The Nostradamus Prophecy

By Isaac Benatar

A novel of international intrigue, terrorism, suspense and romance.
Through his diamond business, Rod Crown is inadvertently caught up into the world of terrorism and espionage. The stakes are high. The Blue Turban, the leader of a clandestine Iranian terrorist group has discovered a use for diamonds in a new missile technology. The target is the United States and world domination. From four hundred years in the past, the prophetic quatrains of Nostradamus reach out across the centuries to warn against the man he predicts will bring forth a cataclysmic event to the Twenty-First century.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Sep 2, 2001
• ISBN: 9781469733036

Isaac Benatar

Isaac Benatar (LL.B) is a law graduate of the University of London. He was born in Zimbabwe in 1943. Elected Youth mayor of the city of Salisbury during 1965-66. Became public prosecutor in Rhodesia from 1970 to 1980. He emigrated to the United Staes in 1980.

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All Rights Reserved © 2001 by Isaac Benatar

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the permission in writing from the publisher.

Writers Club Press an imprint of iUniverse.com, Inc.

For information address:

iUniverse.com, Inc.

220 S 16th, Ste. 200

Lincoln, NE 68512

www.iuniverse.com

This is a work of fiction. The characters and events described in this book are imaginary, and any resemblance to actual persons other than Nostradamus and his prophecies, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

ISBN: 0-595-19442-7

ISBN: 978-1-4697-3303-6 (ebook)

Contents

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER ΙΟ

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

This book is dedicated to the memory of the two most wonderful people in my life, my Father and Mother:

Victor and Rachel Benatar

With a special dedication for my sister and best friend: Louise Phillips

May Their Darling Souls Rest In Paradise

Also by Isaac Benatar:

THE SONG OF AFRICA

PROLOGUE

I sat in the solitude of my office suite, with my head resting in the palm of my hand, preoccupied, as I stared out the window from the swivel chair behind my desk. The view from my top-floor office presented a sweeping panorama of Annapolis. In the foreground was the tiny historic Harbor, and beyond were the imposing stone buildings of the Naval Academy.

I gradually refocused my attention towards the desk and looked at its carefully polished surface, there were two items on the desk. One was a metal plate with my name—Rod Crown—on it. The other was a book, and as I looked at it, the lettering of the title, appeared to leap out at me and blazon into an phantasm like etching, engraving the words into my mind, The Prophecies of Michel de Nostradame!

I opened the book and began to re-read the prophetic quatrains written by the old sage over four hundred years ago, but after a few pages, felt almost magnetically drawn to stand up and watch the street scene of people going about their normal business below my window.

If the Nostradamus prophecy, which foretold of the coming of the third man of cataclysmic events, was accurate, then soon, there would be very little of this normality left for mankind to observe.

Through a twist of fate, I had become involved in the battle against a terrorist leader, that I believed to be that man of evil!

CHAPTER 1

It all started in Seattle. On a drizzly, spring day of April 2003.

I had been on a routine visit to the West Coast to see the office manager of my diamond wholesale company, the Crown Diamond Group. Visiting Seattle was always a pleasure for me. The city had grown in the last twenty years, since I had first arrived and worked there. It was such a contrast with my formative years in Africa.

I was born in Southern Rhodesia, so my developing years and experiences were rooted in the beautiful wilds and wide-open spaces of the African bushveldt. As a young adult, I’d completed my law degree through the university of London. Afterwards, I had worked for a few years in the Rhodesian Attorney General’s office as a public prosecutor. Inescapably, becoming embroiled in the civil war that had developed as a result of the country’s struggle between the different warring factions searching for independence.

Thanks to circumstance and fate, at the end of the war, while I was still in my mid-twenties, I left the country of my birth—now renamed Zimbabwe—in 1980. The draconian laws then in place required that I leave behind my worldly possessions. So I had immigrated to the United States with a few hundred dollars and had started my new life struggling to find work.

Now, with the passage of time and fortunate business decisions, I had become the owner of a nationwide company of diamond wholesalers.

My company presently had offices in New York, Los Angeles, Miami, Seattle and served the Baltimore-Washington corridor through the headquarters in Annapolis. But, Seattle had always remained as a special place within my heart.

The Seattle office was situated on the top floor of a modern, glass encased, high-rise office building. Conveniently situated on Fifth Avenue, the office was just two blocks from the Westlake Shopping Mall, which had developed into the hub of downtown Seattle.

Entering the building, I greeted familiar faces that I had not seen in a few weeks and took the express elevator to the 40th floor. The elevator doors opened to reveal the familiar ornate diamond logo etched, but, bullet proof glass doors at the entrance to the reception area of the diamond offices. I walked across the plush carpeting to the doors and waited while they were electronically opened from a remote button operated by an attractive and smartly dressed employee inside, at the reception desk.

Walking in, I observed that all three showrooms were busy with customers and pleasantly appraised the courtesy with which the salespeople were attending to the diamond needs and inquiries of a number of retail store owners. I continued walking on to the manager’s suite and was met by his secretary, Doreen. She was a delightful young lady in her late thirties, with a charming smile, brown hair and eyes and who always elegantly dressed herself in fashionable outfits. I greeted her, and Doreen informed me that Peter, my manager, had just completed a series of meetings in the conference room and was waiting to meet me there, with the information to update me on our recent trading activities.

I wended my way to the meeting area, where I was met by Peter Gordon my West Coast manager. He was a six foot tall, dignified and charismatic blond haired Australian in his early thirties, with a string of gemology degrees to his name. We exchanged amiable greetings and entered the conference room. Once, seated in a comfortable chair, I began to review the recent trading transactions with Peter. The main topic of discussion was an unusual recent inquiry he’d had for the purchase of diamonds.

A few days ago a Middle Eastern gentleman came to the showroom to ask about buying an extraordinary amount, Peter began to explain through his thick Aussie accent. So I recommended if he was serious he should deal with you directly when you came to town

Did you detect anything to suggest he wasn’t serious? I asked.

"Not really. Just that it was an unusually large purchase to make at one time!’

How large are we talking about?

Six million dollars worth of the finest diamonds, complete with international certification papers.

I whistled. That’s big, all right. Is he thinking of opening a jewelry business?

Peter shrugged. That’s the strange part. He said he wants them as a personal investment, and he said he’d be arranging to have the funds available in Seattle when he meets with you.

At that moment, there was a light rapping at the office door. We both fell silent as Doreen, Peter’s secretary, entered. Sorry to interrupt your meeting, but there’s a gentleman by the name of Khalifi here to see you, Rod. He says he made an arrangement with Peter to meet with you when you came into town.

Peter turned to me, Rod, that’s who I was telling you about. He sure didn’t waste any time getting here.

Show him in, I told Doreen.

A few moments later, a tall handsome, dark-skinned, well-dressed Middle Eastern man carrying a large, black attaché case was shown into the room. He had a tense, energetic air about him and displayed a nervous smile as he introduced himself. I am Ahmed Khalifi. His words were inflected with the intonation of a heavy foreign accent. He proffered his hand to me and I shook it, noticing he had a firm strong grip I invited him to take a seat. As he did, he placed the attaché case on the conference table.

Khalifi addressed me. As Mr. Gordon has probably explained to you, I am looking to purchase a quantity of diamonds for personal investment.

Yes, Peter mentioned that, just before you came in. A figure in the region of six million dollars, I believe?

That is correct Khalifi’s reply was matter-of-fact—as though he was trying to convey the impression that he carried out such transactions on a regular basis.

I discreetly scrutinized the man seated before me and noticed that he had two thick scars to the left side ofhis jaw that resembled knife cuts. His hands were well callused, and certainly not indicative of his having the light handed life of a businessman.. But, decided that was none of my concern, and answered; "Getting you six million dollars worth of certified diamonds will take a couple of weeks to put together. How will you be

paying?"

With the most negotiable instrument of all, cash! Khalifi unlocked and opened the attaché case and turned it so I could see what was inside. It was filled with stacks of bundled and banded currency, all crisp one-hundred-dollar-bills, it appeared. This is one million dollars, which I will leave as a deposit of my good faith. The balance will be paid on completion of our transaction. Is that sufficient?

I was taken by surprise at the man’s nonchalance in entrusting me with a million dollars, but readily agreed to the arrangement. We can have a selection of certificate diamonds brought in by armored express from South Africa for you to see. Would two weeks from today be a satisfactory time for you to come in and view them?

Khalifi nodded and handed over the briefcase, That is satisfactory. Please count the money and let me have a receipt. I will bring the balance of the cash when we complete the transaction.

Peter, called in the company accounting staff, and together we carefully counted the money in the briefcase. The bundled one hundred dollars bills totaled to exactly one million dollars. I then called Doreen in and asked her to bring a receipt. I filled it out, signed it, and handed it to Khalifi.. He slipped the receipt into his pocket as casually as if I’d given him the directions to a restaurant on a scrap of paper and left the office without speaking another word.

What do you make of that? Peter asked as soon as the conference room door had closed behind Khalifi.

Strange, very strange. I was genuinely puzzled by the large purchase and Khalifi’s method of transaction. But that’s the diamond trade for you. I replied with quiet acceptance Peter, contact our South African suppliers and have a selection of certificate diamonds shipped directly to Seattle for him to choose from. I’ll fly back from Annapolis the day before the transaction goes through to help close the deal.

I said that, having given the situation special thought: Most of the business activities my company conducted were with retail jewelry stores. Even they, never usually purchased diamond parcels in excess of half a million dollars at any one time. This request for six million dollars of certificate diamonds, was exceptional and I thought it would be wise to be present and ensure that the sale transaction went through smoothly.

The next two weeks flew by, lost in a whirlwind of business activities.

I returned to Seattle, as scheduled, for the appointment with Khalifi and immediately went to our downtown offices to inspect that all was in place for our meeting the next day. At the offices, the salespeople were calmly going about their routine business activities and everything appeared to be proceeding normally. Peter approached and greeted me with a smile, he informed me that the shipment of certificate diamonds had arrived as planned. Then, leading me towards one of the showrooms, he told me that the diamonds had already been placed inside the glass showroom cabinets for display, and were ready to be viewed.

In the salesroom the selection of diamonds brought in for the occasion, sparkled beneath the clear glass of the display cabinets. Using gem tweezers to gain a firm hold on the precious stones, so as not to stain their surface with marks from my fingerprints. I carefully pulled out a few three-carat diamonds from their secured positions in the cabinet, and inspected them one-by-one. They were exquisite, some of the finest diamonds I had seen in many years, with excellent cut, color and clarity. If Khalifi were truly a diamond connoisseur, then he was certain to be impressed with the quality of the stones that would be set before him. I looked around the showroom: three armed and uniformed guards stood strategically, but discreetly, by the doorway and in opposite corners to protect the millions of dollars worth of precious gems throughout the office.

Satisfied that everything was in order, I complimented Peter on his good work and told him that I eagerly looked forward to the next day, to proceed with the transaction

The following day, right at noon, Khalifi arrived at the showroom. This time he was accompanied by two tall, powerfully built men, whom he introduced as his bodyguards. The two escorts wore expensive looking business suits. I viewed the two men and concluded that they looked way out of place in their tailored clothing. One had disheveled uncombed hair and wore a tie that had slipped sideways from the collar, he was introduced to me as Jamel. The other man had a shaved bald head, his muscles bulged tightly against the restraints of his clothing, almost as though he was about to rip out of them and get into a wrestling ring, his name was Abrahim. They were both carrying large, weighty briefcases in each hand. Khalifi led his men into the room carrying a fifth briefcase. In the showroom Khalifi ordered the bodyguards to place the briefcases on a counter and to open them. Each was filled to the brim with new $100 bills, packaged as it had been with his down payment.

The balance of five million dollars, Khalifi said, with a flourish of his hand towards the money, a smug tone in his voice. Now let me see the diamonds.

Peter, once again called in the accounting staff to check on the money in the cases. While Peter was occupied with that task, I guided the buyer and his men towards the gemstone displays that had been prepared for his viewing.

Khalifi proved to be quite knowledgeable about diamonds. He examined each stone with a discerning eye, picking some to purchase while laying others aside, until he had completed his selection of the sparkling gems. I totaled the price of each diamond. The full amount comes to five million, nine hundred eighty-six thousand dollars. I fingered one of the stacks of bills in an open case. I’ll count out your fourteen thousand dollars in change.

Khalifi casually waved off my gesture. There is no need to do that. Keep the difference on account for future transactions. He gave a bellowing laugh and slapped me warmly on the shoulder. I am satisfied with my purchase. Are you content with the amount contained in the briefcases?

I glanced over towards Peter and the staff from the accounts department completing the task of counting the bills. Peter responded with the high sign of his thumb to indicate that the funds were in order, I turned back towards Khalifi; Yes, I am. I handed over the certificates to the diamonds and a receipt for the transaction.

After Khalifi had left the showroom with his men, I let out a breath and turned to Peter Gordon and asked him to gather together the full compliment of the twenty employees in the office, This kind of deal is so rare an occurrence, I think everyone should get something to remember it by.

I walked over to the counter, counted out twenty five thousand dollars from a money-stuffed briefcase, and distributed the money as a bonus to Peter and all the office employees. I then instructed two of the guards to accompany Peter to the bank while he deposited the money into the company account.

What bonus are you giving yourself, Rod? Peter asked teasingly, apparently happy with his own bonus

I smiled at him, pleased with the simplicity of the transaction we had just witnessed, and the profits we had made. Well, today is Thursday, I’m going to catch the cruise ship to Victoria city, on Vancouver Island this evening, and spend the weekend sightseeing. I’m going to enjoy doing something I haven’t done for a while: drinking high tea at the Empress Hotel and exploring Bouchart Gardens. I’ll be back here Monday afternoon. I laughed, relieved that all had gone so well, and being able to take a well earned break.

CHAPTER 2

That evening, Peter dropped me off at Pier 69, to catch the cruise ship leaving for Victoria via the San Juan Islands. The large leaf-green boat was the same olden ferry that I had climbed aboard twenty years earli- er—when I had undertaken my first exploratory voyage to the Canadian island. The rust was beginning to show along the railings and sides of the boat giving a clear indication of its aged, though charismatic, service over the Puget Sound.

As I strolled up the gangplank among a throng of eager sightseers, children racing one another to be first on board and elderly couples shuffling along, I glanced back and noticed a strikingly beautiful woman a short distance behind me. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. She had dark brown hair flowing over her shoulders and surrounding a face tanned golden. Her shapely body and exquisite legs showed to excellent advantage beneath a thin, knee-length cotton dress in a bold floral print. She strode with a smooth, elegant gait that reminded me of a world-class fashion model treading a runway to show off this season’s haute couture.

The woman looked at me, and our eyes met briefly. As remarkable as she was, it was her eyes that really completed the whole package: blue, of the color of the ocean at twilight, fathomless, and penetrating. As though embarrassed by the encounter —and of my frank appraisal of her—she quickly looked away and hurried past me onto the boat.

The ships’ whistle blasted out a loud steamed toot to indicate we were about to leave the pier. Overhead, the gulls began wheeling. People on the pier began to wave as the ship slipped off the ropes tethering it to the harbor moorings and throttled its engines to maneuver its way into the Puget Sound.

I stood by the rails as the ship’s bow slowly carved its way through gentle swells as it began the seventy-one mile journey to Vancouver Island. I watched as the Seattle skyline slowly disappeared into the distance, the view of the tall buildings gave way to more natural scenic surroundings, of small islands and the ocean.. A chill breeze steadily blowing into the Puget Sound briefly made me shiver as the boat maneuvered out of the bay.

A gaggle of other passengers promenaded on the deck, enjoying the sights. I smiled with them, following the antics of a pair of youngsters as they skipped by, and my gaze fell upon the woman I had seen earlier. She stood alone at the rails, about thirty feet from me, staring out at the view. Her simple cotton dress, too light for the time of year, clung to her body in a stiff breeze, outlining a magnificent figure.

I was tempted to walk over and talk to her, but recalled her earlier embarrassment when our eyes had met. So I resisted, and returned my attention to the play of sunlight, striking the water as though it had been cut with a million facets by a master jeweler.

An hour out of Seattle, the boat passed a pod of killer whales, frolicking in and out of the waves, they looked like oversized dolphins painted by a color-blind artist. A few miles farther along, we came across traditional Orca prey: a family of seals basking off to the side of the boat. They appeared to be disturbed by the huge wake stirred up by the cruise liner, or perhaps they sensed the presence of hunters nearby. In any case, they energetically began swimming away from us, towards more placid waters.

After four-and-a-half hours, Vancouver Island hove into sight. The contrasting outlines of the old and modern buildings of the city of

Victoria slowly became more defined until they reared up, large as life, creating an impressive cityscape. The liner slowed its engines as we neared the old harbor port in the inner city and began its docking procedure.

Once docked on the island, I collected my small suitcase and disembarked with the chattering crowd. Walking the short distance across the street from the harbor towards the vine covered building of the historic Empress hotel, I looked around the throng of tourists to see if the beautiful woman in the floral dress was amongst them. I couldn’t see her, and wistfully hoped that I would catch sight of her once more.

I checked into the Empress Hotel. As I was filling out the registration card, I suddenly noticed and was pleasantly surprised to see the woman from the boat enter into the hotel and take a place standing in line behind me at the lobby with her overnight bag. I began to wonder about her, as it occurred to me that it was unusual for such a beautiful woman to be traveling alone.

My thoughts were briefly interrupted by the hotel receptionist completing the registration formalities and handing me a key and the directions to my room. I wanted to get a good night’s rest as a I had a full day of activities planned for the next day, which included walking and exploring the world’s most perfect and beautiful floral park; the Bouchart gardens; situated a few miles outside the city. So, I went straight to bed and fell into a relaxed night’s sleep.

The next morning I took the crowded tour bus to Bouchart Gardens. The sightseeing vehicle was a quaint looking imported English double Decker bus, and I found a place to sit on the top level. Looking at the passengers below still making their way into the bus, I saw that the beautiful woman from the boat had caught the same tour. She looked very different this time. She wore sunglasses,