when some security officers surrounded a 33 year old Jew from Nazareth. They were looking for charges against Him; He just wrote in the sand."

"Wrote what?"

"Who knows? The wind blew every letter away. Maybe the Ten Words!" The professor stood up and faced Adolf Engels.

"Nowadays He doesn’t write on stone or in the sand, H writes on a nobler document!"

"A nobler document"?

"Men’s hearts, Mr. Engels. If they are not too hard...."

Adolf Engels became uncomfortable. He gave a sign. "Arrest professor Fruchtenbaum" he paused, "religious activities in the temple grounds of Jerusalem!"

The professor was handcuffed and taken off. A tall, slim, white figure walked off in the midst of a grim horde of black bulls. They snorted at anyone coming close. All in their way were trampled to the ground, pushed over with their helmets … like beasts with horns.

Adolf Engels’ report of the happenings on the temple grounds, mentioned "apocalyptic fanatics" and "sabotage of major proportions".

"The arrested professor met with 40 rebels on the temple site", he wrote. "The slogans were the prelude to a new phase in the conflict. This new riot seems connected with the hostage taking of Brussels and the ‘Mene, Mene, Tekel’ – attack in Babylon. Professor Fruchtenbaum was telling his followers that Jesus of Nazareth has declared the temple in Jerusalem to be a ‘House of Prayer’ for all nations..."

"That means," interpreted Adolf Engels, "that not only ultra-orthodox Jews and Palestinian Arabs claim the temple grounds. A third dangerous party appears: the Christian Fundamentalists! Their followers are everywhere. Their teaching is connected with their awaiting the Messiah."

‘The Dirty Dozen’ may be the best description of those revengeful ‘haters’. Three army jeeps roared through the Saudi Arabian desert. Destination: The presumed place of the EU president’s parachute.

During the war, the EU delivered 150 prisoners to Riyadh, for ‘special Arabian methods’. Now these mangled men had only one goal: ‘To get even!’ Their revenge knew no bounds. Their wild imaginations pictured what could be done with Pierre Henri-Clark! They separated into different directions; not to kill. No, to let a certain experience the torments caused by secret approval. Torture was forbidden in the constitution …

Half blinded, limping, dumb, and full of scars and physical ailments, they began fighting each other. Criss-crossing through the desert. With colored Arabian head gear, screaming

European slogans.

The government troops noticed the man-hunt but never intervened. All over blood thirsty brutes started shooting at each other. Everyone wanted to be first to reach the prey. Nobody reckoned the president could survive; nobody would collect his body. Nobody wanted to know the place of his death. Nobody cared to identify his grave. The world was never to be aware of ‘Arabian methods..."

‘The Dirty Dozen’ had arrived at the president’s point of arrival. Twelve men, who had been in EU prisons, suffering under humiliations for years. Having been ‘taught’ to speak out to earn some freedom, they now screamed their hate against the system and the man, who had robbed them of their health, mobility and sanity. Wild and uncontrolled! Shooting into the air, but becoming strangely silent as they neared the goal. They wanted blood. The president’s blood!

Suddenly a lonely figure waved at them from a nearby height! Like a mirage in the scorching sun. The twelve laughed in recognition! That torn shirt in the air! Guns were readied, but the leader signaled: ‘No shooting!’ They understood!

The man waving his shirt was standing on a little ‘coral island’ in the mighty ocean of sand. Like a ship-wrecked sailor, worried that the ‘rescue team might not see him!

Suddenly the twelve were alarmed. The president should know that enemies are approaching. He should be more interested in hiding than in exposing himself. Why isn’t he crawling into a crack in the rocks until danger past? What’s the mystery behind this apparition?

The jeeps neared with hesitation; the ‘Dirty Dozen’ knew ‘dirty tricks’. They trusted nothing and nobody! Now only a 100 yards from the dancing figure. Scorching heat! Golden height! A torn, white shirt like a sign of submission! The white flag! Saladin had conquered again. "Salah-ud-din!" whispered an Arab prisoner. A tall, turbaned warrior looking like the ancient Egyptian Sultan of the Curds: The conqueror of Jerusalem, now controlling the EU president!

The twelve didn’t know that soon hell would break loose! Before sundown the blood of six would soak into the sand. Six would be carried away hand-cuffed!

The ‘ship-wrecked man seemed to feel safe, he danced like crazy! His ‘Dirty Dozen’ were now 200 yards from their goal! What would happen?