Up on the ancient mound of Armageddon, we could see Nazareth to the east, Mount Tabor, and the pass down to the Mediterranean. We were surrounded by, in fact atop the scene of many ancient and terrible battles. It wasnÂ’t for nothing John of Patmos in his cave settled on Armageddon as the place where the world would end. It had been doing that on a regular basis there for centuries.

The sky was afire, blood red and terrible overhead. It looked great, very apocalyptic. But Garo needed someone to shoot amid the ancient wreckage of 16 cities, and I needed someone to quote. I caught a flash of black in the corner of my eye, a caped figure bounding across the old fallen stones at some distance.

“Look, it’s the Angel of Death,” I said. “Let’s go get him.”

By the time we ran him down in among some rocks, he had taken the form of a long-haired, heavily tattooed, Bible-quoting car park attendant from Albuquerque. I asked if he was here waiting for the End Times, for the Great Final Battle between Good and Evil. He gave me a look like I didn’t get it, and said, “That’s been going on for some time. It’s going on all around us. You just can’t see it.”

Garo and I gave each other a look. It was a time of relative contentment, prosperity, no trouble on the horizon. In the much-fought-over Holy Land, it looked like peace was possible between Israelis, the Palestinians and even the Syrians. Religious violence seemed to have expired in Ireland. Even the millennial terrorist attacks that scared off the expected mass pilgrimage had failed to materialize. It was all a lark. Trouble, violence, slaughter all things of the past. We were having a good time. But our tattooed friend up on the ancient tel at Armageddon was right. The battle was raging.