The Final Hour

Copyright 2006 Grassroots Group Press, USA Due to the obviously inflammatory nature of some of the material contained in this book it was deemed to be impractical to sell this book in the commercial marketplace, however, after much consideration and discussion with the author, we have all agreed that it is too important a work to discard. Therefore, it is the intent of the Grassroots Group Press publishing firm and the author that this book be made available to everyone free of charge. Not one jot, tittle, or iota, of any part of this book may be changed. It must be distributed exactly as it is now. This book may be distributed, free of charge, by anyone, anywhere, and in any format which is convenient for the person doing the distributing. It may be given away on CDs, on thumb-drives, in printed form, as pdf documents for download from the internet, audio files, audio tapes, audio disks, etc. In short, give this book away to anyone you wish to give it to. There is no limit to the number of people that you may give this book to; nor are there any proscriptions on the ways in which you may make it available to others except that it must be free of charge.

Hellfire
Before all was the Void. God spoke. The Universe began.

Satan swept his bejeweled, claw-like, hand over the empire before him, an empire that had its roots before the dawn of the known Universe; his empire! He swelled with lunatic pride as his sweep took in the seemingly endless multitudes of wretched souls that painfully labored at various oppressive chores and sufferings for which there would never be an end. Some of the damned were simultaneously, and perpetually, drowning and burning alive in hot, bubbling sulfur pits. Periodically their blackened, charred, hemorrhaging bodies would surface and gurgling screams of agony would erupt from scabrous throats as they coughed up lungs full of molten sulfur. Others, on the ground, were forever caught in unpredictable blasts of flame and foul-smelling gases jetting into the air from subterranean furnaces; screaming, frantic-eyed, and incessantly running around on burnt and bleeding stumps, madly seeking escape only to endlessly stumble and fall upon yet another fiery blast from the bowels of their Masters furnaces. Yet more terrified prisoners of this nightmarish realm were chained to boulders, their naked, writhing bellies exposed to the sharp beaks and claws of the innumerable ravenous vultures that couldnt be troubled to wait for the deaths (which relief would never come) of their horrified victims before tearing the living flesh off of them in feverish gulps; eviscerating their hapless prey, bloody gobs of intestine dangling from wicked bills while they eyed the next area of attack -- like a petulant child picking over the food on his dinner plate and trying to decide which morsel to stab next with his fork. Ahh, Satan inwardly sighed to himself, existence was truly wonderful! One day he would have every single one of Gods bratty little souls here, in his kingdom and God -- that overrated old fool -- would be transformed into his well deserved and long overdue footstool. Turning to his fellow (and lesser) Angels he completed his arms sweep and, with a leathery and fanged grin, he gloated, My brothers, our day is coming! Look how many of Gods beloved little rats are trapped in our maze; from which there is no exit! Pausing, to wipe a phlegmy yellow-green exudate from his desiccated lips and chin, he continued, As you all know, the time is coming when He will send His little boy again. He scanned the assorted gathering with fiery red-coal eyes, daring any of them to even imagine disappointing him. In the meantime we must grab our brooms, as we have done in the past, and sweep all belief in Him from their puny little minds

and throw it onto the trash-heap, where such garbage belongs. He knew that they would succeed! God was such a fool! He, Satan, would be victorious! He, who had been Heavens brightest star, would bring God crashing down but, first, he would torment the Almighty by capturing and torturing every single one of His bratty creatures. Only then would he turn and deliver the death blow to the undeserving maggot that infected the throne of Creation; the throne that would soon be his -- forever! Holding both of his clawed hands high in the putrid, stench-filled, smoky air of Hell, Satan bellowed to his followers, We will crush the worms that He loves so much and then we will crush Him! Beating his fists on the heads of a couple of shrieking sufferers that were chained up on either side of his hellish throne, he shouted, Crush the worms! Crush the worms! Crush the worms! The demons of Hell all took up the chant and soon the fiendish cacophony was so incredibly loud that, even on Earth, some of the deranged street-people, lurching down the sidewalks and streets of various cities around the world, could be heard to loudly proclaim, Crush the worms! Crush the worms! Passersby heard only isolated incidences and thought nothing more of it than the usual rantings that they had learned to shut out and ignore. Across the face of the Earth various politicians, doctors, lawyers, teachers, et.al., heard a fleeting snippet of Crush the worms and they individually wondered what new radio advertisement was irritatingly passing through their heads, hoping that it wasnt one of those Madison Avenue jingles that would form an ineradicable closed-loop, torturing them for the next few days or weeks -- popping, unbidden, into their minds at the worst possible times and then mercilessly playing over and over again until they were ready for whatever diversion that would stop it. Existence was, if not good, at least enjoyable for Satan and his various Division Commanders, Lieutenants, and other subordinates. They had a mission -- a history to correct -- and things were going well so far.

Chapter 2

Worms
In a darkened alley of an especially corrupt city, a mugger froze right in the middle of raping the pretty young woman that he had robbed, beaten, and dragged down the dirty, rat-infested, brick-lined corridor -- of which this particular city had countless others. Havens for the human flotsam and jetsam that appeared so out of place in the bright lights of the main thoroughfares. He smiled at the new ditty echoing in his head, Crush the worms, and then he finished the job at hand, with just a little more enthusiasm -- if that were possible. The young woman barely even moaned anymore through her now broken teeth and shattered jaw -- she was nearly comatose from the savagery of the beating that the tattooed, greasy-haired punk had given her. The punk wound up, like a pitcher at the mound, and let fly a left hook at the side of her head. It landed with a loud thunk but it didnt elicit any more reactions from the dying woman. With one final guttural grunt the rancid-smelling reprobate gleefully spent the last of his monstrous urges. For good measure he twisted her neck just like his Dad had forced him to do to the turkey that the family had one fine Thanksgiving Day. Her earlier whimpers and begging to be allowed to live thrilled him; reminding him of how his mother and sisters had whined and begged just before he had killed them in the same way while they were tied to chairs in the farmhouses damp and moldy-smelling dirt-floored basement. Zipping up his pants, he danced a little jig and, with a scratchy and dissonant voice, he croaked the words to the new song filling his drug and syphilis-rotted gray matter, Crush the worms! Crush the worms! Crush the worms! Snorting cocaine off of the back of his bloodied, grease and oil stained, mechanics hand, he merrily skipped towards the mouth of the alley and towards new customers for his nightly lube n tunes in his private all night shop. Crush the worms! Crush the worms! Crush the

Chapter 3

Everyday Things
Hmmm, that smells good, David James said to Sarah, his wife of eighteen years. Honey, I dont know how you do it. Everything you make always seems like its coming out of a gourmet restaurant! Do you have a catering service that secretly hands you pre-made stuff through the back door? He knew better, but he couldnt resist baiting her. Sarah eyed him with an equal amount of mischief and warning, saying, Watch yourself there, Sir Galahad, or you may end up with a spatula permanently stuck in one ear and then youll have to lean over sideways in order to flip your pancakes; which you will have to do if you dont shut up while youre ahead! David laughed heartily and ducked her slow motion pantomime of her mock threat. Her eyes sparkled with mirth. She seemed to love him more each day. Life wasnt just good, but it seemed to get even better with each passing day. Oh, they had their ups and downs, just like most married couples, but they had something that many lacked; God. They both fervently believed that the secret to their marital success was a mutual belief in God. They were both devout Christians and they had invited God to be the boss in their marriage, on their wedding day, almost two decades before. Jesus was a name that, in their home, got far more than the mere token mention that He got in most other homes. David and Sarah were members of a relatively small community of believers that actually believed. The James family, composed of David, Sarah, and two children (one boy, one girl), believed in Jesus -- in their heart of hearts. They werent overly overt about their belief, but they werent silent either. The family policy was to keep an open eye and ear out to different situations and then, when it seemed appropriate, the conversation would be steered towards religion and whatever family member was involved would then wait to gauge the other persons reaction. If the reaction wasnt negative, then the conversation would continue down that road; otherwise it would be dropped, perhaps till another time. After dodging the sham spatula attack David bravely stood his ground while Sarah wrapped her arms around his slightly widening middle and kissed him on the lips. Leaning back slightly, to bring his face into better focus, she beamed at him, thinking how much she loved this now middle-aged executive of a small, country dairy-operation. Sweetheart, she crooned, while running her slender fingers through his graying brown hair, why dont we leave the kids with Jim and Suzy this weekend and go sailing on Lake Pleasant? The rental fees for a forty-five footer are real reasonable -- I checked. The kids would enjoy playing with the Harris kids She gazed into his still handsome face, expectantly, hoping to see agreement. Sarah needed to be selfish sometimes. She needed to be able to cuddle him and love on him without any competition; from any quarter. Sometimes she just needed to soak him up,

completely! David lovingly gazed at her while affectionately pulling her to him with a hand in the small of her back. Thoughts of the tentative meeting with the church elders encroached on the edges of his mind. Sarah was still a strong draw, though. Even after three children she was nearly as athletically sculpted as she had been when he had first met her. Except for some tiny wrinkles around her eyes and a slight change in the texture of her hands, she was as beautiful and attractive as she had been in High School; where he first met and began courting her. Honey, he soothed, gingerly, trying not to spoil the magic of the moment, I cant think of anything that I would rather do right now. Feeling her imperceptibly tense, he added, while gently nuzzling her cheek and nibbling on her earlobe, You know I want to, Hon, but there may be other considerations Taking her hand, he led her upstairs while telling her, Honey, this weekend may not be the right one for our getaway, but I can guarantee you that, if this weekend doesnt work out for us, we wont be delayed for long. In fact, he said, holding her face in both of his hands, Ill give you a no-money-down preview, right now! Laughing, Sarah relented. OK, you big bear! You talked your way out of this one; for now! So lets see this preview of yours Whew, Sarah sighed, propping herself up on one elbow to better see her husband, lying on the bed next to her. You sure know how to get a girls attention! If thats just the preview, she exclaimed, brushing an errant blond hair out of her face, I dont know if I would survive the main event! David chuckled at his wifes outrageous compliment. You know, he said, we should stop meeting like this. What will the neighbors start thinking? Me home from work early and nobody out mowing the lawn or weeding or anything like that Sarah blushed slightly at his innuendo of their neighbors opinions of them. She pretended a horrified look, saying, The answer is obvious, well never do anything other than gardening, ever again! Thats my brave girl, David intoned with feigned solemnity. After all, too many weeds in the garden is a dead giveaway of whats going on upstairs, eh? Sarah blushed again, despite herself. OK, Mr. Gardener, she accused, since this problem is obviously mainly of your making -- Now hold on there, David interrupted, defending himself. Oh no you dont, you poor excuse for a gardener, she countered, not budging. Since youre the defender of the faith and my virtue, etc., you just got yourself a weeding job! Sarah smiled, feeling herself to be the winner in this round of staged battles. David huffed and puffed and then, caving in the inevitable, he moaned, Why is it that no matter how big a guy is, the woman always wins? OK, Hon, Ill do some weeding, but theyre going to know what went on anyway

She kissed her husband on the cheek and got out of bed, disappointed about the likelihood of their getaway being delayed, but happy in the knowledge that they still loved each other. Oh well, if the outing didnt come together this weekend, there would be other opportunities. Sarah smiled to herself, thinking about how their gameplaying hadnt changed much since the early days, when they first married.

Chapter 4

Highways
The driver of the big rig signaled his intended lane change to the hammer lane, the fast lane. The car in front of him had trapped him for about five minutes now, while heavy traffic passed by, without pause, in the leftmost lane. Seeing that it was safe to do so, he gradually eased his eighteen-wheeler into the fast lane. Floating the gears, he did a clutch-less downshift into ninth gear for greater acceleration while passing. As he began passing the aging Lincoln Town car he discovered that, unsurprisingly, the car, which had been doing a sedate fifty-seven, was now doing sixty-four. The driver pushed the rig fast enough to shift to tenth gear; the final one. He was now doing sixty-eight, within about one mile per hour of the programmed engine limit. He glanced down, in his passenger mirror, and saw that it was an old woman driving the Lincoln; probably in her early seventies. The driver wondered for the thousandth time why it was that not only four-wheelers, but other big-rigs as well, would plug along like snails until the moment that he pulled out to pass them and then they would push the petal to the metal and all of a sudden they were Mario Andretti. Unseen by either of the drivers was a common passenger in many of the highways vehicles; an imp. One of Satans demons; a lessor demon, to be sure, but a demon nonetheless. Sitting, naked, on the old womans shoulder, the imp shouted into her ear that she shouldnt let some scummy, loudmouthed, smelly, ill-educated truck driver pass her. She was his better and who in the Hell did he think he was, anyway, having the effrontery to pass her? She, unlike some smelly truck driver, was a regular churchgoer. She not only attended the Riverfront Baptist Church every Sunday, but she was also a big contributor, a board member, and she was in the choir! The truck driver sighed in frustration. Fortunately there was no line of traffic behind him, right now, and he could take his time completing this passing maneuver. When traffic did pile up behind him it usually consisted of cars full of very economical people; he knew they were parsimonious because when traffic finally did go around him the occupants would wave with only one finger; their stingiest usage of their fingers. Why waste five fingers when one would do? He wondered -- if people were so miserly with a wave -- how they treated their children, or their parents, or their wives, or husbands. On two-laners slowpokes would drive on the shoulder to let him pass and, as he had come to expect, as soon as he would speed up to get past them -- voil -- they were suddenly Formula One race-car drivers. Inevitably, after he passed them they would resume their former slug-like crawl, i.e., until the next arrogant moron had the audacity to try to pass them. It never seemed to matter if the slow-mover was four-wheeler or another big rig, the result was the same Satanic game; as he had come to think of it. Little did he know how

close to the truth that was. Satan had whole divisions of Lieutenants, responsible for untold tens of thousands of lesser demons, whose sole purpose in existence was to perpetuate the sick game of how dare you pass me, you stupid slob! Sometimes the demons would get spread kind of thin, but people would then come through like the troopers that they were and they would remember the game in its entirety, even when there werent enough imps to sit in every vehicle and shout imprecations about the other drivers into their ears. Once trained, most people simply continued along the path of least resistance. In this way Satan and his Lieutenants had established a nearly self-perpetuating system. Show people, a few times, how to react in a given situation and they were forever trained. Sometimes, except for the occasional real Christian, it all got kind of boring -just routine. Oh well, business was business, even if it wasnt always as challenging as it could be. The Driver turned his rig into the Big Western Truck Stop on Interstate 10. He fueled, signed the fuel-ticket, got back in his rig and looked for a place to park. Grabbing his tote-bag and a clean change of clothes, he headed for the showers. Afterwards he grabbed a booth in the truck-stops restaurant. Nursing a coffee, he idly listened to snippets of conversations from surrounding tables while his waitress posted his order on the stainless-steel wheel mounted above the cooks countertop. Yah, thats right, he heard a Driver drawl, the scumbag plugged him right tween the eyes. Clean as an arrow through a bowl of jello! The patter played back and forth, endlessly. It didnt matter which Drivers or which truck-stop it was, the Drivers always had something to talk about. Talking seemed to relieve the stress and boredom born of hours of solitude; cooped up with nothing but the road and the CB for company. After refilling his mug a couple of times, the waitress brought his order. He snagged the server as she was turning to leave and he asked her if something had happened here, recently. He normally tuned out most of the hubbub, but this time it sounded as if something bad might have happened. The waitress responded that a Quick Express Driver had been murdered a few days before, about nine in the morning. Apparently, as she related what she had heard, an anonymous Driver, somewhere in the parking lot, had used his CB radio to instigate a fight between two other Drivers. The mystery Driver had lied and told the murderer that he was in the Quick Express truck and that he was pulling in beside him right now, to kick his butt all over the parking lot. When the real Quick Express Driver pulled into a spot beside the Downy Freight truck, the Downy Freight Driver grabbed his gun, jumped out, ran around the front of his truck, and shot and killed the Quick Express Driver as he got out and turned around to head for the restaurant. The police, after hearing the murderers account, checked out the dead Drivers cab and they found that there wasnt any CB in his truck. They would later find out that the dead man had a repair-shop ticket in his wallet. His CB had been in the shop since three days before and it was ready now, but the Driver wouldnt be returning for

it. When the police later confronted the murderer -- now in temporary lockup at County -- about the fact that the dead man didnt have a CB, the Downy Express Driver swore that he did. He went on about how the other guy had insulted his mothers name, his birth status, etc., and he had even accused him of being Gay! Of course the other guy had a CB hed said; how else could he have harassed him like he did? Did they think he was stupid? Did they think that he would have shot another Driver without a really good reason?

Another job well done! Satan was especially fond of murders of this nature. The innocence of the murder victim always made this kind of triumph that much sweeter to him. Blood! Innocent blood -- a heady brew indeed! So much better than even the finest of aged wines. Nothing else could compare to this sanguinary aperitif. When Satan did his routine reviews of the Divisions assigned to Roads and Highways he would become almost orgasmic in his delight over their results. Roads and Highways was one of his biggest successes. He just wished that he could get some of the other Divisions to match these levels of victories, although, he was working on that -- he had a number of Division Commanders in retraining camps. Why they screamed so much he just didnt understand. Personally, he thought the camps were rather well accoutered, if a little Spartan. They had all of the finest shackles, chains, whips, burning and cutting instruments, etc. -- he just didnt see what all of the fuss was about. After all, he could have sent them to some really nasty camps. At least there they would be tortured with a modicum of respect. It wasnt as if he didnt care about them. Ahh, the ingrates that one had to put up with! The bloodthirsty mystery Driver, who had anonymously orchestrated the killing of an innocent man by way of his CB radio, was now seven hundred miles down the road and he suddenly burst out cackling like the madman that he was. The imp standing on his shoulder crazily tittered also, while urinating into his ear.

Chapter 5

Daddy
Daddy, Jimmy moaned, rubbing his sleepy eyes, I cant sleep. David James looked up from the living-room sofa. Everyone else smiled with sympathetic humor; they had all been through this themselves with their own children. He looked to Sarah, hoping that she would take his place and get Jimmy back to bed so that he could stay and participate with the group. She gave him that look, the one that said, Honey, hes your son! You know too well he wants you! He doesnt want any substitutes! David looked at his son -- five years old -- standing there in his flannel Yogi Bear pajamas and his heart melted. OK, tiger, come on, lets go upstairs and get you a glass of water. He lifted little Jimmy up to his chest and gave everyone else a resigned wave as he went up the stairs. Will you tell me a story too? Huh, Daddy? Well, well see...., but first lets get that glass of water. Daddy, whats rupsur? Mmm, David pondered, running the word through his built-in child-speak to adult-speak program. Lets see He tugged the blankets back up so he could cover his son. sounds like you mean the Rapture -- Yeah, thats it! Jimmy exclaimed. So, whats that? Well, Tick -- Hey, Jimmy chided his father, his little face scrunching up at the memory of it, you called me that in front of Bobby and he keeps teasing me! Oh. David had stepped in that one. You never, never, called your children by their nicknames in front of their friends -- big faux pas! Sorry about that, Squirt, I promise it wont happen again. Well, OK Jimmy loved his Daddy, even when he did stupid stuff like calling him Tick in front of Bobby Werznick. Bobby was his best friend but he could be a real

tease sometimes. Daddy said he called him Tick because he had Jimmy under his skin and he couldnt get him out. Jimmy thought that sounded really gross -- like the time Tommy Cooper ate some rabbit poop on a dare -- but he knew his Daddy loved him and so he let him call him whatever he wanted to so long as he told him a bedtime story. Lets seewhere were we David mused. The rapsur, Daddy! Oh yes, the Rapture. Well, according to the Bible, the day will come when God will separate the believers out of the world. Hell meet them in the air -- In the air? Gosh! You mean ....I.....Im stuck. The air? David smiled. Jimmy wasnt alone. Christians the world over kind of got stuck on that one -- to say the least. The consensus was that there was no consensus. Well, Tick, thats a tough one for most big people too. Enoch, Elijah, and Jesus -- after his resurrection -- all disappeared or floated up into the sky. Personally, I believe that we will all literally float up into the clouds and meet with Jesus. Seeing believers float up into the sky will be a powerful witness to the unbelievers who are left behind. Wow! Jimmy exclaimed with obvious wonder. Will it be cold up there, Daddy? No, Squirt, I dont think God will let us be cold. That wont be a problem. What if its raining when we float up there? Wont we get all wet and catch colds, huh Daddy? Jimmy warmed Davids heart with his guileless innocence. No, even if its raining when the Rapture happens, Jesus wont let us get wet. God will put an invisible umbrella over us. Gosh Daddy, thats really cool! Jimmy furrowed his brow, worrying. What about Mommy and Sissy? Will they be going too? I dont want to go up there without Mommy and Sissy! David chuckled. Dont worry, Squirt, God knows each one of us and we all know and love Him. I think its safe to say that you, me, Mommy, and Sissy will all be together when the Rapture happens! Daddy, Im tired now. David brushed his sons auburn-colored hair away from his forehead. He loved Jimmy more and more each day. His children, his wife, his friends, were all proof of Gods mighty Grace -- that God would so reward him who had stumbled so many countless times. He tugged the covers up around the precious bundle that the Almighty had loaned him. He kissed Jimmy on the forehead and headed for the door.

Goodnight, Squirt. I love you Tick! You have sweet dreams. See you in the morning. Daddy, leave the door open a little bit, will you? Sure thing, Tick. Dont forget to say goodnight to God, too. I wont, Daddy. I love you Daddy! I love you too, Squirt! As David James descended the stairs he could hear Pastor Tom -- just Tom, to most of the people who knew him -- talking to the gathering. Sarah was quietly making the rounds, passing out sandwiches and coffee from a tray. David was suddenly aware that he was famished. Catching her eye, he silently signaled that he was starving. She winked at him and began making her way around the room to where he was standing. Sarah kissed him on the cheek and held out the sandwich tray. David grabbed a turkey sandwich and sipped some fresh coffee. I dont doubt the wisdom of what you say, Isaac Johannsen said, dabbing a driblet of mustard from his nearly white beard. However, I am concerned that we, as Christians, may mistakenly end up just lying down and letting them run over us like they did to the Jews. Heads around the cozy living room nodded in mutual concern. Pastor Tom held up a placating hand while his piercing brown eyes took in each member of the small group. Lowering his head in silence, praying and gathering his thoughts before proceeding, he said, Isaac, friends, I think its safe to say that we are all pretty much of a like mind here. I agree that we have to prepare ourselves for at least a few of the different eventualities. Its true that the early Hebrew writings were more literal than many modern translations and some things just didnt translate as perfectly as we might have wished, however, as Christians, we are compelled to walk a fine line. Pausing to sip some of his coffee, he continued, Even though it appears that the commandment against killing was actually a commandment against murder, we should err on the side of compassion and grace. Perhaps we might better approach the coming apocalyptic times by storing food, water, medical supplies, and such things. In addition, but really above all else, we should improve our prayer lives and get closer to God before the final day does come. Perhaps it would be a good idea to have some means to defend ourselves, but there can not be any more sure and certain armor than that provided by a close relationship with Jesus. If we lack a relationship with God then we are lost and defeated before the enemy even arrives. We certainly dont want to be branded with the Mark of the Beast, nor do we want to gain our earthly lives by bowing down to the Antichrist. Albeit, if we are to arm ourselves for self-defense then let our stockpiles of ammunition be faith, devotion, perseverance, and daily prayer. Remember that in the Old Testament battles that Gods Chosen fought, they

would win when their hearts were with God, and they would lose when their hearts were not fully with Him; even though they possessed the Ark of the Covenant. I think that we should always bear that in mind while we are preparing for tough times. What bullet can defend us if God is not with us? Silent tears ran down Maria Johannsens light brown cheeks as she envisioned the unholy turmoils that were heading down the road towards the worlds peoples -believers and unbelievers alike. The thought of the Antichrists henchmen torturing their innocent children felt like some strongman was tearing her heart in two, like they did with phone-books, when they were showing off at exhibitions. She squeezed Isaacs big hand and tried to will the horrifying images from her mind. Isaac, knowing the anguish that Maria was feeling, kissed her on her wet cheek and put his arm around her. He, too, knew the mind-numbing atrocities that were coming. His gut tightened, like that of a veteran fighter awaiting the sledgehammer blow that might put him down for the count. Isaac silently prayed that Maria and the children would be spared. He would have prayed that he could be damned so that they might be saved, but he knew that God would just tell him, again, that each must choose for themselves. None could stand before God for another. Each would have to answer for himself. These were the times of the bittersweet scroll. The times of, both, some of the greatest suffering ever known to Man and some of the most divine revelations ever experienced. Those who remained after the Rapture would, with a certainty, face the prospect of a Hell on Earth such as no one had ever known before; while still living. As strong a man as Isaac was, he couldnt prevent tears from welling up in his eyes, as well. Surely, even for the Elect, these times would contain some of the most agony-filled days that history would ever record.

Chapter 6

Fireside
The small group of thirteen white-robed men sat on logs around the modest fire. The stars, visible from their vantage point on the Mount of Olives, were spectacular in their brilliance. The night was lit up with an other-worldly-glow that the stars, alone, could not account for. Master, one of the men asked, what will the end days be like? Jesus warmly regarded Matthew. The end days, he answered, will be like no days that ever were before, nor shall ever be again. In those days men will eat the flesh of men and plagues and disasters will descend upon the face of the Earth like a rain in a never ending storm. For the many there will be no respite but only the prospects of an ever increasing and more violent tempest. The faint of heart will perish at the mere sight of some of these events. Others will envy those that had just passed. Jesus stirred the dimming coals of the fire and put on a few more of the sticks that they had collected. These twelve had a special place in His heart, for, of the many, they had stayed with Him and still loved Him. These, but one, would be the foundation stones for His churches, after He was gone on to His Father. Jesus looked Heavenward and the others followed his gaze. I look not to the stars, my friends, but to the Father, for it is He that gives my mouth the words to answer you with. He looked around the gathered disciples. But for Judas Iscariot, they were all rapt in their attention. John stared at Jesus. It never ceased to amaze him that it seemed that one could look out upon the very universe itself when looking into His eyes. Of a certainty, there were no other eyes like this in all of the Earth. Just being near Him made John feel as if he was near some otherworldly power that was held in check by only the most gossamer-like of fabrics. A power that seemed to make the very air itself vibrate in obeisance. John had never before felt such depth of love for another as he felt for this powerhouse that one moment could give a blind man sight and then, the next trice, would humbly wash their feet as if he were the lowliest of servants. Jesus caught his gaze upon him and continued, Many will seek me but few will find me. While I shine like a beacon in the darkness, many will be blind and will be dashed to pieces on the rocks. I will shout from the mountain tops and many will be deaf. I will reach out to the weary and many will fall short of my grasp for lack of limbs. In those days the proud will be debased and the humble will be raised up. In the end days, were it not for Gods love for his only begotten Son, my heart would break in two and all of Creation would end. But for the Fathers infinite love and grace, none would survive. Those who love me the most will suffer the most, for, even though anothers hand might not touch some of them, they will share the grief of my nearly breaking heart. They shall know my pain and they shall join me in my sorrow.

Jesus stood, walked a short way, and bowed his head in silence. Peter worried. He didnt understand everything that he heard and a lot of it scared him to the bone. He shivered even though it was a warm evening and there were no breezes. Sometimes he found himself yearning for the simplicity of the fishermans life that he had left behind not so long ago. Life with Jesus had been such a whirlwind -- a tornado, even! Sometimes his head ached with such severity that he would look around to see who was so mercilessly hammering his skull, but no one was ever there. He was free to leave and return to his former life anytime he wanted, but every time he tried to walk away he couldnt make his feet move. He was sometimes of two hearts, but his love for Jesus overruled his love for his past occupation on the sea. Peter rubbed his arms, hoping to assuage the sudden chill that was in him. Jesus returned and put his hand on Peters shoulder. Peters throbbing headache vanished and the cold chills that had been coursing through him were gone. He felt warmed, as though the fire were now behind him instead of in front of him and at his feet. Walking back to his former spot around the fire, Jesus went on, In the end days those who will not share the supper of bitter herbs with the Son shall not enter the Fathers house. The Shepherd shall mourn over his lost sheep and his companions shall weep with him. Verily, I say unto you that he who will follow me shall suffer as I suffer, else the hardness of their hearts shall loudly betray their mockeries. Thomas shifted in his place on the log. He was uneasy. He didnt like the future that Jesus talked about; it frightened him. Like Peter, though, he too could not leave. He was a fellow prisoner of his love for this mighty man that so towered over all others. Thomas was a practical man. He didnt believe in gold until the moment that his teeth confirmed the unmistakable softness and taste of the real metal, although, he could not doubt the authenticity of this majestic figure before him. He had seen, with his own eyes, the things that others only talked about. This, undeniably, was the Messiah that the ancient writings had talked about. Judas wondered how much longer He would prattle on about such esoteric nonsense. The community purse was weighing on the cord around his waist and he was getting anxious for everyone to go to sleep so he could sneak off and add some of the money to his hidden nest egg; which was growing at a very satisfying rate. Often, while Jesus was talking to the crowds, some of the listeners would approach Judas -- knowing that he was with Jesus -- and they would give him donations. Offerings frequently gleaned from poverty; at great expense to the givers. Judas would -- with a solemn face -- accept the hard-won contributions, graciously thanking the givers, all the while thinking about the vineyards and servants he would buy with the coins these fools so easily parted with. He impatiently kicked at pebbles lying on the ground near his feet, silently willing this unbearable babble to end. Jesus saw a glimpse of Judas hand dipping bread in the same bowl as himself. His time on this Earth was shortening. He pitied Judas, for He knew what must be and the end that Judas would come to. His heart felt heavy and He shed a tear for the one He loved that would soon betray Him.

If you will be with me, then share this table of tears that I set before you in my heart. Come feast with me and drink of these bittersweet days. He who loves me shall feel as I feel else they be condemned by the Father for their emptiness. Stirred by the powerful emotions emanating from Him, they wept -- but for one.

Chapter 7

Pinhead
Scott Fowler pounded away on the keyboard -- pushing page two-hundred-fifty. He was working on his first novel in what he was going to call the Enlightened Ones series. By the twentieth chapter he had craftily swept the superstitious idea of God and His Son under the rug. Instead, he had replaced all of that claptrap with a new-age conglomerate that would satisfy everyone and not just a handful of sanctimonious Christians and Messianic Jews. Fowler even incorporated some of the Communist Manifesto into his heterogeneous mix. As he and, as yet unknown to him, many of the top media moguls saw it, Man was at the peak of the mountain. God was a fiction that the weak-minded had invented to soothe their feelings of inadequacy. Man had crawled out of the primordial soup, with no help from God, and he would eventually, in the natural course of events, take his rightful place as King over all of creation. Oh yes, Fowler thought to himself, the future holds unlimited possibilities for Man! Already Fowler could see auras around everything and sometimes he could tell what animals and people were thinking. The trip from the primeval seas to Godhood was nearing its climax. Soon the sheer number of nascent godlings, like himself, would reach a critical mass and the world would be transformed. Man would know the truth. The veil would be forevermore lifted from the clouded eyes of men. A new elite would rule the world and they would be benevolent. They would allow everyone the opportunity to pledge their allegiance to the new Gods before any cleansings would have to begin. Very soon now, he, and the others like him, would emerge as the new Rulers. Although, of course, they would have to institute a short grace period to allow the masses time to accept or reject what they would be taught by their new masters. Perhaps a few weeks would suffice, he thought. After all, even benevolence had its limits and the new Rulers couldnt be expected to wait on the weak and fickle minds of the masses forever, could they? Yes, yescertainly a few weeks would be a more than generous enough amount of time for him and his fellow Gods to delay their final judgments. Ahh, Fowler mused, these days constituted a heady-brew, indeed! One could almost feel exultantly drunk without having been near a drink! Fowler banged away on the keys of his computer keyboard with renewed ferocity. He needed only to get the word out so that others, like himself, would know who to turn to and rally around. He didnt want the job, but someone had to be the beacon that would light the way for the rest of the burgeoning Gods. The burden of leadership was a heavy one, but one that he was duty-bound to take on. He felt so alone sometimes but that would change once the others found him and they began their reign together.

The imp stood in front of the computer screen, making obscene gestures at Fowlers face and screaming at him what a wonderful God he was going to make. Howling with unrestrained laughter, the imp fell over while desperately holding his sides to keep himself from bursting with the hilarity of the picture that he had in his mind of the mighty Fowler as a God. After recovering, he scampered about the desktop, growing restless. He hated these long, drawn out assignments. Writers! They were so full of themselves. They never tired of endlessly typing away, so utterly convinced that everyone else hung on each and every meaningless word that they defaced perfectly good paper with. Inspired by this recent line of thought, the imp squatted over the top of the computer monitor and defecated, leaving the screen with a brownish, foul smelling residue that, in the imps world, obscured the document that the almighty pinhead writer was working on. To the imps delight, it did cause Fowler to pause and squint at the monitor, wondering, for a moment, if his glasses needed cleaning or if the screen itself was dirty. The momentary glitch disappeared and Fowler resumed the onerous burden that was, regrettably, his alone to bear.

Chapter 8

One Eye
One-eye, as the lessor demons mockingly referred to Satans Lieutenant in charge of the Books and Periodicals Department of Hell, sat on the back of a failed Savings and Loan administrator -- sidesaddle style -- and regarded the Sergeant of Imps with a caustic eye; his one good eye, the other one being the permanent receptacle for an angry librarians yellow number two lead pencil that she had stabbed him with when he had tried to rape her, back on Earth, when he had still been alive. One-eye -- Paul Tillus, in actuality -- now Lieutenant Tillus, was an occupant of a rarefied strata within the organization of Hell. He was one of the elite few that had been promoted from the ranks of the formerly living; the worms, as the original natives of Hell referred to them with unanimous contempt. He was barely tolerated by his native peers; Satans fellow dark angels. They viewed him as an interloper into their territory -- a province that had been theirs since before the dawn of time. One-eye was still just a worm to them, but, knowing how Satan felt about those lowly humans that he had promoted to some position or other, they were, to a man, loath to go too far in openly opposing them. Even Satan contemptuously thought of most humans as being worms, albeit, he definitely had a soft, rotten, mushy spot in his black heart for those few worms that rose above the rest and gave him their unconditional devotion. The backlash from previous mutinous acts had been severe, to understate it. One time three imp Sergeants had jumped a worm Lieutenant and thrown him into a boiling sulfur-pit, just for the fun of it, mind you, and Satan had heartily agreed what a good joke that had been and then he had turned the three Sergeants into living toilet seats in the section of Hell that contained the damned that had been meritoriously afflicted with eternal and raging cases of the most foul smelling and copious diarrhea. Lieutenant One-eye Tillus turned his head away in disgust and pondered the different ways in which he would have Sergeant Snotty Dugan tortured if he didnt start producing better results very soon! OK, Lieutenant Tillus snarled, slamming an angry fist into his human ottomans ribs -- cracking a few, by the sounds of the labored screams coming from the Savings and Loan administrator, Im giving you another chance to turn that Christian book publisher, but, he paused, I expect him to start printing Fowlers crap ASAP! You got me, Dugan? You do know that turning people away from God is our main business, right? Snotty Dugan regarded Lieutenant Tillus with an equal mixture of fear and tightly restrained glee. He feared the things that One-eye could order done to him, but, he, like most of the other imp Sergeants, had one heck of a time trying to keep from

bursting out laughing when they saw the librarians pencil comically poking out of one eye, the eraser end pointing into the air, waving around whenever Tillus turned his head. All right, all right! Snotty sighed in defeat. I can take care of the publisher, but Ill need about ten more guys to put on it. This ones a tough bird. He isnt caving in real easy, you know. Hes real stubborn! Lieutenant Tillus almost casually ripped an ear off of the ottoman, causing the Savings and Loan administrator to again cry out and whimper in tearful pain. Shaking the bloody ear in the imps face, for emphasis, One-eye intoned, with barely subdued rage, You will make do with the men that you have! I cant spare anyone to waste on a project that you should have already finished! You will turn the publisher and you will get Fowlers garbage in print, pronto! I dont care how you do it! You will get him into the mainstream, where we can do the most damage! If we dont get some results real soon the boss wont be too happy with me and, if hes upset with me, just think what Ill have waiting for you Sergeant Snotty Dugan inwardly cringed at the idea of what would happen to him if he disappointed Tillus. His leg suddenly felt wet. His bladder had involuntarily cut loose and he had urinated on himself. Shakily, he snapped a frightened salute, saying, Dont worry, Sir, Ill turn him! Consider it done! Well, Lieutenant Tillus growled, flames flickering inside of his one good eye, what are you waiting for, a snowstorm, maybe? The clock is ticking, Sergeant! Yes Sir! Snotty Dugan exclaimed, turning to leave, trying desperately not to break out into a dead run -- the exact thing that every fiber of his being screamed at him to do. Right now the yellow number two lead pencil wasnt quite so humorous as it had been moments before.

Chapter 9

Rest & Recreation

Snotty Dugan and his fellow demons had been unable to sway the Christian book publisher; despite their best efforts. He had been intractable. However, in a move that saved their infernal rear ends, they did manage to come up with a suitable alternate; a new-age publisher that was already in the mainstream and was favorably thought of by the media. Pushing him to publish Fowlers refuse had been a walk in the park -comparatively speaking. Turning Ted Ecks, the yuppie owner of Gaea Garden Publishing, had not even required Snottys full crew. They had done it with only half of the usual complement and they had done it in just weeks; something of a record for Snotty and company. In fact, Lieutenant Tillus, uncharacteristically, had seemed pleased. He had personally signed passes for Snotty and his men to have R & R at the Incoming Docks where the newly damned came in. They had a field day, raping and torturing the new inductees until they were all exhausted. It had been exhilarating! Maybe One-eye wasnt so bad after all -- for a worm, that is.

Chapter 10

Oval Office
President Peter Woodrow Emerson stood, in the dark, with his hands clasped behind his back, staring out of the Oval Office window. It was nearing midnight, it was overcast, and, if it didnt blow over, they were in for a storm. The CNN weather forecast gave even odds. President Emerson had a lot on his mind. It had been a long day. He had removed his coat and tie. His top couple of buttons were undone and he had rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. The same thoughts kept coming back to him, gnawing at the edges of his mind; like a rat under the floorboards that kept chewing at some piece of wood or other, constantly derailing the train of ones attention. Uburo Tanzin, from the UN, had been to see him, not so long ago, and he was still pushing the same thing that the others had been promoting -- he wanted the President to back their plan to undermine mainstream Christianity, and the rest of the bunch, as well, so that they could proceed apace to institute the new world religion that would unite all of the Earths peoples under one ecclesiastical umbrella. The argument, so it went, was that, once everyone was united under one God, then one of the main impediments to a one-world-government would be removed and the way would be paved for future progress. Uburo hadnt been the only one to pressure him; if he had been, then there wouldnt be a problem. However, there had been others; more than just a few. Jack Cranston, from the Council on Foreign Relations, had buttonholed him at a State Dinner just last weekend. President Emerson had actually warmed up and was just beginning to enjoy the function -- helped along by a couple of stiff shots of Dewars on the rocks -- when Jacks six-foot-two, cowboy-in-a-suit figure loomed out of the crowd and roped him into a quiet corner. Jack represented a lot of heavy hitters in various venues of industry and finance. He wasnt one to be ignored, even by him. The upshot had been that Jack and others were concerned that their returns on outlays in other countries had been jeopardized by the shakiness of the Eurodollar. This unstable currency had been sliding on a downward slope because, as his group explained it, a lot of Europe was still polarized into a number of splinter groups that didnt harmonize well with each other. He, too, clamored for Peter to climb on the bandwagon, with the rest of them, and help nudge this one-world-religion into existence. The CFR , like the UN, also believed that their bankbooks would reflect favorably on a one-religion-umbrella. They strongly believed that such an institution would foster cooperation between the nations and end the infighting among them, not to mention that they expected their

investments to give them more stable and predictable returns; not that any of them were anything less than altruistic, or -- God forbid -- greedy. If this hadnt been bad enough, and cause for his stomach to turn somersaults, even Godfreid Milcher, from CIA, had taken him aside after a recent Security Briefing. They too, it seemed, had foreign investments whose fluctuating returns played the devil with many of their self-financed black-budgets. Their own internal studies had concluded the same things as the others; everyone at the top needed some stability for their money and a one-world-religion was the unanimous answer. Peter turned from the depressing storm clouds and, leaning back in his softly upholstered chair, he rubbed his forehead, wishing that he could turn the clock back to some less stressful time. He popped another Valium and washed it down with a few sips of the Scotch that he had been nursing along. His physician had recommended the Valium, in small doses, to keep his nerves at a more manageable level. Hed had a few lapses; the doctor had diagnosed them as panic attacks. He had said that it wasnt all that unusual, considering the stress levels of the job. He just didnt want Peter to overuse the medication. Peter kept to the regimen and filled in the gaps with a drink or two when the heat really turned up; like now. He sighed. As a congressional-aide, fresh out of college, he had never imagined what a morass politics would end up becoming for him. His head had been full of piein-the-sky political science rhetoric. How Pollyannaish he had been. The truth, he realized far too late, was that decency, morality, ethics, etc., took a back seat to the almighty dollar, or dinar, or peso, or whatever currency was in vogue at the moment. By the time he had been elected to the highest office in the land he had been made dirty by the accumulated weight of deals and tradeoffs that he had had to make in order to get where he was. He had sold out, one penny at a time, until, now, he was completely bought and paid for. He was no more President of the United States than the tooth-fairy was. He was just another lackey -- a servant, of the ruling elite; the insanely rich. Agent Sanchez heard the POTUS query in his ear mike. It wasnt a scheduled query about the President of the United States. He had checked in with a current status quo at his usual time. However, for added security, the agent-in-charge had ordered random checks to be instituted throughout the day. Lifting his coat sleeve to his mouth, he spoke into the hidden microphone, On station, base. Hold one. Checking. He softly knocked on the Oval Office door. Peter shook himself from his reverie and looked at the glowing clock dial. It was one in the morning and his daily routine was set to begin in just five hours. The subtle background noise resolved itself into a subdued knocking on the door. Yes? Sir, Agent Sanchez here. Sorry to disturb you, sir. Is everything all right? Yes, agent. Thank you for checking. Ill be along shortly. President Emerson respected the Secret Service Agents that were responsible for insuring his safety. He knew that they were the best of the best. Sanchez was a good one, too. These guys still had the principles and idealism that he had once burned brightly with. Now he was

lucky if he could sense even a dim glow within himself. Very good, sir. Agent Sanchez quietly stepped away from the door and sotto voce replied to the random POTUS query. President Emerson felt ill. He had long ago passed the point at which he could have turned back. Once, a very long time ago, he had considered himself a Christian and an honest man. Now he just hoped that no one would ever know the whole truth behind some of the slick deals that he had been an intimate party to. As long as he towed the line he knew that his reputation would remain intact. The power brokers that he answered to would insure that. Enough money could buy any amount of whitewash. Money could do other things as well, things that he didnt want to think about. Picking up his coat and tie, he headed for the door. Goodnight Agent Sanchez. Goodnight, Mr. President, Agent Sanchez replied. Peter headed down the corridor and made a turn for his bedroom, which was situated directly across the hall from his wifes bedroom. He had been caught -- or implicated -- in enough indiscretions over the years that June had long since abandoned his bed. They got along well enough despite that, albeit, she had no desire for him anymore. She was polite to him and, sometimes, she even seemed to still care about him, to some degree, but his infidelities had cremated their marriage bed further back than he could remember. Just another self-inflicted misery to add to the already respectable heap which was still growing on a daily basis. He put his robe on, brushed his teeth, and fixed one more small drink to wash away the days trials. Although, there was one that still nagged at him as he leaned back on his pillows. He had given the nod to the Agency to go ahead with the plan to create and back a one-world-religion. Too many others wanted it and he just couldnt stand in the way of it; not now. It was way too late for him to be taking any stands, much less this one. He gulped the last of his drink, turned the light out, put his head in his hands, and sobbed like a baby.

Chapter 11

Dreams
Pastor Tom sipped his coffee with a shaky hand while watching the stars as they gradually gave way to the approaching dawn. His dreams were becoming more frequent, and more disturbing, these days. They had a growing sense of urgency about them. Of late, he couldnt sleep again, after waking from one. In them he saw visions of Jesus time with his disciples, the Resurrection, and todays times; the End Times. The visions began to overpower him with their ever increasing clarity. It was as if, upon waking, he didnt arise from a dream, but, rather, he walked from another world -- a real one, back into this one. In these dreams, life had the same feel of reality as this one; they were indistinguishable from each other. In each he could smell the fragrances of plants in the air and he could feel breezes pushing against him as he watched grasses swaying. Life was definitely getting confusing. Awake, he could still feel Jesus presence, just as he did when walking with him in his dreams. Sometimes he would find unbidden tears streaming down his cheeks in sympathy to the Shepherds pain over His lost sheep. Something strange was happening to Tom; something new, something previously unknown to him. In the seminary he had been a bright-eyed, idealistic student. He had felt compelled, but he hadnt really felt called, per se. His childhood had left him in a desperate search for the love and support that his family had not given him. The seminary had been the last stone that he would turn over in his search. It hadnt answered his prayers. It had only fueled in him a greater determination to find what was missing in him. He remembered the true story of the Nun who, after eighteen years of service, had finally fallen to her knees and invited God into her heart. It took her that long to realize that she had just been going through the motions of religiosity and she hadnt had a one-on-one relationship with Jesus. Here he was, so many years later, just now becoming that which he had graduated the seminary to become -- someone who was loved. Jesus loved him. Of that he now had no doubts at all. The seminary hadnt provided that. It had given him the intellectual tools necessary to dissect and teach the Bible, but it had in no way conferred upon him the intimate connection with Jesus heart that he had been seeking. By some miracle that connection was happening now. Maybe the real miracle was that he was finally becoming humble enough to actually seek Him, and not merely preach about Him. Tom was finally beginning to realize that knowing Jesus wasnt related to memorization of chapter and verse, but rather, it was a matter of being able

to feel the heart of God. To have a direct and intimate relationship with Him. The Biblical admonition to love God with all of your heart, mind, and soul, apparently, had been meant to be taken literally -- if Tom could judge by these newfound results. Honey, Cathy Reese said quietly to her husband, putting bathrobe-clad arms around him, from behind, laying her head on his back. Cant sleep? The dreams again? Yeah, Tom Reese sighed, putting his hands over hers. Isnt it ironic that after nearly a quarter of a century as a Pastor Im just now beginning to actually know God? Silent sobs racked his big frame as he felt the shame of having had been a sham pastor in Gods house. You know, honey, he whispered, choking up, wiping tears from his cheeks, Jesus must really love us that He lets us keep going on even though He knows that we dont love Him. He must suffer -- beyond our capacity to know -- that those He bought and paid for dont even care one whit about Him! Its a pain that I am just now beginning to get a small glimpse of. The amazing thing, though, is that He is willing to forget all of that if we will just come back to Him. Cathy moved to hug him from the front. Looking up, into his pain filled eyes, she told him, Oh Tom, I love you so much! Youre such a good man! You try so hard. I know that God loves you, and all the more so because youre humble enough to admit that you have stumbled -- we all have, honey! Dont torture yourself anymore. God can see how hard youre trying. He knows that you love Him, now. She put her head on his chest and hugged him while the sun began to crest over the hills to the east of their small parsonage. Fresh tears fell from the big mans eyes as he tightly embraced his wife. Ah, Cathy, he said, quavering, you and the kids are living proof that God has loved me all of this time, else He wouldnt have loaned you all to me. I have been undeserving, but you guys are undeniable proof of His mighty Grace. Pastor Tom Reese silently thanked Jesus for His unfathomable love and grace. He felt Jesus presence with him as he and Cathy mutely watched a new days sunrise.

Chapter 12

Black - Ops
Lieutenant Larry Grouse ran black-ops for a man that he knew only by sight; the mans name being a phony one. He knew it was fake because he had run a deep check on the man and had lost the trail when he had tried to push the history back to precollege days. He never let on that he knew this, he had simply filed it away for future use. Larry Grouse had long since learned to never give anything away that he didnt absolutely have to. In this game information, or the lack of it, often determined whether or not one would still be breathing the next day. In a world where assets were expendable -- and he was an asset -- one misstep could prove fatal. Larry was a careful man, at least as careful as one could be that did the type of work that he did. He knew that, were he to fail, in even one assignment, and he was caught, his official existence would be vehemently denied by his government, and, in all likelihood, he would be the unfortunate victim of an accident. Perhaps he would be found hanging by the neck in a holding cell, or, better yet, an anonymous benefactor would post his bail bond and he would then be found dead in a car accident on some winding mountain road or other. Essentially, he would be found dead; either of natural or accidental causes -- something innocuous and guaranteed not to raise any eyebrows or unwanted speculations. Neatly and tidily swept beneath a nondescript rug that no one would ever bother to look under. Were he to ever be detained, and have his fingerprints checked, the investigators would find only a blank; no records, no anything. He simply didnt exist. When hed gone black, all traces of his existence had been expunged. The one thing that he did have -- and that wasnt written down anywhere -- was a number that he could call in an emergency and nameless people, on the other end, would do whatever they could to quietly extricate him from the bind he was in. He hadnt called them, yet, but he was confident that if he ever did, the unnamed recipients would move mountains to get him whatever he wanted. He preferred operating outside of all agencies. What no one knew, no one could use against him -or his men. The more invisibly they operated, the less chance that anyone could scuttle their mission, or, worse, kill them. He did have a miniature satellite-link-descrambler, housed in a cell phone shell, that his bosses could contact him on. It was their only link to him. He was shrewd enough to know that they could track him through the phones electronics, so he kept it wrapped in aluminum-foil -- to defeat their tracking abilities -- and he only unwrapped it at predetermined times and when he did take their call, he limited them to just several words and then he re-wrapped the sat-link and got the heck out of

wherever he had been. Old habits died hard, but the lax died harder. The sat-link was used only to cue him to check a specially encoded Internet page. They would give him an Internet site and a day of the week and a time to check it. He had an Internet viewer program that the National Security Agency had cooked up. It could see the scrambled messages, in the Internet page, that the general public couldnt see. The messages, unknown to the Web site providers, were invisibly piggybacked onto their own legitimate web pages. This was the method that they used to give him his missions and to supply the details for same. Payments for his group were made to a numbered Swiss account. This setup provided both sides with a virtually impenetrable veil of anonymity; not perfect, but close to it. Sometimes George Setcliff -- his boss with the phony name -- would request a face to face with him. The meet would often be in a public park, or at a museum, or some such place where surveillance would be easier to spot. He had been introduced to Setcliff by a former superior in a secret Army Special Forces Unit. He trusted his former superior, but Setcliff was another matter. Grouse suspected that George was probably a CIA Station Chief that ran his own closely held operations. In fact, that wasnt all that uncommon a scenario at the various Intelligence agencies -- the alphabet soup groups, whose names were three letter acronyms. Frequently those higher up in the echelons of these secret agencies ran operations where they were the only ones that knew who all of the players were. These clandestine modes of operation had an innate beauty to them. No one could be found to have set them into motion -- utter deniability for the Shop, and, by running the operations to the exclusion of everyone else at CIA, there were no leaks to account for or to plug. The Shop was like a canteen with a thousand pinholes in it. You didnt pour perfectly good water into a sieve, unless you wanted a leak to occur; which was sometimes the case. No one within the CIA would share information with each other. Foreign intelligence service moles were an ever present danger that caused the Shop to require institutionalized paranoia. By the time an old-hand made Station Chief, most, if not all, of the operations that he ran were run completely in the black. What a convoluted system, but it worked -- after a fashion. About the only time that information got shared was when it was desired to misinform a rival faction or to mislead a foreign agency. The Shop constituted a very combative and insular atmosphere. Watching the progression of a workday at CIA was like watching a bunch of feral dogs jealously fighting over too few bones; always looking for advantage -- weak spots to be exploited. A bone to steal. Attendant with the previous years reductions in global hot spots had been a concomitant reduction in the need for the services of the Special Forces. Larry and his team members had been cut loose. They were no longer needed. They were disposable

and, so, they had been thrown away, that is, until Larrys superior had introduced him to the mysterious George Setcliff. Setcliff, fiftyish, immaculately dressed, sporting a desk-jockeys paunch, looked the part of a successful executive in a Fortune Five Hundred company. Further enhancing his image of success was the fact that he traveled only in a chauffeured limousine and he traveled with at least one well-muscled, well dressed, and well-armed associate that ceaselessly scanned the surrounding areas from behind mirrored sunglasses; not just a conceit -- an affectation -- but a practical consideration as well. Your enemies couldnt see where your eyes were looking; a small but important tactical advantage in many situations. In life or death circumstances any leverage, however small, was a big upper hand. What the enemy didnt know could kill him! Lieutenant Larry Grouse had kept his team. Like him, they had all had their identities erased, as well. Whenever they needed new identities Larry would have Specs -- so called for his bookwormish appearance when wearing his glasses -- cook them up some using his not inconsiderable computer-hacking skills. By the time Specs had finished creating fake IDs and documentation for them, not even the Shop could see through them. Specs could hack into any system, do his thing, and get back out without anyone ever knowing that he had been there. Special Forces had trained Specs well -- not to mention the skills the rest of them had been discharged with. Despite his modest size, the rest of the team referred to Larry as Bear. He had earned the moniker by virtue of the fact that, once angered, he could take down the largest and meanest of opponents in the blink of an eye. You didnt want to make Bear angry. Larry Bear Grouse -- now whatever name he chose to go by at the moment -along with the rest of the crew, didnt work for an Army paycheck anymore. Prior to a job Setcliff would deposit a sizable chunk into a numbered Swiss account. They didnt have to report to anyone where even one penny of that money went, either. Setcliff didnt care one jot. The only thing that George cared about was that the assigned job had been completed -- sans excuses. End of story. For all that George cared, they could all go to the Ritz and drink every penny -something which they had, in fact, done on occasion. Then they had to really hustle to make up for lost funds. However, Specs unparalleled hacking skills, combined with no small amount of larceny in the blood of the rest, usually made for a combination that somehow was able to get money whether it wanted to be gotten or not. Often as not, they would find someone who was scamming others and they would scam him. For the last several years they had been contracted to do the occasional overseas job, but, mostly, they now did domestic espionage; spying on groups and individuals that didnt seem to merit their attention -- or anyone elses. None of them particularly cared for domestic spying but a buck was buck -- until recently. Lately these domestic jobs had begun to take on a decidedly Orwellian twist. George had them spying on Christian religious groups. Some of them, admittedly, were a little out there, but, for the most part, these were mainstream Christian churches and associations that they were being assigned to spy on.

Neither Bear, nor any of the rest of them, had ever been especially religious -except about carousing and chasing women -- but this recent fork in the road began to worry even the hardened bunch that they were. They may all have been a pretty rough and outcast lot, but they were Americans and they didnt like the direction that things were beginning to go in. The whole point to both their prior and current years of service had been to protect their country -- their homeland; with all of its constitutionally guaranteed freedoms. They could all severely bend the rules at times -- and they had -- but all of them were beginning to openly grumble about these Big Brother assignments that George The Toad Setcliff was giving them. Obviously they were going to have to work something out, and fast. The problem was that The Toad would make the elimination of Bears team his first priority if he got even a whiff that they werent fully on track with his train. He would have them killed -- every single one of them -- and never miss five minutes sleep over it. Something had to be done!

Chapter 13

Angels Among Us
The assorted parishioners had finished settling into their respective church pews and Pastor Tom began. Good morning folks. I see a few new faces in the crowd today. Welcome to the First Baptist Church of Melvins Corner. I hope well be seeing you all again, real soon. Pastor Tom paused to gather his thoughts -- he rarely, if ever, used a pre-written speech or notes. He tried to always keep in mind Jesus admonition to His Apostles to speak solely from the Holy Spirit. He silently prayed that the Lord would stand with him and supply the words for this mornings sermon. Not so very long ago Man was in a very sorry state, indeed! So bad, in fact, was Man that God was going to destroy each and every single one of us. Not one, no, not even one was worthy of saving as God had done with Noah and his family before the great flood. There wasnt one single person that God could look at and say, Here is one that will save the world for his virtuousness. When God was preparing to destroy Sodom and Gomorra he had to delay because of the righteousness of a single resident of those two vast cities. For the goodness of one man these cities were spared until the man named Lot picked up and left town. Such as this one decent man, there was not. God was going to destroy the entire Earth and everyone on it! The Pastor looked out over the assemblage and it seemed to the gathering as if he was peering into another world, seeing something beyond the limiting confines of the little country churchs walls. The air surrounding the Pastor was aglow with an otherworldly light. He appeared somehow more vibrant, more real, maybe even a little bigger. He loomed over the pulpit. The effect on the parishioners was electrifying. No one had ever seen him like this before. Everyone collectively held their breaths, waiting to see what was going to happen next.

In the tall brush, three hundred yards from the church, hidden from view by camouflage netting that had been interwoven with indigenous plant life, Bear and his motley crew of government paid spies held their breaths as well. None of them had ever seen anything like this before, either, and they were getting it all on the latest of recording equipment that money could buy. A tripod-mounted Enderson Sharp Ear Model 140M (the M designating the military only version) bounced an invisible laser beam off of one of the churchs many windows. A sophisticated minicomputer, within the unit, looked for and interpreted the

minuscule fluctuations in beam frequency that would be expected according to the Doppler-effect. When sound, inside of the church, would cause a windows pane to bulge, ever so slightly outward, then the frequency of the return beam would be marginally greater than that which had been sent out. When the window pane would be sucked inward by the falling portion of a sound wave, then the return beam frequency would be slightly lower than the original. The actual frequency variation was so slight as to be astronomically small, however, thanks to modern electronics, this unit could find that tiny variation, magnify it, and extract the original audio from these infinitesimal squiggles in the invisible laser beam. The audio output of the Enderson Sharp Ear was fed to the audio-input jack of a Marks T-8000 Visicam, to be recorded in synchronization with the video signal. This unit, too, was tripod mounted at the moment, although, for handheld use, it was unrivaled. Two tiny sets of paired counter-rotating weighted wheels, mounted at ninety degrees to each other, provided approximately five pounds of artificially generated stabilization force in both the vertical and horizontal axes. These mini-gyroscopes spun up to a sizzling twenty-three thousand RPM when activated. This type of stabilization mechanism was available in only the highest end military versions. Additionally, internal computerized circuitry -- rivaled only by stuff on the Mars Surveyor -- cleaned up any distortions caused by heat-waves, rain, or jiggles missed by the gyros; by way of complex algorithms that NASA scientists had developed. Bear and his men were stunned, to say the least. They were watching the glowing Pastor, on the Visicams auxiliary monitor. The picture was close-up. They all saw the aura that seemed to emanate from the very air surrounding the man. To a man, their jaws were hanging in the ideal positions in which to catch inquisitive flies. Pastor Tom continued the sermon, God was angry. Very angry! There was nothing between us and our well deserved destruction! Nothing, that is, until his only Son offered to die in our place -- for our sins! The innocent Lamb offered to pay for our sins! Tom slapped the solid oak pulpit for the third time, for emphasis, and it exploded! Ex-Plo-Ded! It rained tiny oak splinters in the church that day. From the solid oak top, to the solid oak pedestal, to the four solid oak splayed feet, the pulpit simply exploded as surely as if it had been craftily embedded and wired with mini-explosives -- it hadnt been. No one was hurt but there had been a few wet pew cushions that day. A few hundred yards from the church there were a some extremely shocked men. In our place, he whispered. In our place! He shouted, causing the very walls and the floors -- even the ground -- to vibrate with the intensity of his words. Gods only Son died for us. Us! Jesus came to save us from the just deserts that we had earned -- our deaths! Our final deaths! Apparently Pastor Tom was so filled with the Holy Spirit that he didnt seem to be aware that the pulpit had just exploded into pieces no larger than a toothpick. He continued as if nothing had happened.

He died for our undeserving souls because He loves us -- loves us beyond our ability to comprehend! He saved us from the utter destruction that we had earned. Saved us! He saved us from eternal damnation, but, he paused, looking out over the crowd, are you saved? I hear multitudes, he yelled, saying that they are saved! Do you know what it means to be saved? He barely whispered. Does any among you really know? Tom Reese asked, the surreal glow around him pulsating. By now the air in -- and outside of -- the church was filled with an ethereal electricity just like the charge in the air before a thunderstorm. Everyone could feel it. Even the men under the camouflage netting, in the brush outside of the little church, could feel something -- something very unreal. They were struck dumb and motionless. This was all way outside of their collective military purview. Every single one of the battle-hardened men were speechless. They all felt like they had stepped, in the blink of an eye, from reality into the Twilight Zone. They were frozen in place, unable to move -- barely even able to breathe. Medusa couldnt have done a better job of turning them to stone. Jesus and His Apostles told us the way to be saved, Tom said, quietly, almost inaudibly. Love the Lord thy God with all of your heart, mind, soul, and strength! Deny yourself and follow Him! Repent and sin no more. Be as a little child. Thine eye be single. Pray continuously. These are some of things that Jesus exhorted to us to do! Pastor Tom softly exclaimed. Four year old Suzy Blanchard swung her little feet as if she were swinging on her swing set at home. She had a smile on her tiny lips. From her perch, on the pew cushion, next to her mother, she could see the Angels that were flying around the air inside the church. She followed them with her eyes as they flew around. They looked just like the ones that would play with her, in the backyard, when Mommy was inside the house. She giggled and her mother, not knowing that she was watching Angels, turned a stern eye upon her, warning her to keep quiet. Suzy put both diminutive hands over her mouth, to hold the giggles in, and kept watching the Angels. He told us how to follow in his footsteps. He outlined the narrow way. He first told us how to be good and then He warned us that He would return unexpectedly -like a thief in the night -- and that we might be found wanting! An Angel swooped down, paused in front of Suzy, smiled, and kissed her on the cheek. Another giggle escaped her and her mother grimaced. She knew this child was special, but she didnt want to be embarrassed by her -- not at a time like this, here, in the church. She remembered the day she had been born. The sky had been overcast. She had been alone at home and Jake had been out on the farm, in a section about a mile from the house. Her labor had started and she couldnt get out on the phone. It had been working fine minutes before; she had just gotten off of the phone with Millie Harrison. She made it out the door and into the driveway, hoping to see Jake so she could wave at him and signal him. Another contraction hit her and she laid down, right there, on the grass near the driveway. A beam of sunlight burst through the clouds and lit up the small area that she lied in the middle of. She had suddenly felt very peaceful.

She had drifted off and when she came to Jake was there and he was holding Suzy in his work-toughened hands. She hadnt even been aware of the labors that she must have gone through. She softened her grimace and smiled at the little bundle of joy -- seated next to her -- that God had given her. She put an arm around Suzy and kissed the top of her head. Suzy had to clamp both of her little hands harder over her mouth because the giggles were trying really hard to get out. Her tiny legs were really swinging now. He warned that we would cast out devils and raise the dead back to life and He wouldnt know us! What did He mean by that? Tom asked, the electricity in the air now audibly crackling -- like a high-voltage bug-zapper that had too many flies hitting it all at the same time. What He meant, Tom Reese bellowed, with Stentorian authority, is that even though you raise the dead He wont know you if you dont love Him with all of your heart, mind, and soul! That is what it means to be a Christian! He thundered. You can go to church every Sunday. You can feed the multitudes. You can lay your life down for another. You can do every good deed imaginable, but if you dont love Jesus with all of yourself, then He wont know you! You must have His heart or be found wanting! Bear looked at the other men. They were all glued to the monitor. Even Spike, who nervously wiggled and bobbed all of the time, was stone still; very unusual for him. No one had ever before seen him be still. Spike, paradoxically, was the sharpshooter of the bunch. He could put a hole through a quarter at a thousand yards, but his left foot would be doing a good imitation of a hummingbirds wing when he did. With Spike, part of him simply had to be wiggling. No one knew why, it just was. Larry couldnt keep his eyes from returning to the scene on the auxiliary monitor. When the Lord asked Peter if he loved Him -- really loved Him -- Peter knew better than to lie. If he truly loved Him then why didnt he cooperate more fully? Why did he try to abandon his mission to go back to fishing? He couldnt say that he didnt love Him and deny the Lord! He couldnt say that he did love Him because his actions spoke differently. What was Peter to say? Peter was between a rock and a hard place, of Biblical proportions. Peter was against a wall with no where to go. Finally, in desperation, Peter said, Lord, you know my heart. That was all that Peter could truthfully say without getting into even more trouble with his Savior. I warn all of you, Tom bellowed, not to be a liar before the Lord! Remember, He knows your hearts! If He were to return tomorrow and ask you if you love Him, God help you if you lie! How will you answer? Will you be a liar that He has said He will not know? Will you be one of the few, the Elect? You say you are a believer, a saved one. Might you be a liar? Be careful. Woe to those that Jesus has said He will not know, however mighty their works might seem to be! Suzys eyes were glued to the Angel that stood near Pastor Tom. He was talking, but she couldnt hear what he was saying.

Verily, I say unto you, in the name of the Holy Lord of all Creation, the Keys to Heaven are in the heart and nowhere else are they to be found! Make your hearts like unto the Lords heart that He may know you when He sees you. If you truly believe after Him then the goodness of His heart will flow from your own like the waters of the fountain of life. Be careful that -- A hint of a giggle escaped through a crack in Suzys fingers and she clamped her little hands even harder over her mouth. The Angels were fun. Bear sat back on his haunches, stunned. The rest of them unceremoniously plunked down on the grass, under the camouflage netting. Not a word passed between them for a solid five minutes. Finally Johnny muttered something unintelligible. Another few minutes went by and Specs sighed out loud -- still unable to get his mind around what they had witnessed. No longer able to stand the unreality of the past hour and a half, Bear hand-signaled that they should start picking up. They silently began their respective tasks in the packing.

Chapter 14

Broadcasters
What we need here, Dirk Patterson said, reveling in his senior position with the largest of the big four television networks -- N.O.W. (Newtons Old World Broadcasting Corporation), is something that will appeal to a newer and younger audience. He glanced at his wrist and admired his gold cufflinks. We cant keep playing to the same old audience that we had twenty years ago. We have to inject, he paused, unable to help but to adjust his tie, just ever so slightly, as he passed by the mirror, some new blood into the show. Were the leader, out here, and we have to act the part, and lead! Leaning forward, he retrieved an ivory-colored N.O.W. coffee mug from the meeting rooms oak coffee table and sipped some of the steaming Brazilian brew -- more to stall for time than to savor the expensive, freshly ground java. Tommy, were going to add some new stuff to the Fall lineup. Patterson held up an immaculately manicured hand to fend off the protestations that he knew would be coming from the Programs Director. Tommy Kursten was in the first stages of opening his mouth -- his bosss hand forestalling his objections. Tommy had feverishly worked innumerable late nights to come up with the current schedule. He knew that he had another winning lineup and he didnt take kindly to being usurped, but he also didnt want to upset what had been, for him, a very lucrative apple-cart. He inwardly grimaced. Outwardly he tried for mild disappointment. Oh well He thought. One hundred eighty five big ones was worth compromising for -- at least for now. There were other networks and some of them had a standing offer for him to come over to the other side; at a substantial increase. However, if he changed sides he would have to sell out his NOW stocks -- couldnt very well keep them while working for the competition. He didnt want to sell them. Those stocks represented his retirement. A very sizable retirement, indeed! Tommy resigned himself to the unexpected and unwelcome takeover of his programming schedule. Someday Tommy mused to himself. Now, before any of you get your dander up, the President of NOW softpedaled in a conciliatory tone, settling back into the plush sofa, I think the changes can be worked out without very much ancillary damage. We should be able to reschedule most, if not all, of the other programs that get bumped. Ive been going over some recent polling data that indicates our audience is ripe for a change. They want something different, something stimulating, but also something that empowers them in to go in the direction that theyre already headed in. People are feeling hemmed in by the outdated religious mores of the past century. We have to keep up with the times, people! Dirk beamed with a smug and superior smile. In grade school the namby pamby goody goodies had all looked down on him

and made fun of him. Bobby Jenzsen, Sally Stout, Timmy Cooper, the whole lot of them! Fatty Patterson! Fatty Patterson! Dirty Dirk! Dirty Dirk! They never stopped, even after he cried. They pushed him, knocking his books out of his hands, and laughed. Mom had always cuddled him when he got home. Here my handsome little man, shed say, Mommy made some cake just for you. Here honey, shed slide a chair out, sit down at the table and eat some cake -- youll feel better! Coming back from the refrigerator she would always have a tall glass of milk to go with the cake. Thats my little man, you eat up now. The other kids would tease him about not having a Daddy like they did. Theyd say that his Dad left because Dirk was fat and ugly -- not skinny like them. Mom said that his Daddy had died in an accident right after he had been born, but the kids said that his Mom lied to him and that his Dad couldnt stand him and he left with another woman -- thats what their Moms and Dads had told them. Liars, liars, liars, pants on fire! Hed shout at them, tears streaming down his cheeks, while running as fast as his pudgy little legs could carry him -- cause theyd be chasing him while he yelled at them. Well, he showed them! Now all of the goody goodies answered to him. He could make them run now, if he wanted to! They had been such liars. His Daddy had loved him! Thats what his Mommy had told him and she wasnt any dirty liar like they had made her out to be! She never lied to him. She had loved him! Dirk poured himself some more coffee and added some cream. Settling back, again, and crossing his legs, he admired the Antonetti wing-tips gracing his feet. Three thousand per handmade pair and he had a closet full of them. He liked being able to out dress everyone else. Who was at the top now? A few of the major stockholders met with me recently and suggested that we start giving the public the kind of programming that they want. Tommy, youve heard of Scott Fowler, right? Tommy Kursten mentally shrugged, not wanting to admit ignorance. Yeah, he vaguely offered, Ive heard something about him. I think he does screenplays or something like that. Patterson gave Kursten a disapproving look, saying, Fowler is only on the New York Times Bestseller List with his Enlightened Ones book. Hes only one of the most popular authors in the country, today! Kursten shrugged, defensively holding both hands in the air. Hey, I dont get much time to read anything these days. I dont even see the wife and kids anymore. I practically live here, OK? Dirk callously ignored Tommys excuses and excitedly plunged ahead, Fowler is a shoe-in! The public is already eating him up! Everything that hes cranking out is exactly what the public wants in the way of a New Age religion. This guy is a genius! He eliminates God and he makes Man the supreme ruler and arbiter. No more

Puritanical moralism! This guy clears the playing field and gives people license to do whatever in the Hell they want to do! Hes great! Patterson positively shone with enthusiasm for the coming New Order that he and many other leaders, from all over the world, had been privately discussing for years now. Anyway, he continued, what we need, Tommy, is for you and the rest of the team here to put it in high gear and get something in the can for the Fall Schedule. I want Fowler in here and I want his book made into a mini-series ASAP! Comments? Dirk was on a roll. He loved it when a plan came together. While Dirk basked in his own brilliance and secretly patted himself on the back for being such a giant in an industry of little people, an imp stood on the sofas back and blew his runny nose on Dirks expensively styled silver-gray hair. Thinking that a fly had the audacity to harass him, Dirk irritatedly brushed at his hair -- ignorant of the true reason for the nuisance. The imp then jumped to the coffee table and added some of his own flavoring to Dirks coffee; he peed in it. Sally Higby, a flaming redhead in her late thirties -- Head of Advertising -offered, Well, Dirk, speaking for Advertising, I dont really see any problems here. Fowler is popular and I cant think of any of our advertisers that wouldnt fully back the series, assuming, that is, that Production can get something in the can that I can preview for them in time to get our ducks in a row before they make their Fall commitments. Turning to Tommy Kursten, Dirk asked, Well Tommy, can you do it? Thats a tall order, the Head of Programming complained, exasperated. Its already April and that means that we have only two months to get something in the can in order to meet the deadline for both the Fall Advertisers and the Fall Program Schedule! Thats why you get the big bucks, Tommy, Dirk countered with a hint of a sneer. Let the little man squirm like a worm on the end of a hook, Patterson thought to himself. Im going to take your answer to be a big yes and Im going to report to the stockholders that were going to enter the Fall with a bang! Theyre going to love it! Dirk gleefully rubbed his spotlessly clean, un-calloused hands together. OK, people, lets get this plane off the ground! Lets get up and running!

Chapter 15

Simon
They will hate and despise those that follow me just as they have hated me. Jesus paused to let his words sink in. Simon and Philip nibbled on figs and walked with Him along the lake shore. A mild summer breeze wafted past them, carrying the scents of various wildflowers and the smells of animals that were grazing nearby. Birds melodiously chirped their carefree songs from the trees that they were passing by. The many will be offended by the mere presence of the few, for their light will make known the secrets that have been hid in dark corners. Even standing still, in silence, those who come after me will be reviled for their devotion, which will be apparent to all. Jesus held his hand out and a small bird flew down from its perch on a nearby tree and it lighted on his outstretched hand. It nuzzled his hand and chirped loudly, as if in praise of this mighty King. He gave his hand a slight flip and the bird flew back to his favorite branch. The path to salvation is a narrow one, but well lit. The highway to damnation is wide, though poorly illumed. Simon and Philip loved being with Jesus. Being near Him was to feel all charged up, like the air just before a storm. Everything felt more alive and vibrant -full of energy. Somehow they hungered and tired less often when they were with Him. He was like a lighthouse, filling them with a heavenly light that nurtured their souls. They followed their teacher to a series of small boulders near a stream, where they all drank and then sat. Jesus turned his gaze from the afternoon sky and, with clear, piercing eyes, he regarded his two disciples. Teach others to pray continuously, for the treasures of Heaven are sought by many but few hold them in their hearts for long. Be as relentless in prayer as a suitor is for a young woman. Tarry not for that which glitters but is not of the Almighty. Those who will follow me will do as I have done. Yea, even greater works shall they do. For, as a parent wishes for his children to exceed his works, so even do I wish for my children to surpass mine. Hearken, listen well, many will come in my name, but few will come in my glory. Jesus dipped His hand into the stream and held some water in His cupped hand. Just as this water stays in my hand, so long as my attention is held on it, it also falls out when my attention leaves it. So saying, he let his hand fall and the water returned to the stream. Likewise, when our attention is on Heaven, we hold it in our hearts, but when our attention leaves it, so, too, it leaves us, just as the water which you now saw. I tell you, truly, if you wish to reach Heaven, then you must constantly hold that desire within your

hearts, for the moment that you falter, it will spill out as the water from my hand did. If the Father did not continuously hold the Earth and the stars within His heart, then it would all disappear as if it had never been, but, because He is the rock that He is, you yet endure, until the time of the end of this Earth. Simon asked Jesus, Master, what do you mean by the end of the Earth? Is it not written that we shall inhabit a renewed Earth? Jesus answered, After the time of the Great Tribulation the Father will destroy the Earth and the stars. The great flames proceeding out of the Fathers mouth will consume all things and they will be no more. He will make a new Earth and new stars. The Tribulation Saints -- the ones who will choose God over the Evil One -- will populate the new Earth and those whom God will remove before the Tribulation will return with Him to rule over all of the Earth. Simon looked confused, his eyes glazed over in thought. Jesus, sensing the nature of his befuddlement, asked, Did not the Father remove Enoch and Elijah from the face of the Earth, without either one first dying? Why do you suppose He did this? Simon brightened. Oh. They were taken up because they so loved God, and were so loved by Him, that He took them to be with Him. You answered rightly. Jesus responded. Is it not written that God shall remove the Church before the Tribulation? How say you, Simon -- what is the Church that the Father shall remove? Is it buildings? Brick and mortar and wood? Jesus waited. Simon thought intensely - weighing the meaning of the Church. It will be those who love the Lord just as Enoch and Elijah did. Jesus smiled warmly. Yes, my friend. That is so. The Church exists within the hearts of men. Many who go into the Fathers house have not the Father in their hearts. Philip stretched his legs and rubbed his forehead. Jesus said things, sometimes, that puzzled him greatly. He was not alone. Even John, who Jesus loved greatly, was often dumbfounded. Philip stood and paced the ground near the one he loved; unable to get his mind around the Church puzzle. You are troubled, my friend, Jesus observed. Yes, Rabboni, Philip replied, still pacing -- confused. I am having difficulty. Philip, what did the Testament say is each mans temple? Jesus queried him. Philip renewed his pacing, trying to walk off the puzzlement -- it wasnt working at all. He glanced up and saw the love in Jesus eyes; that did make it easier. Master, it was written that the body is the Lords temple.

Just so it is, and where then, within the body, is the soul of the Church to be found? Philips brow furrowed, deep in thought. Such a never ending wave of new and disturbing things to consider. Often his skull felt like an old wineskin that was stretched to the point of bursting. He wondered, for the hundredth time, what Jesus saw in him; he knew he wasnt the smartest of men, nor was he especially wise in any way. In the heart, Rabboni? Jesus touched Philips arm and gently held it as he passed near him. The Holy Spirit spoke within you. It is so. The Church is to be found in the hearts of men and no where else can it be found, for as the body is the temple, so is the heart the altar -without which the temple can not exist.

Chapter 16

Pretender of the Sands

Raji Hashiids body shook with overpowering quakes. It passed; as it always did. He then dragged the bodies to a low spot and left them there. The desert sands would soon cover them and they would lie forever hidden. Their flesh and bones, in due time, would decompose and become indiscernible from the grains that blanketed them. Raji inventoried the booty that was spread out on the blanket before him and he was pleased. There were gold coins, swords, knives, etc. As well, he now had their camels. The lamb that hed offered to cook up for his unexpected guests had been a worthwhile sacrifice. Hed been hungry anyway and the plunder had more than made up for the lambs loss. He would sell the camels and the other things the next time that he went to the traders market. He remembered the first time that hed killed. He had been wandering the desert for days and he was near to dying. Hakim -- a sheepherder -- had found him and nursed him back to health. The herdsman had been good to the young man and he had spared no expense to see to it that Raji Hashiid not only regained his health, but he offered the young man part of his herd for helping him to shepherd them to market where most of the sheep would be sheared for their wool and only a few would be sold for their meat, which, of necessity, brought a high price since those lambs would never again produce wool. They camped in the desert, about a half days journey from the traders market. Raji helped Hakim to pitch the tent. Soon Hakim had a small cooking fire going and they sipped strong and slightly bitter coffee while dinner was cooking. Tonights meal would be fresh pan-bread and dried meat reconstituted with water and cooked. The old man had never married but he did have interesting stories to tell and these he did tell until the moon was high in the night sky and his own yawns began to compete with the words of his tales. Raji tossed and turned. He slept fitfully. The old man snored loudly and peacefully. This had been the best few weeks for him in a very long time. That young man had been both helpful and good company. Hakim dreamed of young maidens singing and dancing in the sands beneath date-palms that dotted the shoreline of a large oasis. One especially beautiful young girl was stuffing his mouth with fresh dates and cooing love words into his ear. Life didnt get

any better than this! Raji had grown fond of the old shepherd; which made it all the harder to do what he was going to do. A hard life had caused him to reduce the value of others to one simple tenet; he judged others by what they could do for him -- how they could benefit him. The old man had probably saved his life and he had been kind and accommodating to him, but Raji knew that Hakim could best benefit him if he was dead and Raji was the sole owner of the sheep herd. It wasnt fair, but, then, what about life had been fair? He, Raji Hashiid, hadnt even known his own parents. As far back as he could remember he been a street urchin and had stolen or cheated wherever and whenever he could in order to stay alive. Some had said that hed been the son of a whore, but he could never get a name to pursue and he had to content himself with having only a phantom history. He smiled at the old man and felt genuine affection for him. Few had been as kind to him as the old man had been, but he had to look out for number one and, with great reluctance, he raised the sword high above his head and decapitated the herds tender as he lay on his mat dreaming. Satan roared with gleeful delight and approval. Raji Hashiid would soon become his herdsman of other sheep; a whole world full of sheep-like and excrement-brained morons. A mindless and obedient army as numerous as the grains of sand in the desert. Raji Hashiid! Wake up! Satan bellowed. Raji, terrified, started and sat up on the mat that hed laid on the cave floor. He turned and saw an apparition; a white-robed figure floating in the air. His bladder released and he wet himself. He was stupefied into speechlessness. Have no fear. I am your God! You shall call me Allah! Raji prostrated himself on the sleeping mat -- shivering with fear. Judgment day had come and he would surely be destroyed! He whimpered like a baby and his bowels felt like they, too, were about to loose themselves and further betray his unbridled state of horror. Satan hated this little worm with the same intense passion that he hated all of Gods little ragamuffins! Albeit, he had plans for this particular little insect! This one he would make a General in a new army; a murderous and despicable army that would soon overrun the world and loose plagues and terror wherever it went. Stand up, little one! Satan boomed. Raji Hashiid stood, shakily, and bit his tongue, fearing the Heavenly flames that were surely about to consume him -- leaving only a small pile of ashes to mark his passing from this world. From this day forward you shall no longer be Raji Hashiid. You shall be called

Mohammed! And you shall become a great leader! Satan silently chuckled to himself. This self-serving little worm would definitely eat up becoming an object of great importance! He knew that this worm -- like so many others -- would soon be swelling with pride and ambition! Gods little monsters were so boringly predictable! God had rightfully told Hagar that her son Ishmaels seed would hate the world and be hated by the world. This particular son of Ishmael would bring that prophecy to fruition. He would lead an army without number in hatred for the world. And the world would come to hate them, as well; just as Satan had planned. You shall pray to me five times each day -- without fail. I will send an Angel to further instruct you. Bow to me, now! Mohammed prostrated himself -- in utter wonder and befuddlement and, when he finally looked up, Allah was gone and he was by himself again in the darkened cave.

Satan pointed to the filth that was currently polluting the cave and he said, Hogbar, see him? See that rag-headed son of Ishmael? He will be your new charge. You will personally tutor him! He is going to lead the children of Ishmael in a pogrom against the rest of humanity! You will teach him everything that he needs to know in order to create the religion that will galvanize Ishmaels progeny in their murderous war against mankind! Hogbar preened. He was the head of Hells Department of Religious Disinformation, but he was flattered and pleased, nonetheless. He sensed the importance of the mission and he was proud that Satan felt he could handle it! And handle it he would! Mohammed was illiterate and so he always had a scribe nearby, for the times that Allahs Angel visited him. He wanted to be sure that every word the Angel uttered would be faithfully recorded. He didnt want to share his Heavenly experiences with the unwashed so he would summon Allahs Angel only when he was in the privacy and seclusion of his darkened tent. He made it his habit to sit near a tent wall so that his scribe, seated outside the tent, could easily hear him when he repeated the Angels instructions. Hogbar and his aides dictated many volumes of religious drivel to Mohammed and his scribe. The cornerstone of Hogbars disinformation campaign had been similar to that of many others. The first thing that he had dictated was the lie that Jesus had not been God in the flesh, but had merely been a Prophet and, not surprisingly, Mohammed found that he had been promoted to the position of Allahs greatest Prophet -- even over Jesus. All of Ishmaels insectile offspring would, from then on, have a common rallying point in the words of Satans Holy Prophet Mohammed that had been recorded in the Koran and the many volumes of the Hadiff.

Chapter 17

Friends
Hey, toss me one of those. Specs pretended a pitchers windup, as if he was going to burn one in to home plate. Dillon responded by whipping out a throwing knife from a sheath hidden high up on his back, just under his collar. Specs laughed and gently underhanded the cold beer to Dillon -- softball style. Mucho gracias, compadre, Dillon said, in his best Pancho Via imitation. Senr, you have graciously saved me from getting my knife stuck in a big ugly white boys nose! Hey, Specs responded with feigned hurt, I wasnt going to do you any damage, you big galoot! I was aiming for your hard head. No way it would have made so much as a dent! Oh, well, in that case, you are forgiven, my friend. I thought you were aiming a lot lower; you know, way lower! No problem, then. Dillon smiled at him. Specs was the nearest thing that hed ever had to a brother. Jeez, will you guys shut up! Im trying to concentrate here! Spike complained. He was trying to get a bead on the dart boards bulls eye -- his left foot wiggling away, as if it had a life of its own. Spike being the sharpshooter of the bunch wasnt just an oddity, it was plain weird! He was an enigma. Specs and Dillon laughed loudly and, in a lightning movement unexpected by either of them, Spike whipped around and threw the dart. It punctured Dillons beer can, about midway up, as he was raising it to his mouth for a drink. Immediately a tiny geyser of beer squirted out from around the darts sunken shaft. Dillon nonchalantly drank some more and then held the can out and turned the dart side towards his face, oblivious to the small stream of beer that showered his shirt. Cool dude! He exclaimed with admiration. You dotted the I in ingredients. Good shot, muchacho! Spike reddened slightly. He didnt take compliments well; they embarrassed him. He turned back to face the dart board and finished throwing the remaining darts that he had in his hand. What in the heck is this? Bear muttered.

Specs sauntered over to where Bear was reviewing the recording from the Marks Visicam. Whats up, Boss? Specs drawled, in his best Southern twang. Look at all of this stuff flitting around, he pointed to different spots on the screen, here and here. Is this piece of garbage -- Whoa there, Boss Man, slow down! Youre disparaging my baby; only the finest box of recording equipment ever made. Here, Specs said, bumping his boss out of the way with his hip, let me take a look. If its on the screen then there must be something there. Specs pushed some buttons and punched up an auxiliary command window that superimposed itself on a small portion of the units screen -- leaving most of the video scene untouched. Ahh, yes, he mused. Weve definitely got something. Lets see here He fiddled with some of the units software features. Oh, man! Look at this! Everybody else perked up and moseyed over to where Bear and Specs were sitting; they couldnt help being nosey. They were all definitely cut from the same cloth of insatiable curiosity. In fact, a voracious appetite to know other peoples business was an occupational requirement for this kind of covert unit. Nosiness was something that was just as much a part of them as their hands and feet. Everyone saw the ghostly, winged, figures floating and flying around the small area that was visible through the window that the Visicam had been aimed at. Sometimes all they saw was a fleeting portion of an apparition as it went by the window; a ghostly sandal-clad foot, a tip of an ethereal wing, an immaterial hand, etc. However, riveting all of them to the screen was the figure that seemed to be standing on the stage, next to the Preacher -- who, himself, was glowing like some kind of Old Testament Prophet. For the second time in their lives, everyone was speechless and Spike was immobile; not even a finger twitching. Specs furiously fiddled with the units software, trying to better define the phantoms on the screen. Jeez, Specs muttered, this assignment is getting stranger and stranger! I think Ray Bradbury must have written the script for this one! He commanded the units minicomputer to emphasize the infrared component of the video image. The unit had a unique mixture of visible and infrared light sensing elements in its optics chip array. Thanks to some high tech advances in room temperature infrared imaging sensors, this model could pick up on any recent, or current, heat images in the environment -- all without the necessity of a cumbersome liquid nitrogen cooling system. Advances in Peltier Effect efficiencies allowed for onboard solid-state cooling to the levels that the new chips required; somewhere in the neighborhood of zero degrees Fahrenheit. A woven pad caught condensate and wicked it to the fan area where it was blown out the bottom of the unit. There were literal room temperature civilian units, but they were in their infancy and they didnt have anywhere near the resolution that Specs military version had. The computer enhanced video clearly showed what, without any doubt, were Angels. Samurai sipped some of his beer -- a fresh one, sans dart hole -- and opined, Hey, I dont know about the rest of you guys, but this is pure crap! Man, these guys

are the real thing! When I signed up to serve God and Country, I signed up to serve God and Country! Theres no way in Hell that Im going to be a part of destroying the very things that I took an oath to preserve and protect! This is just plain -- Dillon, settle down, my friend, Bear interrupted. I agree that we need -- Samurais right! Joshua Johnny Randall vehemently interjected. I say we kill that Boss man of yours and shove his dead body up the -- Specs startled them all when he slammed his fist down on the table and nearly turned it over. I say we go after not only The Toad, but we should find and deep-six whoever he answers to. Or, we could just walk down the street and sign up with the Communist Party and -- Spike held up a fluttering hand -- hed been examined for Parkinsons and nothing had been found -- in the midst of them, probably to stop them, which it did, and he said, Just give me a face and a location, Ill take care of the rest! No sense in everyone getting all upset. Ill resolve this crap before Dillon can finish that beer! Just give me -- Whoa guys! Bear nearly yelled. Calm down a minute, will you? He looked around the table. Every face told the story. No way were these guys going any farther down the road theyd recently been on. Look, I dont like this either! The Church does look like something right out of the Bible -- I agree. And I dont like this garbage any more than any of you do. Just hold on a second, he asked, holding up his hand to forestall the objections that he could see bubbling up and bursting to escape, I feel the same way that you do, but we have to look at the big picture! Hey, if you feel the same way as us then why in the Gods name did you sign us up for this crap to begin with? This from Joshua Randall -- nicknamed Johnny for having had been Johnny on the spot, just in the nick of time, saving the teams lives during a mission gone bad. He looked like he was ready to load up a van with plastique and go on a rampage -- which he would do if Larry didnt settle this. Larry sighed. I dont know Josh, a lot of things went through my mind at the time. One, we turn down an assignment and we become someone elses assignment; which we could deal with, somehow. Two, the thought crossed my mind that if were on the leading edge of these assignments, then maybe we could steer the reports in the direction that we want them to go in until we can come up with a plan to deal with The Toad Man and his buddies. Well, sounds like youre talking some sense, Samurai reluctantly conceded. The rest relaxed some, but they still looked mighty revved up and not capable of walking out the door without doing some serious damage to someone or something! They were in their killing mode -- full tilt! Spike stuck his head closer to the table and looked Bear in the eye -- all the while the table knocked from his foot shaking against a table leg -- and asked, Sowhats the plan, Boss man? Everyone else leaned forward, making it real obvious that Bear ought to have a

good answer forthcoming. They loved him, but they were extremely agitated and they needed an answer that would either relieve their stress or send them out to kill somebody -- now, right now! Bear didnt like the current situation, either. OK, heres what were going to do......

Chapter 18

Pomposity
Archie, good of you to come. Archibald Caruthers, a.k.a. George Setcliff -- one of innumerable aliases he used -- hated his boss, Godfreid Milcher. He should have been Director of the CIA, not Godfreid. He had been passed over in favor of Godfreid due to political expediency, but he took it personally because he knew that he was the better man for the job and, besides, Godfreid gloried in his position; a position that Godfreid, himself, admitted Archibald would have been better suited for. That admission was just one of Godfreids insidious ways of gloating over Archibalds misfortune; meeting here, at La Chateau, was another. La Chateau was one of the traditional stomping grounds of the elite and powerful in Washingtons in crowd. It had been Archies favorite place until Godfreid became Director and the sycophantic staff had elevated him to the number one table. Archie had only made it to the number four table -- despite his riches. Unfortunately for him -- and to Godfreids delight -- the obsequious servants that populated the haunts of the Washington Elite catered the most slavishly to not only the rich, but to the rich and powerful. They ruthlessly categorized everyone with the same zeal that characterized their brand of parasite the world over. One moment, when you were on top of the world, they would fawn all over you as if you were the answer to their pitiful prayers, and the next moment, after your fall from power, they would develop an instant case of amnesia and tell you that dining here was by invitation only. Archie knew the fickleness of the servants to the elite, but it still griped him -- severely -- to see his so called boss being catered to like this; all the more so because he knew that Godfreid enjoyed his discomfort at having to meet him here and be treated as the second fiddle that he now was. Archibald sat down. A waiter rushed over and inquired if he would be ordering anything today, or if he would just like a drink. Archie eyed the braised whole chicken on Godfreids plate. He did like the food here, but he didnt like being treated as if he were his bosss guest -- which he was. He ordered a drink, lit a cigar -- which he knew his boss didnt like but would silently suffer through -- and waited for Godfreid to get to business. A wait that he knew, from experience, would be punctuated by Godfreids silent gloating. Todays meeting was proving to be no exception to the rule. Power, in Washington, was nothing without the attendant bluster and swaggering. Of what value could power possibly be if not for intimidation and oneupmanship? Not that Archie was above such things -- he wasnt -- but he didnt enjoy being on the receiving end. He deserved to be dispensing it, not getting it!

Godfreid ostentatiously savored a mouthful of braised chicken and sipped some of the establishments finer dry red wine -- five hundred dollars a bottle -- before offering Archibald some relief by way of speaking to him. The game had to be played. Rank did have its privileges and what better way to prove that than by inviting Archie here, to his own former haunt. The big fish ate the little fish and Godfreid very much enjoyed being a big fish. So, Archie, tell me, how is the Sacrament Project coming along? The Sacrament Project had been their code name for the plan to destabilize -and eventually eradicate -- mainstream Christianity, which was tottering on the brink, anyway. They just needed to insure that it went away quickly so that they could begin phase two which would herald the emergence of a global religion; one that they controlled. There were no official code names for the project on any of the Agencys registers. This one was strictly off the books -- between Archie and the Director, and, unknown to Archie, but suspected by him, a few others outside of the Shop. The Power Brokers. The madmen with all of the money. Unbeknownst to Archibald, but known to several past Directors and this one, the Shop had had a hand in inserting liberal thinkers into the countrys leading theological institutions and Seminaries for the past forty-five years. Today you would be hard-pressed to find a Seminary that wasnt so misled and watered down that it turned out virtual atheists. There werent many real preachers left, but there were some -- despite their best efforts to derail them before they even got going -- and those few worried them. The thrust of the project, therefore, was to target and destroy the actual faithful that still existed. Find and destroy the few remaining real churches to be sure that their fervor didnt ignite any kindling and start a conflagration that might spread. The powers behind the scenes wanted Christianity stamped out. They would get what they wanted. Archibald responded, Weve studied the field and narrowed it down to about thirty-five churches; some of them small, but fiery ones. Right now were intensively monitoring four of the most threatening ones and we have light-duty surveillance on the rest. I expect that we can dig up some dirt on many of them and those that do come up clean we can deal with in other ways. I dont see any problems, just yet. Good, good Godfreid mused, relishing a bite of an exquisite Danish pastry. Thats good to hear, Archie. No bad news. Wonderful! The Director gave Archie a cold look and said, Lets keep it that way. There are people that wouldnt like bad news, you know. Archibald drily replied, Yes, of course. Is there anything else that you need, sir? The Director waved a pastry-laden fork in the air and thawed slightly, with the

barest trace of a smirk on his face. Nice of you to stop by, Archie. Do come again, will you? Of course. Good to see you again, sir. Archibald Caruthers got up and turned away before the Director could see the angry scowl on his face. Archie was a realist. If he could unseat the Director, he would, in a heartbeat -- they both knew this -- but, in real life, he would have to be appointed, and that would probably never happen. At least not with the current administration and it appeared that the President would probably go another term. After that, who knew? In the meantime, he did enjoy a lavish lifestyle and his meetings with the Director were few and far between -thankfully!

Chapter 19

Unholy War
Abdullah, my young friend, the Muslim Cleric chided, Dont weaken now. This is the Jihad, the Holy War! Our Father, Ishmael, was the firstborn of Abraham! It was his birthright that Isaac stole from all of us! Those lying Jews, the sons of Jacob -grandsons of Isaac -- still tell the world that they are the inheritors of Abrahams -- and therefore, Allahs -- blessing. We must correct that, my friend, but you already knew all of these things. As an infant, at your mothers breast, you began learning the truths that all of Ishmaels children grow up knowing. Akbar sipped some of the strong black coffee from the tiny white ceramic cup. It burned his stomach with its strength, but it also soothed him. Like so many things in the life of a devout Muslim, the bitterness of things was to be savored, at least until they triumphed over the Jews and took the Holy City of Jerusalem. Then they could build their temple on the Dome of the Rock and they would reclaim their stolen blessing. Allah would recognize, and bless, their occupation of the Holy City and, with the building of their temple there, He would stand with them to vanquish the Jews and the Infidels from the face of the Earth. Ishmaels birthright would be restored to his children and Mohammeds vision of Paradise would become reality and Ishmaels children would rule the Kingdom with the Almighty. Abdullah shivered, despite the oppressive desert heat. The explosives that the Cleric had strapped around his body would leave nothing of him to bury. Akbar had assured him that Allah would resurrect him whole and complete, after they won the Jihad against the unbelievers. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead, and his head, under the turban, felt damp. Today would be his last day on Earth. He would be joining the Great Prophet Mohammed in Paradise today. So he had been told all of his life. He would soon find out the truth for himself. He feared the death that would soon be his own, but he feared even more the idea of showing weakness before the Ayatollah or any of his Clerics; especially Akbar. Akbar had been his mentor ever since he could remember. His father had been killed by the Israelis during a riot on the West Bank when Abdullah was only three. Akbar had filled the void left by his fathers death. He couldnt disappoint his mentor. Failure was not an option for him. Failure would mean cowardice and cowardice would mean his torture for a long, long time, followed by having his head cut off. He would die the death of the unforgiven. He would forever be banned from Paradise and his soul would rot in Hell along with the Infidels. Not to mention the fact that his family would be shamed and they would be treated like they were less than dogs. His two young sisters would be thrown into one of the Ayatollahs whorehouses

where men would come and sign a temporary two hour long marriage agreement and have their foul ways with their delicate young bodies and his mother -- Allah bless her -- would be made some lower echelon Clerics scrubwoman. Allah had chosen him for this mission and that was that. There was no way out. Akbar and the men helping him checked the wiring, the batteries, the placement of the blasting caps nestled in blocks of plastique, and the ties of the harness holding all of this in place around Abdullahs midsection. Satisfied, the men gave Akbar the nod and he helped Abdullah to don his robe. One small cable was fed down the right sleeve and ended in a button which Abdullah would release when the time was right; it was a dead-man switch that, once pressed, would arm the bomb and then it would immediately explode when released and it would be released even if he was killed before the bomb went off. They prayed that Allah would bless this mission and bring them all one step closer to conquering the world for Allahs sake. The elder Akbar held the young Abdullah by the shoulders and kissed him on each cheek. Go my young charge. Go in the name of Allah and be victorious this day! Go! Quickly! Abdullah hurried out of the small building and got into the ancient, beat up Volkswagen van that would carry him to the airport where he had worked as a baggage-handler for the past three years. He pinned his security identification card to the chest area of his robe. It wasnt normally needed -- everyone knew him by sight -- but today it would be necessary. Today security would be tighter than it had been in many years. The Israeli Prime Minister and some members of the Knesset would be leaving for a trip to Camp David, in the United States, to meet with President Emerson to discuss a Peace Accord. Abdulla would enter the airport at the lower level, where the baggage handling occurred, and, even with the tightened security, it would be unlikely that he would be checked. Access to the upper levels was only through a security gate; with a guard and a metal-detector in place. He did have access to the luggage storage area of the airplane itself, though, and this is where he would implement Akbars plan. Each bag was thoroughly checked by Israeli security personnel and then others would watch as the bags were loaded on conveyors that took them into the airplanes storage compartment. However, inside the airplanes storage compartment, there was no one but the handlers, themselves. They would put the bags into explosion-resistant containers and then they would exit the plane and return to the lower-level to prepare for the next loading. After all of the bags were loaded security people would enter to check each container to make sure that it was properly latched and to be sure that there were no loose bags anywhere. Abdullah simply hid under one of the explosion-resistant container units and waited for the Prime Ministers plane to begin taxiing away from the airport passenger area. If all went well then he wouldnt be missed for maybe twenty or thirty minutes. Even then they would probably assume that he was in the restroom or something and another fifteen minutes might go by before anyone became seriously concerned. Thirtyfive to forty-five minutes and the plane would likely be airborne within the next twenty. It might work after all.

Thank you, Amir. Prime Minister Zedekiah Meshech liked the British teas that his staff always kept on hand for him. In these modern times even the Prime Minister had developed more metropolitan tastes. This was the twenty-first century and, while the more hard core Jews eschewed such things in favor of the old ways -- the traditional ways -- Zedekiah was not above some small concessions to modern life. He still didnt eat pork although he did work on the Sabbath Day -- far too many of them. Naomi had gotten after him, innumerable times, to take some time off and spend it with the family. She would scold him and say that if it werent for his picture on her dresser, she and the children would forget what he looked like. God, she said, had made the Sabbath Day for a reason -- to worship Him, but also to take a time out from the hubbub and enjoy being with ones family. Zedekiah inwardly agreed with her. He did need some time out; some time for only Naomi and the children, but, as the leader of Israel, he had no life of his own and likely wouldnt have one until he either got too old to lead or was voted out. Judging by his popularity with the people, he would have to forego a family life until he was too old to enjoy it. Thankfully, Naomi was a good mother to his children. Finer children were nowhere to be found. She did an amazing job, especially considering that she did it alone. She did have Orpah to help her with the household, but Naomi insisted on raising the children herself. Many in todays Israel had live-ins that essentially raised the children for them, but Naomi would have none of that. God had given her these children and she, alone, would be the one responsible for their upbringing. Zedekiah loved his wife even more now than when he had married her. Her spirit had blazed then and now, today, it was brighter still. God could not have blessed him more than he already had. He missed her and the children. When he got in they were usually long since asleep and when they woke, in the morning, he would already be gone. Occasionally they would have a Sunday lunch, as a family, but, mostly, duty called -- mercilessly! Zedekiah looked forward to the day when Israel could relax and not worry about the enemies that bounded every side of their tiny little country. He reclined the seat back and wistfully gazed out the window. The small diesel vehicle, hooked to the nose of the big jet airplane, was towing the plane away from the terminal. Soon they would be airborne and his thoughts and activities would be forced back into officialdom. He and the Senior Knesset Ministers would spend the entirety of the trip discussing various scenarios under which peace might be negotiated with their enemies. Such a waste, he thought; trying to negotiate peace with an enemy that would never rest. But, talk was better than war -- he sometimes thought -- although, truth be known, he secretly felt that his job was best served by just marking time. Doing essentially nothing. Not conceding, not fighting, but just standing firm for no thing in particular. In this way he could delay the inevitable -- only delay, not stop. He knew, in his heart, that the Tribulation would come. His people, Israels children, had lost their heart. Many of them thought the Torah was full of legends -- mere stories -- rather than the truth. To them Noah was just a bit player in a fanciful tale. Others, the hard core, were so busy stoning skirt-clad tourists and spying on each other that they had completely lost the point of the Holy

Scriptures. These were the Pharisees that time had forgot. They judged ruthlessly and conveniently overlooked their own sins. Such a sad mix his beloved people had become. Zedekiah sighed. God alone knew who, among them all, would be worthy of saving. Zedekiah could only hope to stall the enemy and buy his precious people a little more time, but the clock was ticking and time would soon run out. Events were coming which not even he could hope to stop. He felt the rumble of the large engines as the pilot ran them up to power in preparation for the impending takeoff. The Israeli soldier adjusted the sling of the rifle slung over his shoulder. Light as the weapon was, the strap would eventually wear on the skin of his shoulder and he would have to periodically slide it to one side or the other in a futile attempt to end the chafing. His wife kept trying to get him to put some padding under his military blouse, but he knew that it would just be the cause of endless ribbing if any of his peers were ever to discover such padding. If not for that very real risk, he would have done it, but didnt want to be the butt of their jokes so he resigned himself to the endless game of sliding the sling this way and that, knowing that it was hopeless. Something else was nagging at the back of his mind. He couldnt quite put his finger on it, but he had learned, painfully, over the years, the penalties of ignoring these little warnings. He looked around the luggage-handling area. Everything seemed to be in order. Albeit, that little nag in the back of his mind was still bothering him. He went over recent events in his mind. The luggage inspections, the conveyor transfer, the loading of the plane -- he had personally been among those that had checked the latching of the explosion-resistant containers -- and the security watch of the towing of the plane away from the terminal. Nothing rang any bells, anywhere. Everything had proceeded smoothly. What was it that he had missed? Nothing that he could think of; nothing at all. So, why was that little nag still bugging him? The escort fighter jets were circling nearby and an American AWACS plane was also nearby and linked up with the Israeli fighters. What could possibly be wrong? While the soldier contemplated his bewildering intuition, Abdullah painfully crawled out from under the baggage container unit. It had been a very tight squeeze, despite his week long fast-induced weight loss. He had been slim to begin with -before the fast -- but the space under the container was unyielding. It was what it was and it mattered not that he needed to get under it. He had slid under it on his back -his head turned to one side. It had taken all of the muscle that he could muster to force himself under the container. He had even blown out all of his breath and his ribs had still been just a tad too big. Now, standing and staggering around the baggage compartment, he could finally inhale a full breath. That was a mistake. His ribs screamed at him to stop breathing. Many of them had cracked when he had brutally forced himself into the small space. He couldnt afford the luxury of dwelling on the burning pains in his chest though, he had work to do and not a lot of time to do it. During the months of training with Akbar, and others, he had learned the layout of the jetliner from prints that had been stolen from the Boeing Plant in the United States. He knew he needed to get through a flimsy bulkhead and crawl forward, in the planes belly, until he was near the

roots of the jets massive wings. In this one area the maximum amount of damage would be done. The wings contained built-in fuel tanks. An explosion in that area would guarantee a giant fireball when the fuel was ignited. The explosion, alone, had been determined to be sufficient, but the Cleric and his helpers wanted to make absolutely certain that no one would be left alive. Abdullah began the process of removing a small section of the bulkhead, that separated the luggage compartment from the rest of the belly section of the plane, so that he could crawl through and head for the designated area where he would push the button that was close to his right hand -- now taped to his arm, just below his wrist. The soldier wandered the area, searching for anything that might be out of place. The sling had, miraculously, finally settled into a position on his shoulder that didnt bother him. He observed the handlers and they all seemed immersed in the tasks of getting the next planeload of luggage ready. Suddenly it hit him. Where was Abdullah? He quickly approached the handlers and asked them if they had seen Abdullah. Most shrugged, but one said he thought he saw him heading for the restrooms. The soldier relaxed. There probably wasnt any problem. Nothing was wrong, however, he headed for the restrooms, anyway. He would find Abdullah sitting on the toilet, reading a paper, and that would be that and whatever was nagging at him would dissipate and he would get on with the day. He was looking forward to the picnic with his family after his shift was over. That would be fun. His daughter would egg him on and he would chase her and tickle her until she begged for mercy; only to egg him on again. He would play catch with his little boy and his wife would cook that wonderful food that only she could cook. Abdullah was freely sweating now; partially from abject fear, partly from the heat, and some from exhaustion and hunger. His hands were trembling as he tried to get the last of the small bulkhead section loose. The young soldier entered the restroom, confident he would find Abdullah hunched over, reading a paper. The restroom was empty. He radioed the guard at the employee entrance and got a reply that Abdulla had not left yet. He was still in the building. Next he radioed the soldier that manned the entrance to the upper level. Same story. Now he was getting worried. He contacted the security office and told them what he had discovered. Now they were worried. They put all of the soldiers within the airport on alert and then they contacted the tower and told them the situation. The Tower Controller contacted the planes pilot and cautioned him that he should return to the airport immediately -- they might have an intruder aboard their plane. The tower then contacted the Israeli fighter jets and the American AWACS plane and advised them of the situation. Next the airports emergency vehicles were mobilized and all takeoffs and landings were suspended. Incoming air traffic was rerouted. Taxiing planes were ordered to return to their terminals. The escort fighter jets turned their search radars on -- looking for any airborne threats -- and armed their weapons systems. Aboard the Prime Ministers plane it was barely controlled bedlam. Everyone was scrambling to figure out what was going on. The Chief of Security

ordered a stem to stern search of the plane. One soldier lifted a floor panel in the kitchen area and crawled through the small hole. He knew the layout of the plane inside and out. In the darkness of the underbelly he felt around for a post that he knew would be nearby. Finding it, he moved his hand up a few inches and flipped the switch that would activate the service lights, illuminating the crawlway. He had found the intruder and the trespasser was fumbling with something in his right sleeve. Tower to Flight 213. Tower to Flight 213. 213. Go ahead Tower. 213, we have runway 2 South cleared. I repeat, we have runway 2 South cleared. Emergency vehicles are standing by. Do you want us to foam the runway? I repeat, do you want us to foam the runway? Negative, Tower. Well be wheels down. I have a visual on 2 South. Beginning approach now. Should be touching down in less than two minutes. Roger that 213. Be advised that -- The Tower Controller was cutoff in midstream as a large shard of glass plunged into his throat, nearly decapitating him. The force of the fireball virtually leveled all of the buildings that were within five hundred yards of the explosion. Car and building windows, within a quarter-mile radius were blown in and, in the few thousand milliseconds that the shock wave lasted, nearly 340 people were killed and close to four hundred were injured. Of those injured, about forty three were critical. First the plastic-explosive charges had blown the big jet into multiple pieces and then, before the pieces could fall to the ground, the fuel that had formerly been in the wing tanks formed a diffused cloud which, milliseconds later, detonated and created the larger explosion which was the devastating fireball some had seen. All had gone according to Akbars carefully crafted plan. The Ayatollah would be pleased and Akbar would be handsomely rewarded and promoted within the Ayatollahs organization. Akbar had plenty of other orphans that he had shepherded over the years. Plenty of young, zealous minds and bodies that he could use to carry out the Jihad with. Of these he had no shortage. He would rise high within the Muslim empire. One day he might even find himself at the top; maybe a future Ayatollah. It could happen Satan threw his ugly horned head back and howled with malevolent laughter. He gleefully pounded his clawed fists on the bodies of the humans chained to each side of his throne, breaking countless bones in the process. His victims wailed in unbearable pain, which caused him to roar all the harder. This was good! Very good! There would be peace in the Mideast. There would definitely be peace in the Mideast. Oh yes, there would be peace; on his terms, when he was ready. In the meantime he would make sure that copious amounts of blood flowed, on both sides, before his protg would emerge on the scene -- at the height of everyones desperation -- and engineer a seven year peace accord which, of course, he would break when the time was right! Little fools; the whole lot of them. Ishmaels children. Isaacs children. What did he care?

The little worms were so stupid. They were all going to perish and not one of them suspected the truth. Soon he would have the detestable little worms of both arrogant little camps here, in his Kingdom, where he would torture them, endlessly! He so enjoyed all of this. What better fun could he have than to destroy the Almighty Maggots precious little worms? God was such a doddering fool. He would destroy him, as well, but first he would make him suffer!

Chapter 20

Yellow Fist
Xiao Ping delighted in the news that the Israeli Prime Minister and a few Knesset Members had been killed in the recent terrorist attack on the Prime Ministers airplane. Israel was the birthplace of the most insidious of religions. It had fostered the Jewish religion and that most vexatious Christianity. Xiao sipped some hand-picked Green Tea and relished the aroma and taste of the leaves that grew on this very mountain that he had long ago chosen to be the site of his personal villa. The Chairman watched a CNN broadcast on his private satellite system -- one of only a handful of such systems in the entire country. The people were such children. They were so naive. They would be infected, if allowed to watch the Western propaganda that permeated all of the worlds broadcasts. They would be led to depart from the purity of the Chinese way. They would begin to think independently! Xiao got up and strolled onto the deck that looked out over the lush valley below. He gazed into the cloudless sky and tried to imagine the magnificence of the fireball that had vanquished a few of his enemies. There was no God. There was only the mass of humanity; for the most part, a foolish and deluded mass. They needed leadership and guidance. Earthly guidance. Guidance from those such as himself. Leaders who could usher the mindless masses into a workers paradise where they would be happy and content to serve their masters. What good would the mass of humanity be if not for service to the few that had the vision to lead them into a new millennium? While he had been musing on the mansions deck, servants had quietly set the table for his solitary evening meal. He returned inside and poked at the rice and vegetables, unable to stir up any appetite. The CNN report had reawakened his anger at the West. They were freedom lovers, the whole bunch of them! Serpents hiding in the tall grasses at the edge of the field, waiting for the opportunity to attack the unwary workers. If mankind had been meant to be free then there would not have been the strong and the weak, but there were the strong and the weak and the strong were destined to rule over the weak. That was nature and the devil that the West was wanted to destroy the natural order of things -- an order that his country had preserved for thousands of years. It griped him that he had to allow the West to trade with China -- his China, but he had learned that the art of war was many things. Among them was the tactic of lulling your enemy to sleep and then pouncing, like the jungle tiger catching its prey unaware and unprepared. He would trade with the Yankees, for now. He needed their

currency so that he could buy the weapons and technologies with which to destroy them, and destroy them he would, beginning with Israel, that tiny nation that had been the birthplace of so many thorns that had been spread upon the worlds winds, to even his land. He had lost count of the number of Christians that he had locked up, tortured, or killed -- here, in his own backyard! He pushed himself away from his uneaten meal and paced the floor like a caged animal. The more he thought about all of these things, the angrier he got. He desperately wanted to destroy the United States now, today! But he would have to wait. First there was Israel, the root of the Western dissidents that he so feared and hated. Soon it would fall under his iron fist and then the Yankee devils would be next. Thankfully, the Iraqis, the Iranians, and the Saudis all were in secret negotiations with him to join them in their mutual plan to destroy the Israelis. It suited him well. Another lesson from the art of war -- make friends with your enemies, get them to relax and even be glad to see you, then kill them, when they least expected it. He would join with these tent-dwelling, nomadic ragheads in a mutual war against Israel and then, when they thought he was their best friend and ally, he would kill them, as well. The stupid fools, with their Muslim religion they had qualified themselves as his mortal enemy, as well, along with the Western devils. But, he would bide his time. His were a patient people and he was no less. He would make the things that the Westerners loved so much -- at such ridiculously low prices -- and then he would use their own money to crush them. Already he was amassing huge amounts of intercontinental missile technology secrets, thanks to the satellite-launching contracts that the idiots had given him, and he would turn it all against them, soon! First the Israelis, then the ragheads, and then he would join forces with Russia to attack the hand that had so naively fed him. The fools! He didnt care about money, or technology! He cared only that the world would bow at his feet and be his loyal -- if lowly -- servant. His were a people that were meant to rule and he would see to it that they did. With the two hundred million soldiers that he had in reserve and active training, he would sweep over the land like a storm of ravenous locusts -- leaving nothing behind but bare stems and denuded branches. The moon was beginning to rise in the night sky and he had an early morning, full of meetings and negotiations. The Chairman decided to forgo his customary liaison with the young girl that he had abducted on a jaunt to one of the southern provinces a few years before. The parents had raised a fuss -- too bad for them -- and he, regrettably, had to send them to one of his countrys reeducation camps. Sadly, the mother hadnt been of very sturdy stock and expired soon after her arrival there. The father had fared slightly better, although he, too, wasnt long for the world, either. Ah well, such was life. Life just didnt favor the weak and there was nothing that he could do about that, nor was there anything that he wanted to do about it. Chang Woo painfully labored to breathe another breath. His lungs were full of fluid and his ribs were cracked and bruised from the beatings that the guards had given him. He had tried to work, despite his broken heart over his daughters abduction --

followed, cruelly, by his precious wifes death. He had wanted to live; hoping that one day he would see his daughter again. He had tried with everything that he had in him -hope still burning within his heart -- but his body betrayed him. The watery soup he received, once a day, coupled with the cold, rainy weather, and the endless beatings, had just been too much for his body. His spirit, too, was waning. Tears streamed down Changs emaciated and bruised face as he prayed to the God of the Christians for the safety and well-being of his daughter. He had never seen the book that some of his friends had secretly shared with each other. He didnt know what it was called, but he had heard that it told stories of a God that had come to Earth in the form of a man; to save those that He had created from their many sins. Even if Chang had that book in front of him, right now, he could not have read it. He had been a simple man, not one that the local Prefect had chosen to send to school. Nevertheless, Chang knew his time was short and he did believe that there was such a God. He prayed that this Jesus, whose name he had once heard, would take pity upon his broken family and save them just like he had others in the stories that his friends traded among themselves in subdued whispers, in the dead of the night, while hiding in back rooms, fearing discovery by the Chairmans soldiers. Chang cried out a tearful prayer to the Jesus of the stories he had heard and a final racking spasm gripped his failing body and he died. He had been heard.

Chapter 21

The Toad
Bear sat in the back of the nondescript panel-van along with Specs and Samurai. They had parked about a block from the house; close enough so that they could monitor the sensors that they had installed there, but not so close as to arouse any suspicions on the part of the target of their probe -- George The Toad Setcliff. The team had surreptitiously arrived on the scene of Bears last face-to-face with Setcliff and they had taken turns following Setcliffs limousine, from about a quarter of a mile behind, by way of a signal transmitted from an electronic tag that Bear had planted just under the limos left rear quarter-panel. When they had tracked the limo to the turnoff for Langley, they had remotely deactivated the miniature transmitter so that the Shops big-ears wouldnt hear it. Later that evening, when the Toad got underway again, they had reactivated the tag and followed Setcliff to his house. The next day had been filled with contracted surveillance activities that the group had to get caught up with, but they soon got the break they needed -- that very evening Setcliff gave the servants the night off and took the family out for dinner. Not a group to waste time, Bear and his men had immediately bugged the house with an array of video and audio sensors. They did a cursory search, as well, but their tail-man that was following Setcliff reported in that they had ten minutes left before the Toad would turn up the driveway. They would have to do a more thorough search at a later time. They didnt expect to find much, but one never knew until the house was tossed -- tossed being a misnomer, for, in actuality, they would carefully take instant camera pictures of everything before they touched something and then, after the search was over, they would put everything back in exact order, using the previously taken pictures for comparison. Within minutes of arriving -- on the third night -- for their first in-depth surveillance, Specs had fired up his satellite connection and was busily sneaking into the backdoor of several firewall-protected law enforcement agency computer systems. Bear had bemoaned the delay in finding out who Setcliff really was, but he relented when Specs had explained that he did have a seven year old daughter and he did have to play Dad once in a while; duty or no duty! Bear understood. He had once had a family, himself. They had left him some time ago. Specs had long since catalogued innumerable methods of sneaking in the back door -- thanks to his military training in electronic warfare. While he was pounding away on his laptops keyboard, Bear and Samurai were monitoring the various sensors that they had planted in Setcliffs ostentatiously expensive home. The house was

something right out of the eighteen hundreds; a deep south, wealthy plantation owners residence. It was white -- of course -- and had an impressive array of hand-carved columns that supported a second story porch roof over the entrance. The foyer was a cavernous three story atrium surrounded by curving stairwells that had been handcrafted at ridiculous cost. Imported Italian marble covered every inch of floor from the entrance to the kitchen area. Two wings, containing eight rooms each, and decorated in period furniture and rugs completed the picture of extravagant spending; not to mention the servants quarters and the gardeners building and the Olympic size outdoor pool. Whoever this Setcliff character was, it was obvious that he had all of the trappings of power -- Washington style. Tasteful but disgustingly wasteful, as if to say, Look at me! Am I not the grandest creature that it has been everyones good fortune and luck to be near? Am I not great and powerful? Bear and his men couldnt stomach the insanity that houses like this represented. They had crawled through the mud and the muck of the worlds hot spots and they had served God and their country, for a great many years, on the pay of a dishwasher. They not only werent impressed by such expressions of megalomania; they were, to a man, sickened by it. They had all seen the abject poverty that a great portion of the worlds population lived in. They had become all too familiar with the pervasive sickness that polluted the hearts and minds of the worlds ruling upper echelons. As far as they were concerned, most of these power brokers were criminals that just hadnt been locked up yet -- and, in all likelihood, never would be. They were, for practical purposes, above the laws that they enforced or created. These were the corrupt rich that their government would never send them to war against because their government took its marching orders from these selfsame people. The usurious wealthy were the masters and the governments of the world were their lapdogs. However, Bear and his men were about to turn the tables on this particular high placed lackey and -- if they could pull it off -- those he answered to, as well. George Setcliff had stepped over the line when he had commissioned them to spy on churches and they were angry and they were going to make Setcliff and his bosses pay for their treasonous breach of faith with those that they governed. This is interesting, Specs mused aloud, with his eyes were glued to the laptop screen, it looks like our beloved Toad Man, George Setcliff, is actually one Archibald Caruthers and hes a CIA Station Chief. Not surprisingly, though, his house is listed under his wifes maiden name and the limo is owned by a phony front company that the Shop runs. This guy is one spooky creep! Bear and Samurai ignored the house-monitors while they crowded around Specs to get up to speed on their adversarys identity and background history. Johnny and Spike were nearby -- each in their own vehicles -- just in case they needed to tail the Toad again. They, too, were listening to the goings on in the van. Bear never left any of them out of the loop -- if he could help it. They all needed to be up to speed on breaking developments, and to know what each of the others knew, if they were going to continue being the smooth running machine that they had become.

The evening hours dragged on with the usual painful and interminable slowness that this kind of surveillance was susceptible to. However, each of the battle-hardened men had long since learned the art of sitting silently, for long hours, hidden in jungle bushes or under desert sands. They were no strangers to this kind of mind numbing inactivity. On the contrary, they had learned to thrive on it. The ability to outwait their enemies had often been the weapon that they had defeated them with. Specs continued working up a dossier on one Archibald Caruthers, a.k.a. George Setcliff. He was peeling the onion of Archies life, layer by slimy layer. The more he discovered about the Toad, the more he wished that they could just eliminate him -now -- and be done with it! Oh, man! This sleazeball really takes the cake! Interpol, CIA, and FBI all have piles of dirt on him, but for some reason he always seems to be able to dodge the bullet! Look here, Specs pointed to a portion of an Interpol file so that Bear could see it, two years ago he was arrested in Spain for allegedly raping a nine-year old boy and nothing happened. He was released the next day! What outrageous crap! Ah, heres the reason -- look here -- the State Department bailed him; they called the right people and the charges were dropped. Man, this garbage just goes on and on! Even the DIA and DOD have dirt on this scumbag! This is one dude thats going down, right Bear? We are going to trash this piece of garbage, arent we? Bears face was flushed a slight red color. He was furious beyond his ability to express it. His fists were balled up so tightly that his tendons hurt. The attack on Christianity was bad enough, in itself, but to smell the stench of Caruthers long history of sleaziness was just too much. Bear stiffly replied through clenched teeth, Yeah, Specs, were going to get him. This one definitely is going down. I think weve seen enough for one night. Activate that remote recorder-box that you set up and lets pack em up. I could sure use a drink. Lets rendezvous at the Hogs Head -- Im buying.

Chapter 22

Jerusalem
Mr. President, we have to act swiftly and decisively! We cant afford to be seen as being hesitant. If we fail to act now the Israelis could suffer an even more crippling blow; the rest of the Mideast would see a failure to act promptly as a sign that we lack the spirit to support our friends and Israel would be a sitting duck! Secretary of Defense Eddie Houseman anxiously pleaded -- with his eyes -- that the President would make an immediate response with full military force. Secretary of State Rolando Perez cautioned, Mr. President, sir, if we rush in there willy-nilly without first finding out exactly who did this, then the Islamic radicals -- of which there are a couple of hundred thousand, or more -- could turn on us and we would could find ourselves in the middle of World War Three; if we dont use proper prudence and discretion. I urge you to proceed extremely cautiously and slowly, we cant just President Emerson held up a placating hand. Thank you Rolando, Eddie, you both have made good points and I assure you that your advice will be taken into consideration. Obviously this is a very serious issue! Peggy, we havent heard anything from you. What are your thoughts? Peggy Keller tossed her head slightly to get her straw-colored hair away from the right side of her face. She came from a long line of Washington blue bloods and insiders. Politics ran in her familys blood. She had worked her way up the ladder, starting as a Congressional Aide to Senator Dick Brandon. Later, because of her fluency in Arabic languages, she had been drafted by the CIA and sent to the Mideast to train as an analyst. Today she was a Presidential Advisor on Mideast Policies. She had earned the position by way of both her Masters Degree in Mideastern Politics and her extensive diplomatic and personal ties in the Arab world. Something about that area of the world had always held a peculiar fascination for her; maybe it had been the romantic stories from the tales in the Arabian Nights. Whatever the underlying reason for her interest, she was one of the premier experts on the Mideast and when she spoke about her favorite subject, people usually listened! Well, Mr. President, its my opinion that we wont have to do anything. There were several gasps and a couple of muffled choking sounds that followed her stunning and totally unexpected statement. Let me explain; as you know, tensions in the region are at a boiling point. If we

go over there it almost certainly will precipitate war -- region-wide. We will have armies from at least seven different countries to contend with; simultaneously. However, I have every reason to believe that the new President of Egypt will move, within the next few days, to take charge of the situation. My sources tell me -- and I believe they are accurate -- that the Egyptian President is going to broker a peace agreement between the Muslim nations and Israel. The look of astonishment on the Presidents face was plain. Peggy, if what you are saying is true then why hasnt CIA or DIA given us a heads-up on this one? Well, Mr. President, I simply have sources closer to the Egyptian President than they do. Also, I just got word on this about four hours ago. This intel is about as fresh as it gets! Everyone around the meeting table simultaneously released the breath that they had been holding and one could hear the audible intake of fresh air. They sat, dazed, until Secretary of State Rolando Perez recouped and parried with, Mr. President, I think that we would absolutely need corroborating evidence for Miss Kellers statements before we could even remotely consider that the Egyptian President would -- or could -- pull off a Middle East Peace Agreement. Youll remember that at the Camp David -- Secretary of Defense Eddie Houseman cut in, Mr. President, we must get our forces underway and positioned as soon as possible. We simply cant stand down based upon a rumor that an Arab will make peace between Israel and the Muslim world. Eddie chuckled condescendingly while shaking his head in disbelief that Peggy Keller had actually given voice to such ludicrous poppycock. Mr. President, sir, I can have our forces in position and ready to kick some raghead butt -- pardon the colloquialism -- in seven weeks! We can win this thing and get back out before -- Gentlemen, please -- and lady, you have all given me a great deal to think about! Eddie, you go ahead with preparations here and get ready in case I give you the go-ahead. Rolando, I need you to continue with your diplomatic talks, and Peggy, I want corroborating evidence from CIA and DIA on my desk by the end of the week! Now, I have to get to the Press Room and tell the world what we plan to do about the assassination of one of our Nations closest friends. Lets get this ball rolling full steam folks! I want the world to see the American machine moving towards swift action.

As you all know by now, terrorists have assassinated the Israeli Prime Minister and a couple of members of his Knesset. They struck the Prime Ministers airplane as it got underway for the Prime Ministers meeting with President Emerson at Camp David. The CNN camera switched from CNN Correspondent Michael Davidson to the Presidential Podium. The scene was one of agitated reporters all talking at once and anxiously awaiting the Presidents arrival. It looks like the President will be here any moment now to make a statement to the press. Ahh, here we go. It appears that Ladies and Gentlemen, the President of the United States. Somewhat muted applause greeted President Emersons arrival. His Administration had been rather milquetoast, to say the least, and, although he was the President, no one had much confidence in him. In the beginning hopes had been high that he would pull the country

together and be the strong leader that the people needed, but that hope had soon faded when it became evident that he wasnt a man of substance. He was, it had turned out, merely a paper tiger. The President will address the Nation about the recent downing of the Israeli Prime Ministers airplane and then he will take a few questions. Mr. President Ladies and Gentlemen, it grieves me to be here today to address the issue of the terrorist attack on the Israeli Prime Ministers airplane. Prime Minister Zedekiah Meshech was a good friend of mine, and of the American people. He will be remembered with great fondness. My condolences go to his family and to the Israeli people. Prime Minister Meshech was a good man and a great leader. He will be sorely missed, not only by Israel and the United States, but by many other peoples and nations, as well. I, and the American people, share the great sorrow that the Israeli people are feeling right now. I ask the people in this room, and across our great nation, to join me in a silent prayer for the Israeli Prime Minister and for the people of Israel. The President bowed his head, as did everyone else in the room -- save the camera operators. Lauren Heatherton fidgeted with her bracelet and tried to focus on the news event at hand. It wasnt easy. Her husband had been in Israel on business when the Prime Minister had been murdered. He had been having lunch with a client at a small cafe not far from the airport when the plane had exploded. Fortunately he had not been hurt, but the cafes windows had cracked from the force of the shock wave, even though the cafe had been situated nearly three quarters of a mile from the explosion site. Teddy was the love of her life and she had been very frightened at the thought that she could have lost him. She didnt feel very secure anymore. The world had forever changed for her; as it had for uncountable tens of thousands of others. Nothing would ever be the same again. She smoothed her skirt and tried to get her mind back on track. Global News Network didnt pay her the big bucks to daydream; they wanted the inside scoop and, barring that, they expected cogent and thoughtful questions that would make them shine and show-up their competitors. Lauren made a valiant effort to keep her chin up. Teddy was alive and unhurt and she would try to keep the faith with GNN. They had treated her very well for fifteen years now and she wanted to continue keeping them happy. Straightening her shoulders, she made a renewed effort to pay attention to the news at hand. I want to assure the world community that the United States will stand with our friends in Israel in our mutual fight against terrorism! I have been in communication with the Israeli government and I have told them that our country will do whatever we can to help them. As I speak, the Secretary of Defense is preparing our forces for deployment in the Mideast. Our country will work hand-in-hand with the Israeli government to rout out and bring to justice the cowardly murderers that are behind this loathsome and most foul act. I call on the World Community to join with us in our response to terrorism. None of us are safe so long as we live in a world that terrorists freely live and travel in. I call on every country in the world to join with America in our war against terrorism! Ladies and Gentlemen, I have time for only a few questions and then I need to get back to work. President Emerson scanned the room for questioners and he

nodded at the GNN correspondent. Lauren Mr. President, given the rising tensions in the Mideast, isnt it possible that, if we go over there right now, we could end up in a conflict that could turn into World War Three? Well, Lauren, thats a good question; a reasonable question, given the tensions in that part of the world. As President of this great nation, I am always concerned about any war that America might become involved in. As to World War Three -- if there ever is one -- no one can forecast when, or if, that will occur. Of course, no reasonable person, or nation, wants to see another World War. That would be unthinkable. We will proceed cautiously, but we will proceed! Our great nation was founded upon many of the same principles and morals that guided the Jewish people from their very beginning. Our religious and ethical roots are essentially the same. We have always been friends -- brothers, even -- to the nation of Israel and we will not turn our backs on them now, in their time of need. President Emerson tried to hear individual questions through the din of Mr. Presidents that reverberated throughout the entire room. The reporter from the Jerusalem Chronicle caught his ear. The gentleman from the Jerusalem Chronicle Mr. President, given the assassination of the Prime Minister, will you stop talks with the PLO? If there is any proof -- whatsoever -- that the PLO had a part in the Prime Ministers murder, then you can believe that we will not be talking with them, but we will be joining Israel in their condemnation of the PLO for this brutal act. Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you. I have work to get back to. President Emerson walked down the hallway, away from the Press Room, ruminating about the direction that the so-called shadow government wanted him to go in. Shadow government -- he thought. That was the stuff of comic-books and supermarket tabloids; the stuff that kooks and nutcases spouted on late night talk-radio shows. He was the head of the American government -- along with Congress -- or so hed once thought, a long time ago. The frightening thing was, there was a shadow-government and he did answer to them. They were the super-wealthy; the movers and shakers of the financial world. The elite one to three percent of the worlds most affluent people; the owners of the privately held Federal Reserve Bank which the American government owed so many trillions of dollars to -- those trillions being the sum and total of the so-called National Debt. They had told him, in no uncertain terms, that he could bellow and holler and rattle his saber all he wanted to, just so long as he didnt actually do much of anything. They had even told him that he could send forces to the region, but that it was to be only for show. There was a bigger plan, they had told him, and it would soon unfold exactly as they intended it to. President Emersons eyes welled up and a tear fell -- unseen -- down his cheek, as he contemplated the death knell of his America; the America that hed fallen in love with as a small boy. The America that hed dreamed would grow ever greater in freedom and opportunity -- forever.

Hed even thought of defying the others and telling the American public about them, but that would never be allowed to happen. He knew that he was too closely managed. He sighed with great despair and no small amount of resignation. All he could realistically hope to do was to somehow slow Americas slide into oblivion -- if he could. He wished he had someone to talk to; someone he could confide in and make plans with. He thought of the line -- he couldnt remember from where, exactly -about dying not with a bang, but with a whimper. Depressing thought. Well, he would do what he could; however little that might be. If all he could do was to rattle his saber, then, by God, hed rattle the daylights out of it! Maybe he could even scare the PLO enough so that they would stop their terrorist bombings for a few weeks! He was looking forward to his nightly rendezvous with Jim Beam, which was becoming increasingly needful. Alcohol didnt really help anything, but it sure anesthetized some things and a general numbness was a welcome respite from the realities that so plagued him on a daily basis. He often wondered if Kennedy had tried to defy the giants behind the scenes and if that act had been what had done him in. Even he, the President of the United States, would probably never know the answer to that one.

The imp standing on Achmed ben Ishmaels shoulder jumped up and down with mad glee. Achmed was preparing to shoot one of his lieutenants. The man was on his knees with his hands bound behind him and Achmed was aiming his pistol at the back of his head while holding his other hand in front of his face, as a shield, so that the blood wouldnt spatter on him when he pulled the trigger. His lieutenant had failed to prostrate himself quickly enough when he had seen Achmed come into the encampment. Achmed wasnt generally recognized as being a religious leader, but he demanded that his men treat him as one. Allah himself had commissioned Achmed to lead a Holy War upon the Jewish heretics and their Christian allies. Of course, Allah, in this case, was one Danny Crapper; one of Satans demons that had been tasked to the Mideast to stir up radical Islamics against the rest of the world. Danny had earned himself much kudos from Satan for his sterling work among the desert rabble that were such vicious thieves and murderers. Achmed had been the star that had caused Danny to rise so high within Satans armies. Satan had pretty much let Danny Crapper do as he pleased as a result of his successes with the twisted minds that these radicals were. Danny had earned his surname by virtue of the fact that he was without any means to withhold the dung that freely and constantly flowed from his tail end. Part of the reason that hed been assigned to the deserts of the Mideast was that the other demons didnt want him hanging around Hell; they were forever complaining about the smell. Satan, himself, didnt really mind, but, out of sympathy to the others, hed dispatched Danny Crapper to a region where none of his brother demons would have to smell him. Danny, for his part, was completely oblivious to his own smell and he didnt have a clue that anyone else might find him offensive. As was universally the

case with evil beings, Danny thought of himself as being a decent and dedicated guy; one who just wasnt understood by those he had charge over. Why those beneath him couldnt understand their tortures were for their own good, he just couldnt fathom. Achmeds backside was now nearly completely covered by Danny Crappers uncontrollable issuance. Achmed didnt notice any unusual smell because he, himself, didnt wash very often and he had long since grown accustomed to his own foul smell. He did get more excited as the demons feverish rantings increased. Achmeds twisted mind automatically translated the demons rantings into Holy commands from Allah; and so it was for much of the worlds fanatics. As Allah uttered his Holy command to Achmeds lunatic ear, Achmed carried out the Holy command and squeezed the pistols trigger. His lieutenants brains flew a good ten yards before being stopped by some desert rocks. Danny Crapper scampered around the scene, screaming and hollering out what a good little saint Achmed was. Achmed, hearing the rantings of the demon, glowed with insane pride. Allah was with him -- Achmed ben Ishmael!

Chapter 23

PARABLE
They pushed off from the shore of the people that had rejected Him. The formerly possessed one had wanted to go with Him, but He told the man to go back to his people and tell them what the Lord had done for him. The oars made a not unpleasant rhythmic sound as they splashed into the water and thrusted the small boat on its way toward its new destination. The calls of the seagulls added an agreeable background harmony to the paddling of the oars. The sun was high in the sky and the clouds were few. As yet there was no breeze, so they continued rowing in anticipation of the moment that they could raise the small boats sail. Jesus sat silently in the bow and contemplated the breadth and depth of the remainder of His journey on this Earth. He knew that some would heed His call and some would not. He strongly wished that all would return to His fathers house, but He knew that many would take the broad road -- the one most traveled. He understood that Man must maintain his free will or there would be no triumph and He would have no genuine companions, but mere puppets. Before time began He had seen these days which He now lived in. He knew the course that many would take, but He had to continue anyway. All had broken His laws and none would survive if He didnt finish his course. Matthew came and sat with Jesus. Rabboni? Yes, Matthew. If God made the Angels, then why did He make Man as well? For what purpose did He bring us into being? The Angels were made to be the Fathers helpers and Man was made to be His eternal children. Matthew furrowed his brow in thought and said, Master, if we are His eternal children, then why is it that some will go to Hell? Jesus affectionately patted Matthews knee and replied, Matthew, my friend, all of Gods children are eternal beings. Some will choose the narrow path that leads to the Father and the many will take the easier and broader way -- which leads to damnation. Even in Hell, the Fathers mercy is plain for all to see, for were it not for Hell, there would be no place for the many to go. They reject the Heavenly Father and are not fit to be with Him, and yet, the Father is loath to destroy them, so He relents

and provides them with a place that they prefer. But, Rabboni, why would anyone want to go to Hell? Jesus eyes teared up and He stared into the distance for some time before replying. The sins of Man are great and are hidden in the darkness of Mens hearts. In the Fathers House there is only light. There are no dark corners within which to hide sin away. Nothing is hidden nor are there any shadows to hide anything in. The unrepentant and the hardhearted fear the light, for it will reveal that which they strive mightily to keep hidden. They prefer the darkness and the shadows. They have become the adopted children of the Evil One and they have no good in them. Some are even teachers of the Word -- the very Word which they inwardly hate. Others are comfortable in their worldly ways and they desire not anything different from that which satisfies their lusts. Some simply hate that which the Father stands for. Matthew pondered the mystery of those that would choose a place away from God. Jesus turned back to the skies off of the bow and wept. Honey, honey! Cathy Reese worriedly exclaimed, while gently shaking her husbands shoulders. Tom was more and more frequently just fading out -- his attention abruptly drifting away for long minutes at a time. Fortunately, it had never happened while he was driving the car, or anything critical like that, but it worried her nonetheless. Honey Pastor Tom gradually focused on his wife. Here, honey, drink some coffee. Ill finish making breakfast and youll feel better after you eat something -- lately you havent been eating like you should! Cathy walked back to the counter and started frying some eggs and bacon. It was only four oclock, but they both had always been early risers and, besides, Tom used the early Sunday hours to pray and prepare himself for the days sermon. Their daughter always slept in just as long as was humanly possible; considering that she had to contend with a no-nonsense mother that still had limits. Another vision, honey? Tom rubbed his hands over his eyes and cheeks, shook his head like a puppy throwing off water from his fur, and sipped his coffee. Yeah He struggled to bring the world around him into better definition. I saw Jesus and his disciples leaving the land of the Gadarenes after the locals had beseeched Him to leave them and their land. Matthew and Jesus were talking. Honey, I felt like I was right there with them. I could even feel the sun on my face and I could hear the oars splashing in the water. Sometimes I feel like I could stay there forever! Cathy turned to her husband with a frown and said, You better not stay there, Mister! You still have a wife and daughter to take care of -- not to mention the parishioners, who need you. We all count on you being here! Tom smiled at his wife and sipped his coffee, reviewing the vision in his mind. He loved the feeling of being close to Jesus when he had these visions. They were indeed occurring more often these days and he wondered if that fact didnt portend the coming of the prophesied apocalypse. He couldnt be sure, but he suspected that might

very well be the case. He knew another thing, too, that seemed to him to herald the coming of the end of all things -- people were getting angrier and the sheer numbers of angry people were increasing at an alarming rate. Generations of latchkey kids were busily breeding more of themselves who were even angrier than they were. Fatherless -- and, in some cases, motherless -- monsters that werent just in the ghettos or barrios, but were in fact everywhere; in every sector of society. Rich, poor, black, white, Latino; it didnt matter. Waves of enraged and bitter outcasts were engulfing the fabric of society and dragging it down. The armies of Satan were growing in force on a daily basis. Children were being born for the sole purpose of hating; not hating anything in particular, but just hating -period! In the Mideast-nations there were huge armies of children being raised to hate. Where children of Western nations were schooled in their ABCs, the children of many Arab nations were taught how to hate in Kindergarten. Some of these children were either orphaned or abandoned early on and this made them cannon fodder for the terrorists that took advantage of them. Being children, they were desperate for any kind of a parent figure, especially a father figure and the terrorists obliged them by playing the role of father -- at a price. Whole groups of orphans would be shepherded for many years at a time, all the while being brainwashed into the belief that dying during an act of terrorism was the greatest accomplishment that any of them could ever hope for. Not to mention that Allah would be waiting for them with a bevy of virgins and fast cars. That they were, in fact, being raised to be the Devils henchmen never occurred to them. They were all so indoctrinated in the culture of hating the West and the Jews that it never entered their minds that they themselves were the epitome of evil. Tom silently toyed with the food on his plate while wondering how much longer the world could go on. Not much longer, he thought. Welcome to the First Baptist Church of Melvins Corner. Thank you all for coming today! Pastor Tom tossed a few papers onto the floor at one side of the podium. I wont be needing those notes this morning. Those ideas were my own and I wont be needing them. God has given me a change of plan. He has just handed me His notes. Those are the ones that I will be using for todays sermon. My good ideas were only the filthy rags that the Apostle Paul spoke of. No, we wont be hearing the sermon that I had planned, but you will be hearing one, a better one. Tom bowed his head and silently prayed that he would hear God clearly. The King loved his people and, even though they were many, he knew each of them by name. He was a good King and he loved serving his subjects. His laws were just and fair. One day, as he walked through his Kingdom, he saw that his subjects werent keeping his laws. He searched diligently and couldnt find even one that kept all of his laws. He was troubled and he returned to His castle to ponder what to do.

The penalty for violating His law was death. He was loath to see his subjects brought to justice, for it would mean their deaths. He walked the hallways of his castle all night long, trying to figure out a way to save His subjects without violating the laws which He, Himself, had made. He didnt have any appetite for breakfast the next morning and He was still trying to figure out what to do. If He did nothing, then He wouldnt be King because His law would not be enforced and His rule would a farce. The laws that He had made had to be enforced. Clearly his subjects deserved death, but He just couldnt bring himself to kill the very subjects which He so dearly loved and cherished. What was He to do? The validity of His rule depended upon His word being inviolate. Whatever He said became the law of the land and it was not negotiable. The King continued pacing the halls of the castle the next day and into the third day. In the late afternoon of the third day the King finally decided what had to be done. He commanded the court crier to go out among the people and tell them to gather outside of the castle. When the people had arrived the King went out and made an announcement to them. Hear me, oh people! I, your King, have something to tell you. I walked among you and I could not find even one among you that had kept my laws. The penalty for violating my law is death. I know and love each one of you. I have been vexed and troubled by all of this. I have tried to find a way out of this terrible situation for I can not bring myself to have you all killed for violating the lawful rules of the land. Yet, if I do not have you all killed then I will no longer be King and the entire Kingdom will be made a mockery. The King looked out over the crowd that constituted his subjects and tears welled up in His eyes. He so loved them. I have reached a decision. None of you will lose your lives and I will remain your King. Since I am the lawmaker of the land I have the power to decide how My law will be satisfied. I have made my judgment! This very day I will stand in your place and I will pay the price for your transgressions. Since I have kept my own laws and have not violated any of them, I find that I am the only one in the land that is worthy to pay the price that I demand. In keeping with that, I have ordered that I be executed in your place. Tears flowed down the faces of many in the crowd and they were ashamed that they had pushed the King into this corner from which there was no escape. Some beat their breasts and tore their clothes, crying out that there must be another way -- but there wasnt. The King traded his royal raiment for a simple white robe that a widow woman had made for him as a gift; it had been made from the wool that she had sheared from her own sheep. Thus clothed, the King presented himself before the executioner for the punishment that He had decreed for Himself. Great droplets of blood sweated from the Kings forehead and fell to the ground as he struggled to force himself to follow His own will. In a trice it was over and the mighty King lay dead and the people grieved for the great sins that they had committed. The mighty King had found a way to save His subjects from their just doom.

The skies turned black, for a time, and none could see another, save by candlelight. Even the heavens mourned for the mighty King that had willingly died for the undeserving and lawless ones. Pastor Tom wiped tears from his cheeks and said, As most of you have guessed, that mighty King that died for His subjects was none other than Jesus the Christ, the only begotten Son of God! We -- you and I -- were, and are, those lawless subjects that the mighty King died for. God, he thundered, came in the flesh and died in our place; an innocent lamb sacrificed for our sins! Sins that, by law, we should have paid with our own lives, but God didnt have the heart to see us all die, so He took our place. Our own Creator came and suffered and died to satisfy His own law! Each one of you here today, think on this fact! When you return to your homes I want you to carry what you heard today with you and

Chapter 24

Strange Twist
Hey, Bear, you just arent going to believe this! Whats that, Johnny? Larry asked Joshua Johnny on the spot Randall. Here, check this out. Josh put the newspaper on the table. He pointed his finger to the pertinent part. It was page nine; the death and accidents section. No, I dont believe it! Larry Bear Grouse exclaimed. Archibald Caruthers, age fifty-eight, slipped in his tub last night and died from neck injuries. His wife called the ambulance. Mr. Caruthers was dead on arrival at the hospital. Bear looked up from the paper and intently scrutinized Johnnys face for any signs of a joke being played on him. Hey, Johnny defended himself, holding his hands palm-outward, no hoax, man! This papers the real McCoy! Wow! Here we are trying to figure out how to deep-six this turd without drawing attention to ourselves, and this idiot goes and slips in the tub! Go figure. What a break! This is just unbelievable! Get Specs to check his surveillance-recorders and lets get some confirmation. Will do, Boss man!

Archie felt woozy. Something wasnt quite right, but he couldnt put his finger on just what was out of kilter. The water from the shower head felt a little hotter than normal and the lighting in the bathroom was lower in intensity and it seemed to have a flickering quality to it that was odd. He turned the water off and stepped out of the shower and dried himself off with a heavy terry cloth towel; the kind found in only the best of steam rooms. He was about to holler out to his wife to find out if there was an electrical brownout in their area when he saw something out of the corner of his eye. Turning to see what it was, he froze in horror. Where there would normally have been a bathroom wall covered in fine oak wainscoting and expensive imported wallpaper, he instead saw a large, hideous, gaping wound in the wall that revealed what could only be the bowels of Hell itself. Archibald Caruthers involuntarily, and simultaneously, urinated and defecated on the spot. He madly raced about the bathroom trying to exit as quickly as possible but neither door would open and the window was jammed tight. The lights flickered one last time and

went completely out and the room was lit solely by the ghoulish flicker from the flames of Hellfire. Archie hunkered down in the farthest corner, drew his knees up to his chest, and whimpered like a frightened child. He saw movement through the gaping hole in the wall and he shut his eyes tight and tried to whimper more quietly so the thing on the other side wouldnt find him. He knew he had to be dreaming. Yes, that was it! He was just dreaming. The expensive Quiche Lorraine that hed had at Andres had probably caused his stomach to be upset. Isnt that what caused nightmares? An upset stomach? Yes! That was most assuredly it! He was having a bad dream because of the rich food! Of course! Any moment he would wake up, take something to calm his upset stomach and everything would be all right! Already he could feel his knees shaking a little less and his whimpering had died to almost nothing. He would simply pinch himself and wake up! ArchieArchibald The Hellish voice taunted him. It didnt sound the least bit human. It frightened him out of his mind. He pinched himself repeatedly, as hard as he could. It hurt. He didnt wake up! Archie, Im coming for you Nooooo! Archie howled and lept to his feet, madly scrambling about the eerily darkened room; insanely clawing the walls, desperately trying to make a hole in the sheetrock so that he could climb through and escape. Archie The demonic voice was becoming louder -- closer -- and he could hear what sounded like claws scraping against rocks and bones as the creature came closer to the ghoulish rent in the wall. Archie Louder. He could hear the creature breathing and he smelled the odor of sulfur and something even more disgusting; like the stench of week old urine and excrement, made even more loathsome by prolonged rotting. A large clawed hand reached around the opening and began blindly feeling around the floor of the bathroom for its prey. ArchieI know youre in there! Come out, come out, wherever you are! Archibald Caruthers began madly screaming at the top of his lungs. The sheer terror of the moment was so great that his heart was hammering his chest wall at about three hundred times a minute. His blood pressure was up so high that his vision began to tunnel just like a fighter jocks did when they were pulling high Gs in a tight turn; on the threshold of passing out. Ah, there we go! The beasts clawed hand wrapped around Archies right ankle, piercing the skin there, and he dragged the screaming former CIA station chief through the gaping hole in the bathroom wall. With bleeding fingertips, Archie desperately tried to grab onto the bathrooms imported Italian marble floor tiles. Several fingernails painfully ripped off and still he maniacally scraped at the thin mortared lines between the tiles -- to no avail. The monster held Archie up in the acrid air of Hell and eyed him. Hmm, a tasty morsel, eh? With its other clawed hand it patted his ample stomach. A snakes tongue slithered out of the creatures mouth and licked its lips. Yesa tasty morsel, indeed! All of that rich mans food made you fat; just for me! Mmm, I think Ill take my time with you. Yesdefinitely! Ill eat you a little at a time and savor the taste. With that

the demon lifted Archie high in the air and opened its fanged mouth. Archie screamed even harder than before and passed out. Bring him to me! A thunderous voice commanded. The demon grudgingly relented and lowered the unconscious captive from its saliva dripping mouth. He was just having a little fun. Satan was such a party pooper. He had no sense of humor. What if he had eaten him -- so what! It wasnt like Hell wasnt full of worms such as this one. What made this one so special? Oh well, he did pass out and that did spoil most of the fun anyway! No use in eating the little worm unless it was conscious and could fully appreciate the act of being eaten. He so hated it when they passed out; right at the fun part! He could have at least gnawed off a foot or something -- that would have elicited some interesting noises from the fat little toad, but the boss wanted him and that was that. Resignedly, the demon made his way towards Satans throne, dragging the former station chief by one foot -- his unconscious head banging along on the rocks and bones that were strewn about on the path.

Specs, what did you find? Bear anxiously asked his computer and electronics expert. Oh man, youre going to love this! Specs set his laptop on the table and fired it up. Within seconds he was busily moving the cursor around the screen and pushing various on-screen buttons. Here we go! Just watch this, guys. Everybody crowded around the table and elbowed each other in an attempt to be the one closest to the screen. They were like a bunch of rowdy teenagers. The screen showed the Toad entering his bathroom, doffing his imported silk robe, and getting into the shower. Moments later a linen-closet door surreptitiously inched open and a figure clad entirely in black -- including a black ski mask with eye cutouts -- emerged and stealthily crept to the shower. While Archibald was shampooing his hair the intruder swiftly opened the shower door and, in a lightning fast maneuver, he simultaneously shoved Archies feet one way -- with one hand-while shoving his head towards the rear edge of the tub with the other hand. Archie hit the tub edge with such force that his neck snapped instantly and he was dead. After removing a hand from a black glove and checking the Toads carotid artery for a pulse, the trespasser put his glove back on and silently exited through the bathrooms second story window. The video had recorded audio, as well, and they could hear the Toads wife yelling from another room, Archie, are you ok in there? A short time later they saw her enter the bathroom and erupt in a screaming fit as she ran towards the tub. Specs cut the replay at that point saying, Thats the meat of it, boss man. The rest is routine.

Samurai went to the refrigerator and started putting cold beers on the countertop. This calls for a celebration! Everyone agreed and they nursed their drinks along while their brains were still in the process of soaking up what they had just witnessed.

Specs was the first to break the silence. If I had to hazard a guess -- and I will -- Id say that the Toad Man became too much of an embarrassment to his boss and the guy we just saw was a freelancer that his boss hired to solve the problem. Bear took a long pull on his beer and agreed. Yeah, Id go along with that. This guys perverted sexual appetite for little boys had to have been a real hot potato for the Director! I dont imagine that it took too awfully many indiscretions before the boss decided that his other skills just werent worth the headaches! Spikes foot wiggled so hard that it was banging the leg of the table and making some of the beer bottles wobble precariously. Nobody much noticed. Spike was such an incredible shot, such an asset to the team, that they had all learned to filter out his idiosyncrasy. It was like sleeping in a big-rig; normally the noise of a big diesel engine starting and stopping throughout the night would keep anyone awake, but once one got used to it they ceased to notice it at all. It just became part of the background of normal life. So it was with Bear and crew; they just didnt notice Spikes interminable wiggling anymore. So what do you think about all of this, Spike? Johnny asked him. Spike took a long shaky drink and offered, Well, I cant say that Im entirely disappointed but I sure would have liked to have been in on the shower party! Here, heres went unanimously around the table and they all toasted to the sentiment.

Chapter 25

False Peace
Egyptian President Yousif Hasan had a good relationship with Satan. He had been personally shepherded by Satan since he had been a small boy. Through his intimate relationship with the Evil One, he had developed unequaled powers of persuasion. When he spoke with people they would invariably accept whatever he said as being gospel. Few were insulated from the force of his personality. Yousif knew that there would always be some that even he could not influence, but he also knew that there were other ways to bend them to his will. He could simply turn those that they answered to; everyone had someone that they answered to; and they would be brought back into line with his program. No one else knew of his secret alliance with the Dark One. A few suspected, but were fearful to give voice to their suspicions. President Hasan was well thought of by many in the international community. He had attended Oxford for a graduate degree in foreign affairs and he had then matriculated at Harvard University where he had excelled in Geopolitics. Additionally, he had been raised as a devout Muslim and was well respected within the Middle Eastern community as a faithful follower of Mohammed. If all of that werent enough, he also spoke eight languages fluently and was competent in several others. His detractors were all secret detractors. None wanted to risk ridicule by assailing the Living Hope of Islam; which some in the Arab world had taken to calling the new President of Egypt. He had the open acclaim of many of the regions Ayatollahs and Mullahs. Even many in the West had praises to sing for the new President. He was seen, in the West, as being urbane and cultured -- a new hope for peace in the war-torn Mideast. Yousif Hasan had been the product of bitter feuding between his father and one of his fathers enemies. In the region that Yousif had grown up in, it had been common practice to settle a score with your enemy by raping your enemys wife (and/or wives, as the case might be). His fathers business had grown over the years. It had grown to the point that it had deeply offended and upset one of his competitors. Ali ben Essa hadnt had much in the way of business skills, but he blamed the diminishing returns of his business upon the success of his competitors -- rather than facing that it was he, himself, who drove his clients away and into the waiting arms of Hasan, his rival. That Hasan mongrel was daily cheating him out of his due and he couldnt take it anymore so he raped Aini, Abdul Hasans wife. Aini, fearing she would be killed by her husband for the crime of having been raped, never told her husband that Yousif was not his son. However, when Yousif was sixteen, Satan had revealed the crime to him and Yousif had stolen away one night, after everyone had gone to sleep, and he had

found his illegitimate father, beaten him senseless, and dragged him out of his house. The mans wife had long since died and his children were all grown and away at various jobs, so no one saw or heard the event. Yousif took Ali ben Essa to a place in the desert where few ventured and he stripped him of his clothing and tied his hands and feet to stakes that he had driven deep into the sand. Next he poured honey over Alis aging body and then he left him -- screaming for mercy, at the top of his lungs -to the whims of the deserts ravenous ants and other critters. He could beg them for mercy; for himself, he had none. It had not been out of love for his father, nor in outrage for the injustice to his mother, but, rather, he had taken Ali ben Essa out to his final resting place in the unforgiving desert because of his love for the secret father that had raised him and nurtured when no one else had been there for him. Besides that, he had never liked Ali ben Essa; he had been a loudmouth and a tireless braggart. A tiny dog that irritatingly barked like one ten times its actual size. Yousif would have been glad to have killed him, anyway -- no matter the reason. In the end it was his Dark Father that he wanted so badly to please; and he had.

Thank you Tom, and now we have Michael Hendricks, our Mideast Correspondent; Michael Thank you Julie. In the background you can see what is left of the Israeli Knesset. The man with the gold band around his headpiece is Egyptian President Yousif Hasan. Prime Minister, pro tem, Isaac Ahmed is the gentleman standing beside President Hasan. The Knesset and President Hasan have been talking together for the last several days and I am told that an announcement is imminent. Everyone in this region knows the tremendous influence that President Hasan has with the Arab States and there has been some talk, behind the scenes, that President Hasan has come to offer Israel an olive branch. While this might not go over well with some of the more extremist Arab States, it is still generally thought that President Hasan has the power to pull off that kind of a move. Never before has one man been in the position to help stabilize the Mideast. If anyone can do it, it appears that we are looking at that man, as I speak. It looks like they are getting ready for an announcement right now Ladies and Gentlemen, Prime Minister -- Pro Tempore -- Isaac Ahmed Thank you. Ladies and Gentlemen, I have a wonderful announcement to make to the nation of Israel -- to the world, even! After several days of talks with Egyptian President Yousif Hasan, we have reached an agreement for peace in the Mideast! Thunderous applause resounded throughout the confines of the Press Room and camera flashes lit the room up like a thunderstorm. President Hasan has been speaking with the leaders of the Arab Nations for several months now and they have unanimously joined him in his desire for peace with Israel. I can only say that I still have difficulty believing that this event has finally occurred, but it nevertheless has! President Hasan, would you like to say a few words? Thank you Prime Minister Ahmed. Yes, I would like to say a few words. I have spoken with the leaders of all of the Arab nations, including the leaders of the Palestine Liberation Organization, and I am thrilled to report to you that we are of one accord --

we want peace with the nation of Israel. I Everyone in the room abruptly stood and applauded so loudly that Egyptian President Hasan had to stop talking and wait for the din to die down; it was a while before it diminished enough that he could resume talking. Thank you. Thank you all. I have been authorized by our brother states and nations to sign a seven year long peace agreement with the nation of Israel. Again everyone in the room stood and cheered and clapped so loudly that many were in real danger of having their hearing damaged. President Hasan made placating motions with his hands, vainly attempting to quiet the raging applause. Finally he just had to resign himself to patiently waiting for the cheering to run its course. Thank you. We, the Arab people, look forward to a new and peaceful relationship with our Jewish neighbor. We have a long history of discord with Israel that, today, will change forever. Just minutes from now I will -- as a representative of the Arab peoples -- sign this peace agreement. I just want to say that I am personally so happy that this day has arrived and I can not think of a better legacy to leave all of our children than that of peace! Even again everyone shot up out of their chairs and went wild. Deafening shouts and whistles resounded throughout the Press Room. President Hasan tried to be patient, again, but he finally had to accede to the crowd and he gave up the plan to say more; instead he walked to the table where the peace-agreement document laid and he sat down with Israeli Prime Minister Ahmed. With a flourish he signed his name to the bottom of the official agreement and then he passed the document to the Israeli Prime Minister who also signed his name. The raucous cheering and whooping continued unabated for more than five solid minutes. Never in the history of Man had such a thing happened before. Peace in the Mideast! Everyone was madly ecstatic!

Chapter 26

Little People
Mary rounded the corner of the small barn and she casually looked around the small compound, all the while holding her six-months-pregnant belly with both small hands. She smiled at the thoughts that flooded her mind. She wondered at it all -- still, even now! First the Angel of the Lord had visited her and told her that she was with child; even though she had never been with a man. She had been mightily puzzled. Then the Angel had told her that it was the Spirit of God that she was made pregnant by; and with. He had told her many more things that stunned her, then and now. She had never been pregnant before and wasnt familiar with how everything should feel, but she was certain that no other woman with child had ever before felt some of the things that she was feeling. Sometimes -- like now -- when she was thinking about the miraculous life that was within her womb, she would see the ghostly image of a leonine and mighty face before her and it would always be gazing at her with a heavenly love that no earthly heart had ever contained within it. Often times tears of joy would come, unbidden, and stream down her cheeks while she contemplated these wondrous things. Mary! There you are! Ive been looking everywhere for you! Elizabeth cried out with relief and happiness. At the sight of Mary, the Holy Spirit descended upon Elisabeth and she blurted out that Mary was pregnant with the Spirit of God. They rejoiced with each other for some time and, all the while, Elisabeths baby -- John the Baptist -- jumped for joy within her womb; as did the baby Jesus who was growing within Mary.

We must stand united and we must crush the opposition! Everyone in attendance stood as one and shouted and applauded in a thunderous cacophony that threatened to bring the auditorium walls down with their intensity. Katherine Streeter positively glowed with enthusiasm as she basked in the audiences moving show of acclaim. She was the keynote speaker at this annual meeting of the People For Progressive Change; PPC for short. The PPC umbrella covered many groups that had seen the wisdom of merging under one banner in order that they could exert more political force acting as one megalithic group, rather than as much less powerful splinters of a common ideal. This relatively new political juggernaut included what had formerly been the most powerful

feminist groups, the homosexual and lesbian groups, the pedophile groups, the Rights for Alcoholics group, The Rapist Rights Group, and too many others to mention. The People For Progressive Change were a force to be reckoned with and no politician in his right mind failed to cater to them; at least to some degree. The PPC represented a growing voting bloc that could sway the outcome of elections and Washington was loath to anger them, however, there were still some in the jaded arena that Washington was, that held to some old fashioned ideals. Granted, they were fast becoming the minority, but they were there and they did still have some influence, albeit, even they had to be careful how they tread or they could find themselves alone, on thin ice, with no one to throw them a rope should the ice fail them and they fall in. Katherine had risen to the top because she had long been an activist for the misunderstood and downtrodden of society. She had gained considerable notoriety for her impassioned defense of pedophiles. She had single-handedly spearheaded a campaign to end the discrimination and condemnation against men who had a desperate need for the companionship of young boys. Because of her tireless lobbying and public speeches on the subject, she had been able to largely decriminalize pedophilia and bring it more into the mainstream where it should have been all along. Today, thanks largely to her efforts, pedophiles no longer faced draconian prison sentences, but, instead, they were put into counseling programs to help them to determine how best to live as a pedophile in a society that still needed more reeducation in order to become more accepting of them. Likewise, she had become the heroine of alcoholics, rapists, and others that society had had so much difficulty accommodating. The so-called laws of the land were actually becoming the enabling edicts that they should have been long before. Now the downtrodden finally had laws to protect them and the namby pamby rightwingers could just go fish! Today, if a parent had an objection to an adult males relationship with their little boy, the parent would have to appear in court and produce proof that their child was being harmed in some way; otherwise the pedophile in question would have his way -his legally protected way! Katherine hadnt been content to rest there, though, and she had forged ahead to help rapists. At first blush, that might have seemed a paradoxical thing for a leading feminist to do, but she wasnt just a feminist, she was also a follower of Satan -- still secretly, but that, too, would soon be made public -- and she knew that the right of the individual to do as they pleased had to become paramount, even over the objections of some of those in the feminist cause. Thanks to her groundbreaking work in this area, rapists were now beginning to be afforded many of the rights that others were being given and, today, if a man was accused of raping a woman nothing would be done to him unless the woman could prove that her attacker had intended to kill her. If the rapist had merely beat her and caused her to be hospitalized for a short time, then nothing would be done to him. Rape, in order to be considered a crime, had

to be proven to have had an attendant intent to kill the victim. Even then, thanks to Katherines work, it was almost impossible to get a conviction for rape and the worst that could happen to a rapist is that he would receive counseling about how to deal with a world that didnt yet understand him. Also, thanks to Katherine, if the victim fought back and wounded the rapist, then the victim could be jailed for endangering the rapists life. Already each State had its share of rape victims that had been imprisoned for endangering their attackers lives. Of course, much important groundwork had first been laid by legislating against victims of robberies for fighting back. It had been decades since it had been made law that you couldnt shoot a fleeing robber. That had been truly enlightened legislation and today, thanks to that progressive legislation, thieves pretty much had free reign to steal as they pleased and -- God forbid -- if anyone fought back they would be imprisoned and the thieves would end up having the courts award them the very things that they were going to steal to begin with; and much more, as well. Katherine continued her speech for the rights of the downtrodden and the misunderstood; all the while the imp, sitting with his ugly, gnarled legs draped over her shapely chest, licked her ears and whispered what a good little girl she was to be up here, on the auditorium dais, speaking out for societys underdogs. Katherine could clearly hear the imp and she could feel him sitting on her. She loved the sensuousness of the arrangement and she silently hoped that the imp would never leave her; and it never would. The other demons were doing things that nearly made her squirm, but she had long since learned how to maintain her public persona and no one in the audience had a clue that she was near to an orgasm. In closing, we can not allow the vocal minority of right-wingers to sway Congress! We must fight for the right to terminate up to at least the eighteenth month! These things arent really people anyway; are they? No, of course not! They dont even hardly talk! Just a bunch of gibberish, usually. They are hardly human! They cant even wipe their own dirty little butts! Again, for the third time this history-making-evening, the membership leapt out of their seats and screamed their praises of this mighty and much admired leader. Katherines body shuddered; as much from the unbridled acclaim as from the earthshaking orgasm that she was having -- thanks the multitude of Hellish beasts that were titillating her curvaceous body.

Chapter 27

Dirt
Jim Dickers lounged back in his old reclining easy-chair. Another forgettable day at Buyers Machine Tool Company gone by. He idly scanned the cable channels until he found an old All In The Family show. He slugged back some of his quart can of cheap malt liquor and laughed when Archie chewed Meathead out for some thing or another and Edith came in and ineffectively tried to defend her son-in-law. After a while he dozed; the beer can arm hanging lazily over the floor, gradually losing its inebriated grip on the nearly empty malt liquor can. Enter First Lieutenant Scuzzy Butts -- dispatched from Hells Department of Lust and Perversions. Scuzzy appeared in Jim Dickers dream as a sidewalk barker enticing customers into his all nude bar. Come one, come all! See the beautiful nude girls! We have girls from Asia, China, Russia, and even Scandinavia! We have only the very best! Scuzzy eyed the blue-collar rube coming down the sidewalk. Hey you! Yeah you, mister! Come on inside and have yourself a good time! Jim paused, tempted by the thought of all of those nude women in the bar. Come on, friend. Paradise is only ten feet away from you right now! Come inside and grab yourself a little piece of Heaven! Jims brow furrowed and he stood there, undecided. Whats the problem, friend? No cash? Seeing that that had hit a nerve, he continued in a much lower and conspiratorial voice, Listen, friend, I know how that can be, being low on cash and having bills to pay; having to be a responsible, upright kind of guy. I admire a man that puts his family first! Yes sir! I really admire that in a man! But, listen, tonight things are kind of slow and they told me to just get some people into the place to liven things up a little. You go in there and you tell the bartender that Mack sent you and hell take care of you for as long as you want to stay in there. And, he whispered, the drinks will be on the house! Wont cost you a plug nickel! You just go in there and enjoy yourself, you hear! The deal is you gotta keep it to yourself that everything is on the house, ok? Jim smiled broadly and shook hands with the barker. You got a deal mister! Mack. Call me Mack.

You gotta a deal, Mack! Attaboy! First Lieutenant Scuzzy Butt slapped him jovially on the back and gently guided him into the bar. Scuzzy nudged the beer can out of Jims hand and the sound of the can hitting the floor jolted him. He rubbed his face, trying to wake up. Wow, he thought, that had been some dream! All those girls! Scuzzy whispered into his ear that he should go upstairs and take care of business. Irene was at work, on the graveyard shift, and wouldnt be home till around eight in the morning. It would be clear sailing for a romp with thirteen year old Jill -his stepdaughter. Jim was getting more aroused by the minute. Part of him argued that hed done enough damage to her already and that he should stop and never do it again. Another part of him argued that the damage was already done and, after all, a man had needs -didnt he? Scuzzy started yelling at him that Jill owed him, big time! He shouted that Jim had put a roof over her head and fed her -- and continued to do so -- long after her real Dad had jumped ship and abandoned her and her mother. Jim had taken them and little Billy into his house, after all! Jim Dickers climbed the stairs and, just when he had been about to enter Jills room, eleven year old Billy opened his bedroom door and looked out. Billy could smell the strong stench of cheap alcohol wafting his way. It reminded him of dog vomit. You get back in there and you keep your door shut, little man! Big Jim Dickers bellowed at the little boy. Tears filled Billys eyes. He was frightened of his stepfather, but he was also angry that this man kept abusing his sister. You leave her alone! What did you say? You heard me, you leave my sister alone! Whats going on out here? Jill asked; frightened. Big Jim Dickers harshly shoved Jill back into her room and pulled the door shut with a loud bang. Billy kicked Jim in the shins and punched him as hard as he could several times. Big Jim backhanded the little boy, sending him sprawling into his bedroom. He whipped the boys bedroom door shut and shoved a key into the deadbolt and locked Billy in his room. Billy immediately ran to the door and impotently flailed his small fists upon it, shouting, You dirty creep! You leave my sister alone! You big pig! You keep your hands off of her! When Billy ran out of breath, he slumped to the floor, sobbing, and

pounded his fists on his legs in shame and frustration. He should be protecting his sister! He was supposed to protect his sister! Big Jim Dickers took his time relieving himself and then went back downstairs to suck up some more suds before finally passing out, again, on the big recliner. He snored, openmouthed. First Lieutenant Scuzzy Butts jumped up and stood upon Jims chest. He smiled and unzipped his fly. Here comes your reward, rube! And, with that, he urinated into Big Jim Dickers open mouth; for a long time.

Jill curled herself into a fetal ball, hugging her knees to herself. She cried quietly through the night. She would have wailed loudly, like a banshee, but she knew that Billy would be listening and it would only hurt him more, so she had learned to cry and scream and wail mostly on the inside, where little Billy wouldnt be able to hear it. After a while she got up and went into the bathroom to clean up in the shower. She washed and scrubbed all over with the washrag, but, for some reason, the washrag just wasnt getting the dirt off. She got out of the shower and looked under the sink. Way back in the corner of the cabinet there was a stainless steel scrubby. Irene screamed and screamed -- at the top of her lungs. After a time she shouted, Oh my God, child, what have you done to yourself! Thirteen year old Jillian lay in a heap on the bottom of the shower. The water was still running -- ice-cold now. Her lips had a bluish tinge to them and she was bleeding all over her legs, her stomach, her small breasts, her face, her arms, and even between her legs. After the ER doctors at Mercy General Hospital had stabilized her with transfusions and intravenous drips, they had her transferred to Shady Pines Mental Institution.

Chapter 28

Faith
Mike Kopjcek motioned for both cameramen to hurry. When they got close he reminded them not to miss anything. He wanted all of the footage that he could get; he didnt want to waste any time, or have to return for more. Ed would get his humaninterest story -- in one shot! This was so boring! If Ed had any brains at all, he would have assigned Ellen Stevenson to this one! That cutesy twit would have been ideally suited to drivel like this. But, no, in his finite and pin-headed wisdom, he had given her the Di Angelo story! The Di Angelo story! Unbelievable! Oh well, his was to bow to the almighty steward of the paycheck and not make any unnecessary waves; lest rickety dingy tip over and dump said reporter into the street. He figured -- rightly -- that Ed was probably busy spending his evenings admiring some things about her other than her junior-high-school writing skills. Hence, she got the lions share of juicy stuff and he had to satisfy himself with the crumbs that the almighty panty-less one deemed to be beneath her. In truth, he didnt blame Ed for his weakness; he would have done the same, himself, if he had been in Eds place. He still would, if he could, but the great pantyless one never bestowed her not inconsiderable charms upon the hired help. No sir! She was high class! She never performed her tricks for anything less than the biggest, most expensive, doggy-biscuits that she could lay her perfectly manicured hands upon. Diamonds and money hadnt hurt her any, either. Oh well, such was the life of the perpetual underling. Back to work. God had given her great legs and he had been left with a big nose and an unquenchable thirst for the limelight. At least he still got airtime every night; prime-time airtime! And, when her looks went south, hed still be in front of the camera and going strong. Maybe someday, down the road, he would be the one mentoring another Ellen. One could hope Yes Mrs. George? Yes, Im Mrs. George. And what -- Mrs. George, Im Mike Kopjcek, I called yesterday and -- What is it Agnes? Its that television reporter, Charlie! Agnes George said back into the house.

Please, I forget my manners, young man! Come in! Come in! Mike and his two cameramen entered the well kept farmhouse. Mike motioned for Nicky to walk around and get some footage from the interior. David hustled around to keep his camera on Mike. Charlie George hobbled up and extended his hand. Sorry for the orange-crates. I got them out of the barn and drug them in here so we could have something to sit on. What happened to all of your furniture? Well, after you called us yesterday they came back with three horse-trailers and loaded up the rest of the stuff. Wait a minute, let me get this straight, Mike said, Johnny Barrelston -- the Governors son -- and his buddies came back and they robbed you again? Yup. Thats about the size of it. And they took all of your furniture? Actually, they took everything. Everything? Pretty much. They missed the orange-crates, though. Yeah, after we hung up with you they come rolling in and they loaded up our furniture, our clothes, our phones, the washer and dryer, and then they took my old truck and my wifes car. Thats terrible! Did you call the Sheriff about this? Charlie looked at Mike quizzically. Oh, right, they took your phones, too. Didnt you contact the Sheriff about the first thefts? And didnt he do something about it, then? We didnt call anybody. June Wellhill -- a neighbor -- got wind of it and she called. Then the Sheriff called us and asked if we would come to the station, so we did. He did say that hed look into it. He didnt have you sign a complaint? No. He said that it wasnt necessary for us to sign anything. He did ask us to keep this to ourselves until he could sort things out. Hmm. That doesnt sound quite right. Well check into that. You say you didnt call the sheriff. Why not? Well, sir, Charlie shifted on his crate, trying to ease the pains that he had from the beating that the Governors kid -- and friends -- had given him, the Lord said that if a thief steals something from us then we are not to ask for it back.

Run that one by me again! Son, the Holy Bible clearly states that we are not supposed to ask a thief to return the things that he stole, so we didnt complain. Youll find that in Luke, chapter six, verse thirty. Oh, I see. So you and your wife youre Christians? Yes sir! Charlie smiled at Agnes and looked back at Mike. We sure are! And the Lord has been mighty good to us, too! Doesnt look like hes been too good to you lately. Charlie lost his smile and got a more serious look. Son, youre sailing in some dangerous water there. No one of us has any right to criticize the Lord! He is the only one without blemish! He has been good to us! Agnes and I have had thirty very good years on this farm and we thank the Lord for that everyday! Mike did everything that he could to keep from rolling his eyes. Do that and hed have every religious nut in the world e-mailing and calling the boss. I guess you folks got pretty angry, though, eh? I know I would have gotten steamed up about it if someone came and cleaned my house out! Agnes put her hand on Charlies thigh -- restraining him -- and she answered that one herself. Young man, we prayed for those men. We asked the Lord to forgive them for what they had done. We dont hold anything against them. Mike tried -- the hardest that he had ever tried in his life -- to keep a straight face. If he fell over laughing, right now, he could later edit it out, but it wouldnt be a good thing to risk. Maybe these two would be compelled go to their neighbors phone and call his boss. He didnt need that. Steeling himself against an uncontrollable outbreak of laughter, he continued, These boys robbed you folks of everything that you have and you prayed for them? Charlie could see that this reporter just didnt get it. Son, the Lord commanded us to love our enemies. He didnt ask us if we wouldnt consider it, every now and then; He commanded us to do it! Dont you see, son, God gave us an undeserved chance to get it right. We had been condemned and he opened the doors to our jail cells and He let us out! We could go right back to death-row, if we dont get it right. Only this time, if we mess it up, well spend Eternity regretting it! Mike glanced over at his cameraman, David, and he could see that he, too, was having a tough time keeping it in. Davids teeth were tightly clenched together to keep the laughter from getting out. Mike steepled his hands together in front of his mouth and considered what to ask next. So I suppose itll be a while before the insurance company replaces everything. Whatll you folks do in the meantime? We dont have insurance. You dont have any insurance? Mike asked, incredulous.

No sir, we didnt do that well. This is a small farm and we just couldnt afford luxuries like that. We trusted in the Lord and we still do. Hell take care of us! Hell see to our needs. We have a little money in the bank and we still have the farm. Agnes has a whale of a good garden that shes cultivating and we can get our food out of that for the time being. Mike couldnt believe the simple naivet of these people. Surely they didnt really believe the claptrap that they were spouting! Maybe they were more properly classified as publicity hounds. That was probably it! They were probably lying about the insurance. For all he knew, June Wellhill -- if she existed at all -- was in cahoots with them. Maybe theyd cleaned the place out themselves in order to cheat the insurance company. Hed check with the Sheriff and, likely, hed be told that the Sheriff never heard of the George family. Yeah, hed definitely have to check that out before he ran the story. If these people didnt check out then Ed would doubtless have some other crummy assignment for him to waste his time on. Mike signaled David to cut the camera and round up Nicky. This part of the story was done. Mike stood up and extended his hand. Well, sir, I want to thank you two for letting us talk with you. I hope everything works out for you folks. The Georges both stood. Agnes said, God bless you, young man, and the two gentlemen that you brought with you. Charlie held Mikes hand firmly and looked the reporter in the eye. God go with you, sir! Thanks for coming by. You come by anytime! And bring those other two with you. Maybe next time you come to visit well have a refrigerator and we can offer you some of Agnes wonderful homemade lemonade! When they were safely turned away from the house and heading down the driveway, in the stations van, they all simultaneously burst out laughing and nearly went off the road -- several times. The assignment had been a welcome relief -- comic relief -- for all of them! It wasnt often that they went on an assignment to be entertained. It had turned out to be an enjoyable -- if wasted -- day. Later Mike called the Sheriffs office and went through the usual bureaucratic run-around with the underlings before he could get through to the Sheriff, himself. Sheriff Parker, here. What can I do for you Mister Kopjcek? Sheriff, you ever hear of an older couple in your county called the Georges? Stony silence on the other end. Sheriff? Yes You ever hear of them? What do you know about them, Mister Kopjcek?

Thats what I was calling to ask you More stony silence. Sheriff? Caught you at a bad time? Mister Kopjcek, maybe itd be best if you just forgot about those people and found something else to put on the news. Mike paused. This wasnt going at all like hed expected it to go! He had figured that the Sheriff would either say that hed never heard of them or hed confirm that they were nutcases and that would be the end of it. This wasnt going right at all! Ah, Sheriff, they told me that the Governors kid, and some of his buddies, came by -twice -- and cleaned their house out. I was there myself and I can tell you that the place is empty; they dont even have a box of tissues. We sat on some orange-crates while I interviewed them. Is there anything to their story? Silence. Sheriff? Why dont you come down here and well talk some more? This was really getting weird! Obviously the old couple was a little nutty, but something else was definitely going on and it didnt take someone with his large nose to smell it. OK, Sheriff, sure thing. Ill come by there. Tomorrow, after lunch work for you? Thatll be fine. Dial tone. Mike stared -- puzzled -- at the phone in his left hand and rubbed his confusion creased forehead with the other. If this kept up hed no doubt soon be following Alice down Lewis Carrolls rabbit-hole! The aide ushered Mike through the door and then closed it behind him. Without looking up from the paperwork on his desk, Sheriff Clarence Parker said, Pull up a chair, Mr. Kopjcek. Ill be right with you. The burly man sitting behind the desk scowled and cursed under his breath while punching figures into his calculator and scribbling some things on the papers in front of him. Finally he seemed to have arrived at a stopping point. Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Kopjcek! Im working on the budget and its a bugger! Tax revenues are down and payroll and equipment expenses are up! When I took this job I never dreamed that Id just become a glorified accountant. So much for police work No problem Sheriff. Sounds like a tough job. Mike offered. You dont know the half of it Mr. Kopjcek! But, enough of my problems! What can I do for you? Well, sir, Ive got a news assignment to wrap up or discard. I was figuring that this one would get round filed but Ive got to go through the motions anyway --

story or no story. The Sheriff sat back -- deep in thought -- and glanced around his office before leaning forward and fixing the reporter with a steely look. Round file it! Mike sat there, stunned, unable to formulate a response. Yesterday, over the phone, hed gotten the distinct impression that the Sheriff had more to say on the subject. They stared at each other across the large desk for a time; neither one offering anything more. So youre saying that theres nothing to the Georges story? The Governors kid -- and company -- didnt steal everything that the Georges owned? The Sheriff stared at Mike for a long time, saying nothing. Insurance fraud? The Georges are scamming their insurance company? Mike queried. The Sheriff didnt answer him. Instead he got up and walked across his office and poured himself a cup of coffee. Coffee? He asked without turning around. Yes. Please. Cream and two sugars. Mike answered. The Sheriff dumped some powdered creamer and sugar into a cup. Handing the reporter the coffee, he put a hand on Mikes elbow and guided him to a door that opened to the rear parking lot. Lets go for a ride. Puzzled, Mike got into the Sheriffs car and wondered what in the heck was going on. Sheriff Parker drove in silence for several miles. You like to fish, Mr. Kopjcek? Mike pondered the question and before he could muster an answer the Sheriff continued, Every chance I get I hightail it to the north forty and haul butt across Lake Cooter in a custom Trenton Bass boat! Honey of a boat! You can stand that thing on end and go flat out at about a hundred miles an hour! That big Merc can really crank out the ponies! Then, when you get where youre going, you can run the little battery powered prop right up to the fish and they wont even know youre there! Sweet little boat! Mike sipped his coffee. There had to be a point here -- somewhere -- didnt there? Damned if he could find it. He decided to just play the game. Stay silent and the Sheriff would eventually unravel the twine-ball and reveal what lay beneath; say something -- anything -- and the game would be over and hed go home emptyhanded. Some people were funny in that way --- you couldnt sledgehammer a pennys worth of information out of them but the more you kept silent the more they yakked. He could play that game. He got comfortable in his seat and continued silently sipping his coffee -- waiting.

You know, when I was a young man, I had thought that life was pretty simple and when I entered the Police Academy I was one of Rush Limbaughs heads full of mush. I was ready to tackle the world and bring order out of chaos. I was a regular Charles Bronson! I was going to single-handedly turn the tide and win the war. Clarence Parker sipped his coffee and stared not through the window of the squad-car, but into another world -- a younger and more straightforward one. You know, Mr. Kopjcek, life just didnt relent. It didnt give up! I didnt turn the tide. Oh, I might have diverted a small creek or two, but I couldnt budge the tidal forces of the ocean that humanity is. Im just a gnat railing against that giant fly-swatter thats ready to squash me at any given moment. This aint the movies, Mr. Kopjcek, and Im not Charles Bronson. Im just a small town Sheriff marking time until I can retire and get back to my fishing. The Sheriff drove on in silence for a while and Mikes mind was whirling like a South Texas twister. He had a sick feeling that Charlie and Agnes George had been ripped off! But, if that was true, then that meant that there might be something to the things that they had said and that was almost unthinkable. They had seemed like nice people; if a little nutty. Mike had never met anyone quite like them before. If they had been ripped off, then they were the real McCoy and he would have to rethink the whole God issue. If he had entered the Twilight Zone, he had a sinking feeling that there would be no turning back; hed be there for good! Let me put it this way, the Sheriff drawled, theres no formal complaint signed in regard to the alleged incident and I havent issued any Arrest Warrants. As far as Im concerned, nothing happened and, until the Georges sign a complaint, theres nothing that I can do. Officially, the alleged incident is a nonevent and it will probably remain that way. Mike felt a whopper of a headache beginning to take hold and he fervently wished for a couple of stiff shots of Irish Mist on the rocks but that would be a few hours away and he dreaded the interval between now and then. Pulling back into the lot that they had just left only a short time ago, the Sheriff parked alongside the reporters car, turned in his seat, and eyed Mike with a not entirely unsympathetic countenance. Look, Mr. Kopjcek, I wish I could do something, but the Governor isnt exactly a mild-mannered sort. Hes no lightweight --- by any stretch of the imagination. No sir, he doesnt have much of a sense of humor and he does have people that would find it to be no problem to make a nuisance disappear -- for good! Take my advice and just forget about this whole thing and find something else to fill up the TV News Hour with. That said, the Sheriff unceremoniously got out of the squad car -- leaving Mike slack-jawed -- and walked back into his office.

So, why the long face? You look like you did when your last wife and her lawyer cleaned you out. Youre not broke again? Ed Walker -- owner and Editor in Chief of the citys main newspaper and, not incidentally, also the owner and Station

Manager of Channel 6 TV -- asked Mike Kopjcek. Mike shifted his stance -- his left leg was cramped -- and raised his eyebrows at his boss while eyeing the bar. Ed subtly nodded his approval and waited while Mike poured them both a stiff drink. Mike gratefully sipped at the drink and felt the welcome burning sensation of the liquor as it made its way to his stomach. No, Im not broke. I dont think that Ill be getting married again -- in this life, anyway! Cheaper to date. Mike gulped down the balance of his whiskey and refilled his glass. Ed, Ive got a bad feeling about this story. Things just arent gelling like they should. Mike told his boss the whole story and then sat back, rubbing his aching forehead. The whiskey, fortunately, was beginning to work its wonders. Ed Walker swirled his drink to make better use of the ice-cubes. He drained his glass and then he, too, refilled it. Ed had been born into wealth. He could have gone straight from High School to lifetime retirement, but he enjoyed the News business -he was born with it in his blood. He could no more have retired than the Pope could become Santa Claus. Ed lived for the next News story. If pushed, he might privately admit that he was addicted to the News business. For some, it was food. For others, it was cocaine. For Ed it was the News. Rich or poor, Ed would have been in the business anyway -- he couldnt help it. He was hopelessly addicted. Ed uncharacteristically frowned and his forehead crinkled up a little. Mike, I got a call from the Governors office this afternoon Mike tensed and he could feel his too recently anesthetized headache coming back with a vengeance. Ed could see the tiger in Mike about to pounce and he held up both hands in a pantomime of retreat. Mike, I dont like it either. I -- Crap! Absolute unadulterated foul smelling -- Mike, youre my best reporter! Youre my best man! I dont like this anymore than you do. I think that-- Mike was fuming. Do I know what the Governor had to say? Do I? Mike thundered. Ed hung his head and looked terribly sheepish. It was patently obvious. There would be no story about the Governors wayward kid and his gang of thugs. There wouldnt be any headlines that might stain the Governors reputation and tarnish his image as a front-runner for the upcoming Presidential race. Johnny Barrelston and cronies were going to get a free ride on this one and the Georges would just have to sit on orange crates! Mike hastily knocked back the remainder of his whiskey and slammed the glass down on the desk. He turned and fumed the entire way out of the office. Dont slam the door, Ed begged -- too late. Mike slammed the door and the frosted glass pane in the top half of it broke and

scattered shards all over the floor.

Charlie, Charlie, Agnes George excitedly yelled out, quick, honey, come see who has come to pay us a visit! Charlie George sauntered up to door and his eyes lit up with pure pleasure when he recognized the Reporter that had interviewed them. Mr. Kopjcek! Welcome! Come on in here! Charlie George gently grabbed Mike by his upper arm and practically dragged him into the house. Come in to the kitchen, Charlie excitedly exclaimed while guiding Mike to a chair at the kitchen table. Agnes, get this man -- Here, Honey, Agnes George said, while putting a glass of fresh lemonade on the table before the reporter, and theres more coming! You just stay right there and Im going to warm up some lamb stew for you. Before Mike could utter any protests, Agnes was off and running around the kitchen like a cat on a hot tin roof. Charlie sat down beside Mike and positively beamed. You see all of this? Charlie Georges sweeping arm took in the new table, the new refrigerator, the pots and pans, et. al., What could be more proof that the Lord is good to us! We got up one morning and the delivery trucks were practically lined up down the street! God sent someone -- we still dont know who -- to give us back the things that the Governors kid took from us! Why I just -- Now Honey, Agnes interrupted, slow down a minute and let this man get some hot food into his stomach! Charlie apologized, Oh my, I forget my manners! Im sorry Mr. Kopjcek! I -- Mike held up a placating hand to forestall any further apologies. No apologies necessary, Mr. George. Please, I -- Agnes frowned at Charlie and shoved a plate of Texas toast at Mike and urged him to help himself to everything on the table. Mike had already had lunch, before he came, but he didnt want to hurt their feelings so he ate until his stomach felt like a balloon that was on the verge of bursting. After dinner they sat on the new sofas in the living room and sipped coffee. Were pleased as punch that you came to visit us, Mr. Kopjcek! Yes sir! We -- Mike. Please, just call me Mike. OK. And you just call us Charlie and Agnes, Mike. My oh my, but we sure are happy to see you Mike! We dont get visitors much and we sure do enjoy the company. Here, Hon, let me pour you some more coffee. Agnes chimed. Oh dear, I forget the cream! Be right back..

Mike smiled to himself. This older couple was the salt of the earth. These two were completely without guile -- what you saw is what you got, and Mike liked what he saw. He caught himself idly wishing that hed had parents like these two. His father had been a raging alcoholic and his mother had been a prescription drug addict. Between the two hed had his soul twisted up like a wet washrag that someone was trying to wring dry. Hed become something of an alcoholic, himself, but, thanks to the News industry, he had found a less harmful and hugely more productive addiction -- the adrenaline rush of breaking stories and yesterday deadlines. Like his boss, he was hooked on ferreting out the hidden stories that permeated society. However, even with the fairly consistent injection of the rush that News was, at the end of the day he still had an empty feeling in the pit of his stomach -- a feeling that three marriages had failed to cure. There was still something -- something important -- that he was missing and he wanted to find out what it was. The Georges had it -- that indefinable something that made you whole. Here you go, Hon. Agnes George put the diminutive pitcher of cream on the table near his coffee. In just a few minutes Ill have some coffee cake -- fresh out of our brand new oven -- to go with your coffee! Agnes smiled warmly at Mike. She loved making people feel at home and she especially liked this younger man. There was just something about him, that she sensed, that brought out her motherly instincts. After losing little Jimmy -- now so many long years ago -- shed begun to look at the world differently. Shed begun to see others as if they, too, could be her son. It was ironic how their sons untimely death had so deepened her motherly feelings about other peoples boys. Life was odd in that way. Ahh, Mike began, haltingly, I dont really know quite where to start. Ive never really been a religious man, but he paused, oh, heck! Ill just blurt it straight out! I cant think of another way to do it! Id like you folks to tell me what you know about God, I -- Well, God bless us all! Charlie exclaimed with enthusiasm. Honey, dont interrupt the man! Agnes George chided her husband of fortynine years. No, no, Charlie didnt interrupt at all! Mike gently protested. Well now, Honey, you just take your time. Youre not in a hurry, are you? You dont have to be somewhere? Agnes queried. No. No hurry at all; as long you folks have the time--- Oh, good! Lands sake, you just sit back and relax then, Mike. I think the coffee cake is about done right now. Ill go get it out of the oven and then well have some desert and some more coffee. She bustled off to the kitchen and Mike could hear the

oven door opening.

Mike had -- surprising even himself -- thoroughly enjoyed his evening with the Georges. Thanks to their hard-earned and in depth knowledge of the Bible, Mike came away with a good rudimentary understanding of God and His ways. Hed definitely be going back there, and soon! Whatever they had, he needed it too. Thankfully, they had never asked him if knew who had sent them the new appliances and furniture -- he hadnt wanted to lie to them. Even after three marriages he was still childless and, although he wasnt rich, he did have money that no one else had any claims on and his hardened reporters heart had been considerably softened by the realization that the Georges were no phonies. He had a friend in the appliance business that owed him some favors and, consequently, hed been able to get some very good name brand appliances at a decent discount. Another friend, in car sales, would soon be delivering a brand new crew cab pickup truck to the Georges house. Everyone involved had been sworn to keeping Mikes good deeds anonymous -- which they all did. Even at decent discounts on everything, Mike would still have to sell his house in the city if, and when, he decided to retire. He still had his cabin at the lake and he supposed that that would just have to become his retirement home; what with the majority of his retirement nest egg having just been spent. He still felt right about what he had done and he reckoned that retirement would be better spent in the country anyway.

Chapter 29

Safe Haven
The First Baptist Church of Melvins Corner was in full swing. Most of the Nations churches had a one hour morning service and a one hour evening service, but not this little church on the outskirts of the town of Melvins Corner. No sir! Not this little jewel in the pasturelands. Since Pastor Tom Reese had come there to shepherd the congregation, just seven years before, they had not had a normal service again. Thomas (just Tom to everyone who knew him) Reese had been a radical from the beginning. He had immediately requested that everyone honor a three-hour morning service and an hour and a half evening service. The Congregation had reluctantly -- at first -- voted to amend the service hours and they had all approached the next service with much trepidation. Who knew what to expect! What else, they thought as one, might this new arrival have in store for them? The Congregation in this little hamlet comprised a very conservative lot and they didnt take well to change; especially radical change. Albeit, at the next service the time flew by and, before anyone knew it, it was already pushing afternoon and everyone was still entranced and waiting for what would come next when Pastor Tom began wrapping up the service. Many hung around and spoke with Tom and his wife, Cathy; and each other. There didnt seem to be the normal rush out the doors when the service was over. Over time, as one Sunday service led to another, the congregation seemed to dilly dally longer and longer until the morning service began to blend into the evening service and, finally, the Sunday services simply became an all day event; one that everyone looked forward to. Sally Hanson and Sue Langley -- a couple of widows that loved to fuss over the younger members of the congregation -- largely looked after the pre-service breakfast and the afternoon meal. They let the younger women help them, but they had to be in the thick of things. The younger wives and mothers loved their company and everyone knew that this dynamic and gray-haired duo had to keep their hand in the kitchen because they needed to feel useful; and they could cook up quite a storm when they got going. A hush fell over the congregation. Something was in the air. A diffuse light began to permeate the cathedral ceiling of the little church and everyones eyes looked heavenward. They could all hear a choir singing -- even though their own choir was silent, along with the rest of them. It was an otherworldly choir, unlike any that any of them had ever heard before. As the singing increased in intensity the ceiling began to just kind of fade away and the membership could see a sunlit and heavenly scene unfolding before them in the clouds. There were Angels singing and playing musical instruments. They were just floating

there, in the clouds, and, in the center of it all, was what could only have been Jesus, himself. He was smiling and holding his arms wide, beckoning them to come to Him. One by one, too astonished to say a word, they floated up into the air and joined the Heavenly throng that awaited them.

Seven year old Judy Barbisette was sitting in the grass near her mother, who was hanging clothes out to dry. She was playing with her dolls and one in particular had captivated her until she began hearing singing. She idly looked around and asked, Mommy, wheres the singing coming from? Gretta Barbisette furrowed her brow. Why, she asked herself for the thousandth time, couldnt children just play quietly and keep to themselves? If that bum of a husband of hers hadnt run off with that hussy from down the street, she could pawn the brat off on him. No chance of that now! Thanks to that slut that couldnt keep her legs together! Gretta furiously grabbed another piece of laundry and pinned it to the line. The least the jerk could have done was to take the brat with him when he left, but did he? He never could think about anybody but himself! Mommy? Gretta turned, getting angry now, and she was about ready to slap Judy, but she stopped cold. Something wasnt right here. Something was definitely way out of whack here! Judy was floating up into the air, and quickly at that! Gretta screamed, loudly; more out of terror than out of concern for the little girl that had been her daughter. Later, when she had a good buzz on from the cheap whiskey that she often found comfort in, she wondered just what in the heck she was going to tell the police. After a few more drinks she realized that Judys disappearance might not even be noticed, if she just kept her mouth shut. She didnt really have any friends that might become concerned. The school was the only body that might make any inquiry and she could just tell them that Judy had gone to live with her father and, no, she didnt know where he lived. He had come by and picked her up and took off. Yes! That would do the trick! Her father came and took her to who knows where! Gretta passed the good buzz mark and graduated on to unconsciousness. A happy, carefree, unconsciousness. No worries. One less burden to contend with. Patrolman Frank Harrison punched up the plate number on the squad cars laptop and waited for the response from the NCICs mainframe. It didnt take long. The National Crime Information Centers computer showed no outstanding tickets or warrants. The car wasnt reported stolen and the driver checked out as being the owner of the car. It couldnt have been more routine. Frank finished filling out the warning ticket for a faulty taillight and he started to get out of the squad car. He stopped with one leg out of the car and stared in disbelief. One Maria Consuelo Conchita, born August 9, 1942 was floating up into the air. Frank rubbed his eyes and looked again. She was fast disappearing from view. Patrolman Harrison sat back in his seat and stared at the windshield. This was just plain crazy! Maybe he had a stroke or something. Maybe he ate some bad food for breakfast. Maybe there are space aliens! No, that would be too much. There couldnt be little green men. Could

there be? He looked blankly at the unsigned warning ticket in his hand. Patrolman Frank Harrison sat in his squad car for a long time, a very long time. Judge Cornelias Sheldon pounded the gavel and ordered that the courtroom be silenced or he would begin finding people in contempt of court and he would have the bailiff escort them to a cell. He relished the idea of sentencing the scum before him to the maximum that the law would allow; and that would be equivalent to a death sentence. This bum wouldnt be eligible for parole until long after he was dead and buried. As Judge of the thirteenth circuit court, in the great state of Missouri, I sentence you, Marvin Gunderson, to ninety-nine years at the maximum security prison in Mayes county. Marvins family turned white as the blood drained from their faces. Shelly, his wife, fainted and fell over. Tears streamed down the faces of his little boy and daughter. Marvin, himself, felt ice-water flow through his veins. He had had a troubled youth and he had gotten into trouble as a young adult, but he had found the Lord and he had been blessed with Shelly and the children. He had straightened his life out and he hadnt had any drugs or drink in ten years. All of that kind of stuff had been left in the past along with his old life. He and Shelly had created a new life for themselves and they were happy with it. They werent rich; they werent even well off, but they had each other and the children, and they had hope in things that couldnt be seen. A bailiff had rushed to Shelly and someone had fetched a glass of water. She was shakily sipping at the water, barely able to see her beloved husband through the tears that filled her eyes. The children were huddled around her, hanging onto her dress; their own tears staining it. Their world had just come crashing down upon them and they couldnt bear the unyielding weight of it all. Marvin, paradoxically, heard what could only have been some kind of choir. They were miles from any kind of a church and he wondered if the Judge was playing some kind of cruel joke on him. It sounded like the music and singing was coming from everywhere. He couldnt pinpoint any particular direction. He looked over at his wife and children. They were looking up. He looked up, too, and was stupefied to see that the ceiling of the courtroom was fading away and a Heavenly scene was being revealed. He looked back to his family again and they looked at him. They looked around the courtroom and it was obvious that no one else noticed anything out of the ordinary. The lawyers and the prosecuting attorneys were all packing up their paperwork and nothing seemed amiss. Everyone did look up, though, at the sound of Marvins handcuffs and shackles falling onto the courtrooms oak flooring. The Honorable Judge Cornelias Sheldon was, for the first time in his life, without words. He silently watched -- as did everyone else in the courtroom -- as Marvin Gunderson, his wife Shelly, his daughter Megan, and his little boy Shawn floated up through the ceiling and disappeared. Marvin had not been the perpetrator that had robbed the EasyGo convenient store and murdered the night clerk. The sheriff knew who had done it, but he had found it more convenient to frame

Marvin for the crime. He wasnt about to let his own nephew go to prison for something that could have happened to just about any kid. Kids were wild. They made mistakes and Sheriff Robert Bousally figured that a no-account like Marvin would be an easy shoe-in for the perp; after all, he did have a record and it wouldnt be any trouble to find some other scumbag to say that he saw Marvin do the crime. He had caught Jimmy the Pimp with some crack-cocaine and he didnt have any difficulty convincing Jimmy to be a witness. Crack carried a long mandatory term in the big-house and Jimmy didnt give a rats ass if some other idiot did some time, just so long as he didnt. The deal had been made and Marvins doom had been sealed -but for a miracle and, surprisingly, it had come!

Its a shame! That poor girl! Yes, it is! She looks like she was probably real pretty before Poor thing. All she does is walk around all day trying to brush the dirt off of herself. She can never get clean. Poor dear! Do you think shell ever snap out of it? I dont know, Jenny, Ive been here twenty-one years and Ive never seen anyone that far gone turn around and come back. The doctors say that with time and the right meds she might come around, but Im not so sure Whats she doing now? Ive never seen her do anything like that! Lord almighty! She is doing something different! For someone like her to break the routine is definitely a sign of something, all right! It looks like shes reaching up for something. I wonder what shes seeing? Get the doctor, Hon! Quick! Get him now! Hurry up, girl! I want him to see this! Jill walked into the common area and stood there. Every time she stood still for very long, piles of dirt just seemed to gravitate towards her and stick to her. The only thing that seemed to help, at all, was to keep walking; that way the dirt had to travel farther before it could stick to her. And stick to her, it did! Even if she walked really fast, the dirt would still come; although not as much, but she couldnt keep up the rapid pace for long so she had worked out a compromise -- she would maintain a consistent easy pace and, all the while, she would brush the attracted dirt off. She could never catch up. She could never get all of the dirt off, but it seemed to help; a little. Walk and brush, walk and brush, walk and brush Jill could hear some kind of music. It was strange music, not unpleasant, but weird -- not like anything that she had ever heard before. She thought she could hear Billy somewhere, but that couldnt be; they wouldnt let Billy come here. He was too young and, besides, Jill didnt want the dirt to get him, too. It was better that he never

come here. She didnt want any of the dirt to get on him. The sounds persisted. She felt a warm pressure on her forehead, like what she would feel if the sun were shining on it. She looked up. Billy was in the clouds and he was saying something to her. There couldnt be any clouds there, but they were there. Billy was holding his hand out to her and saying something. She strained really hard and thought she could hear him saying to grab his hand. She stretched her hand up into the air. Thats it, Sis! Stretch your hand out and grab mine! Thats right, Sissy! Just touch my fingertips and Ill get you! Nurse Jenny returned with Doctor Oliver Reed in tow. The three of them stood there, awestruck, as Jill Pendensky floated up into the ceiling and disappeared from view. Jillian stood on the clouds and looked at her arms. There wasnt any dirt on them! And there were no more scars! She tentatively felt her face and couldnt feel any dirt or scars there, either. She looked down and saw that she was wearing a white robe-like dress of some kind. Billy gently took her by the hand and said, Come on, Sis, Ive got someone I want you to meet!

Chapter 30

Airwaves
Good evening and welcome to the Midnight Cruise, taking you through the night on a voyage into the strange and unknown. Im Stanley Blackwolf Ham, your guide for the duration of tonights journey. The world just keeps getting weirder and weirder! Yesterday evening the President announced a state of National Emergency and he indicated that he might declare Martial Law within the next few days -depending upon the duration of the emergency. He said that we are under attack from an unknown enemy and that the administration would keep us posted on the situation as it unfolds. An unknown enemy. Oh my, thats very interesting! An unknown enemy. What do you suppose the President meant by that? Well, Stanley drawled, I just happen to have a reliable source -- within the Administration -- that told me that the President and his Military Advisers are considering that an extra-solar civilization could be behind the disappearances that occurred worldwide, yesterday afternoon, around four PM Central time. An extra-solar civilization!, I said to my source, You mean Aliens? He replied, You didnt hear that from me, but, yes. The President and his advisers think that an alien civilization might be behind the abductions. So there it is, folks, the Administration believes that Aliens have abducted those who disappeared yesterday afternoon. Abducted, as in kidnapped! Blackwolf cuts loose with a trademark howl; a bone-chilling, scary howl, borrowed from Hollywood horror movies. Have I got a cruise for you! Standby for the rest of the journey into the strange and the alien! Stanley Blackwolf Ham doffed his headset and leaned back in his chair while the preprogrammed commercials played. Susan, his wife, frequently spent the night with him at the studio. They didnt have any children so there was no one at home to miss them except for their two Dachshunds, Samson and Delilah. The studio had come equipped with a small but serviceable kitchen, which they used nearly every night. Susan loved to cook gourmet meals and Stanley loved eating them. They had a comfortable life. Susan had a small jewelry shop -- which she owned, but just managed -- nestled on the outskirts of Berkeley. She had long since hired others to run the day to day operations. She merely checked in once in a while to make sure that there were no problems and once every month or so she would take a quick trip to Thailand or China to see what treasures she could bring back for her upscale clientele. All in all, not a bad

life -- until yesterday afternoon, that is. Neither one of them had been particularly religious, especially not with their Bay Area upbringing and background. The lifestyles that they had both been exposed to while growing up, and had come to accept as normal, were hardly in keeping with any kind of Biblical standard. Until last night neither one of them had thought much about the Bible, but now it was all that they could think of. Soda? Stanley peered into the refrigerator and eyed some drinks for them. Sure Honey, thanks. Dr. Pepper. Whew! What a time were living in , eh? Susan sipped some soda and held Stans hand while putting her feet up on the coffee table. You sure have that right! If this isnt the hand of God in action then I havent the slightest clue as to what is going on. I hear that! I just cant figure out the Administration. They cant seriously believe that aliens have attacked the Earth and made off with thousands of people. If they believe that, then theyre nuts! Stanley rubbed his forehead, willing the chronic headache, that he had been developing, to go away. You know, Honey, this is all so new to us -- just imagine the shock for others. I think that theyre just grabbing at straws, hoping that the whole thing will just fade away and be forgotten. I cant help but to think that they just dont want to face the possibility that God is behind this. They cant control Him. They cant control aliens, either, but, at least aliens give them a tangible target to shoot at. The idea that God intervened is just too much for them. Aliens are a lot easier to deal with -- ludicrous as that sounds. Stanley drank some more soda and nibbled at the now cold spinach quiche that Susan had made earlier. Oh, crap! Ten seconds to go Stanley raced for the control console and scrambled to get his headset on and the controls punched up correctly. Good morning my fellow night owls, youre voyaging through the wee hours on the Midnight Cruise with Blackwolf. Lets take some calls and see whats out there. Sacramento, youre on the air. Hi Stan, are you having fun yet? Stan laughs with his best horror movie laugh and sighs. Well, I was, until the events of yesterday afternoon. Now, I dont know.... Oh, by the way, this is Charity. Stan, I just cant believe that the aliens are finally making themselves known! This is just so cool! By this time -- Charity, whoa! Slow down a minute. Take a deep breath. Now, why do you think that aliens are behind what happened yesterday? Are you kidding, Stan? Isnt it obvious? Come on, what else could it be? God?

She laughs and laughs. Sounds of the phone dropping on the floor and banging around. Hey, you OK there? Stan mumbles some stuff about the sounds that theyre all hearing, so that there wont be any dead air -- the bane of all broadcasters. Above all else, you dont want dead air! Sorry. I got to laughing so hard that I fell on the floor! Anyway, I just think its so very cool that the Aliens -- Aliens. Hmmm. That is something. Little green men beaming us up to the mothership for who knows what nefarious purposes! Whew! Alberta, Canada, youre on the air. Hey, Blackwolf! Man, you are so weird! Thank you, sir. I appreciate that. Whats your name? Oh, yeah, this is Kevin. Hey man, I just wanted to tell you that I saw four people floating up into the air yesterday and I hadnt even been smoking anything. You know -- You didnt take even a couple of puffs, eh? No man, I like laid off, you know. My girlfriend doesnt like me to do that kind of stuff, so Ive been clean for six days now. Quite a record there, caller. Six days cold turkey. Wow! So, you holding up OK? Oh yeah, man. Im doing good. So, Kevin, tell me, what do you think was behind yesterdays disappearances? Oh wow! I dont know, man. I think like the boogeyman got them or something. Well folks, there you have it, from Alberta, Canada -- the boogeyman got them. Stan howls like a wolf. Tokyo, Japan, youre on the air. Ah, Mister Wolf -- Thats Blackwolf, sir! Whats your name? Oh, so sorry! Blackwolf. My name is Norito. Just after midnight last night -- That would be about the same as two in the afternoon, here on the West Coast, I think. Ah, yes. I believe thats close. I dont travel much outside of Japan, but I think were about ten hours different, yes. Anyway, I was working late on some engineering work that I do for my company and when I went outside I saw this street man floating

up into the air. It was crazy! I hadnt been -- Street man? Oh, you mean a bum, a homeless person. Yes. I dont know if he was homeless, I guess he was. He didnt look like he was a worker of any kind. Homeless people in Japan floating up into the air. Terrifying wolf howl again. We have definitely entered the Twilight Zone folks. No doubt about it. Any moment now we will get word, from the powers that be, that we irretrievably turned a dark corner and we wont be able to find our way home again! Omaha, Nebraska, youre on the air. Hello Stan, I dont want to use my name. I work for a major airline and I dont want to risk them being able to identify me. Anyway, yesterday afternoon, around five PM Eastern time, I was serving an afternoon snack on the airplane when I noticed a man and his little girl suddenly look up, as if they had heard something. They both looked straight up. Of course, there was nothing to see but the ceiling of the cabin. I was puzzled , so I kept an eye on them while I continued to serve the others. After a few minutes they both got up out of their seats. I tried to tell them that they needed to remain seated until we were done serving them, but they didnt seem to hear me. They just kept looking up, oblivious to everything else. Suddenly they just floated up into the air and somehow -- I still cant figure out how they did it -- they went through the ceiling as if it wasnt even there. Oh, I think that would be more than enough to cause me to be looking for the nearest exit! Of course that would be a little bit of a problem on an airplane flying at thirty thousand feet. Tell me, caller, what was your reaction? Were you scared out of your wits? Uh, well, I didnt really think about that. I was stunned. Shocked. Scared? I guess not. Odd. I think my knees would be banging together, at the very least. Thank you, caller. Coming up next hour, Rabbi Joseph Rosenstein. You dont want to miss that! Maybe the Rabbi will have some answers for us. In any case, its going to be a very interesting show! Another chilling trademark wolf howl. Say, Honey, Susan cooed, why dont we take some time off and go to the cabin. Itll be fun! We could, she said with a wicked smile, go skinny dipping in the lake, under the full moon. What do you say tiger? Hmm. Youre ringing some bells, you wayward wench. Ouch! You pinched me! Watch who youre calling a wench, mister! Stan held both hands up in the air. OK, OK. Just dont hurt me, Superwoman -Im fragile! Im just a guy, you know. Susan kissed his cheek and relented. OK, point made. You are just a fragile man. She giggles at the picture it made

in her mind. Stan was six-two and weighed in at just over two-thirty; most of it muscle. Seriously, Honey, why dont we make a quick getaway? Im thinking, Im thinking. Stan nibbled some peanuts from a bowl on the coffee table. Well, he drawled, why the heck not? We deserve some time off now and then. Lets do it! The worlds going so damn crazy, maybe it is time to get off the train for a while and recoup. When? I dont know Suze, how about Labor Day weekend? Thats only a few weeks away. Susan pretended to pout. Mmm. You trying to dodge the bullet, Kimosabe? Afraid of a little white girl, maybe? Afraid, eh? Ill show you afraid! Susan screamed and laughed at the same time. No! Now you stop that! She screamed some more. Stan didnt mind tickling her. He didnt mind at all, especially considering how the tickling match usually ended. No, he didnt mind one bit. Oh no! You incorrigible, wicked, demented little thing, you! Fifteen seconds to go Once again Stan ran for the control console and hurried to get back on the air in time. Youre back with Blackwolf, Commander of the Midnight Cruise through the land of the bizarre and the weird. Tampa, Florida, youre on the air. Good morning Stan. Good morning to you, sir. Whats happening in the land of oranges this hour? Stan, Im a pilot for a big airline -- one of the majors -- so I wont be using my name. Yesterday I was taking off and at about thirteen-thousand feet, over a major city, I had to swerve to avoid a crowd. A crowd of people. I know this sounds crazy, Stan, but it happened. I had to swerve the airplane to avoid hitting a crowd of people standing on a mesa-like cloud. Now that would definitely rock my boat! People standing on a cloud! Oh my, that would definitely make me rethink the whole flying thing! Caller, you didnt stop off at the lounge before you got into the cockpit, Hmm? Ive talked to other pilots, Stan, and many of them saw similar things. I dont know what in the heck is going on. Ive been a pilot for thirty years -- four of those years flying military jets -- and Ive never seen anything quite like this. Its nuts! Whats happening to the world? I wish I knew. Believe me, I wish I knew. Thank you, caller. Devilish laugh.

The world is going crazy and I want off. Somebody, show me the exit, please! Were at the top of the hour and so is my guest, Rabbi Joseph Rosenstein. He is the author of a book about the End Times, which he says we are now in. Rabbi, welcome. Good morning, Stan. Its a pleasure to be on your show. Thank you for inviting me. My pleasure, Rabbi. So, tell me, what do you make of all of this? Well, Ill tell you, Stan, but first let me preface that with this; I am a Messianic Jew. That means that I was born a Jew, but now I believe in Christ. Therefore I am a Christian, though one of Jewish blood. When I learned what had happened yesterday -I didnt personally see any of it as I was taking an afternoon nap at the time -- I cried for at least an hour straight. You cried. Yes. I cried. Stan, when I heard what had happened I realized that the Rapture had occurred and I wasnt included. It was quite a blow! This forced me to the realization that I was a Christian in name only. I had not received God into my heart, not even after thirty years as a Rabbi and several years as a Christian. I was devastated! Oh my, that would be devastating! Rabbi, as you know, our government -- as well as others around the world -- is saying that the disappearances are due to some kind of weapon that an unknown enemy is using against everyone. Stan, only God himself could be behind what has happened. It is ludicrous to even think that some kind of space-age weapon could be responsible for the event! Well Stan drawls, there are some who think that that is exactly what has occurred. Absolutely ridiculous, Stan! I havent had the time for a thorough investigation, but I have called everyone that I could think of that personally knew anyone that had disappeared and they have all told me that the ones that they knew were devout worshippers of God -- Christians and otherwise. As well, even if we only go by the Old Testament -- the Torah to the Jews -- the prophecies all point to this event occurring in the time that we are living in. All of the signs coming together, at this time, make it indisputable as to what has transpired. Ah, now thats interesting! You said that you heard evidence that some nonChristians had been participants in the event. Yes, Stan, I believe that just as God passed the torch, so to speak, to the Gentiles, when the Jews refused to accept Jesus as the Messiah, He also opened the door to all believers, as well. Rabbi, are you telling me that even if someone doesnt know, or believe in Jesus, that God would still accept them into his Kingdom? Most Christians, that I know of, would tell you that unless you know and accept Jesus, you are damned to an

eternity of Hell! Yes, Stan, that is precisely what I am telling you. God will not refuse anyone who loves Him and keeps His Commandments. But what if they dont know His Commandments, wont they still be damned for their ignorance? Thats a very good question, Stan. No, I dont believe that they will be damned solely for their ignorance. I believe that, if an individual loves God, then God will write his Commandments in their hearts and they will know the truth -- even if they dont have any religious education. Remember, Stan, we have found tribes of people, untouched by modern civilization, that had no words for hate, envy, murder, and such. In Gods eyes, they were innocent. They kept His Commandments without anyone teaching them what they were -- save God Himself!. Obviously -- and painfully -- this is a lesson which I knew from my studies of the Scriptures, but one that I personally didnt get. The Scriptures make it quite plain that it is only through a personal relationship with God that one may be saved. Hmm. Very interesting point about the lost tribes, Rabbi. I have a message on my screen from Lewis, in Macon, Georgia. He says, Stan, if this was the Rapture, then why is it that last night the Churches were still full of most of the people that had always gone there? Didnt the Bible say that the Church would be raptured? Rabbi? What do you think? Well, your listener is very close, Stan. My studies of the Scriptures indicate that the Church isnt so much a group of buildings as it is a matter of the heart. That is, those who have a personal relationship with God are considered to be the Body of the Church. Ahh, then what you are saying to us is that everyone that disappeared had a personal relationship with God, Himself? Exactly so, Stan. I am ashamed to be here, today, to admit that, but there it is. I believe with every fiber of my being that the true believers were called home to God yesterday afternoon. That could be a very disturbing thought for the rest of us that didnt make the grade! Yes, I know that personally, Stan. It is a very disturbing state of affairs! Oh, this is fascinating! My Webmaster, Tim Kowalski, has just contacted me and he tells me that he has pictures of the event and he is posting them as we speak. Let me see here....Im navigating through the website now. Wow! These pictures are absolutely amazing! Listeners, you have to see these! If you have a computer, go to blackwolf.ten, thats www.blackwolf.ten -- blackwolf is all one word. Click on the blackwolf logo, go to floaters, and then click on pictures. You wont believe these pictures. Theyre astounding!

Tim tells me that he has literally hundreds of pictures and he is posting only the most fantastic ones. My, my, my, I think weve entered the Twilight Zone for sure! Oh, heres an interesting e-mail, Stan, please dont give out my name, Im a military pilot and yesterday I was on maneuvers, in a fighter jet, and I had to pull some serious Gs to avoid hitting people floating up into the air! Did somebody poison our water supplies with hallucinogens or something? What in the heck is going on? Stan erupts with a wolf howl. Yes, listener, you are mad as a hatter, but, at a glance, so are the rest of us -- so youre far from alone. Right now Id say you have a whole world full of company. If you have enough wits about you to navigate and fly a fighter jet, then Id say that your problem isnt in the sanity department, but in a different one -- one that we, evidently , all seem to be sharing in. Rabbi, stay right where you are and well be right back after this Stan held his wife close to him and focused on the only thing of normality in a world that was falling down around him. What dya think, Suze? We all going mad? Susan saw the confusion in her husbands clear blue eyes. Honey, she said, brushing some errant strands of his hair with her fingers, I think that God has given us all a big wake up call! Godhmm. I never gave Him much thought. It sure looks like Hes been thinking about us, though, eh? Susan kissed Stan, passionately, and melted into his embrace. He savored the closeness in silence and sneaked a peak at the clock. Forty-five seconds to go. Rabbi, were back. You said that you had accepted that Jesus was, in fact, the Messiah that the Old Testament had foretold. Why, then, did you remain a Rabbi, rather than becoming a Christian minister? Well, Stan, I thought long and hard about that issue. Remember, I had been a Jewish Rabbi for nearly thirty years before I came to the realization that Jesus was the one that the Scriptures had spoken of, however, I didnt really have the big change of heart that I should have had; which my being here today is witness to. I intellectually realized the truth, but my heart didnt follow. Also, I felt that I could do more good by remaining among my own people, trying to get them to see the truth that I had come to see. Good answer, Rabbi. So, where do we go from here? Thats not an easy answer, Stan. All of us will be facing some very tumultuous times in the very near future. The Scriptures are quite clear on this point. The best advice that I can give anyone, at this point, is to get your heart right with God. Tumultuous times.....hmm. I didnt think that things could get much more topsy-turvy than they are right now. Oh, trust me, we havent seen anything yet! Thats not too comforting! Rabbi, feel like taking on callers?

Sure, Stan. Bring them on. Good enough. Barbara, in El Cajon, youre on the air. Hi Stan. Hello Rabbi. Im still-- Caller, you must be on a cell phone. The sound quality is really -- -- Sorry, Stan. Im going outside to the deck right now. Hows this? Much better. Rabbi, Ive read books about the End Times and I found them interesting, but I had always thought that I wouldnt be seeing anything like that in my lifetime. Here it is, now, and Im totally unprepared. What should I do? Im lost. Youre not alone, Barbara. I have been feeling much the same way, myself. I dont think that any of us expected to find ourselves in the situation that we are currently in. Like you, I didnt think that these events would take place for another thousand years, if then. Barbara, I suggest that you find a church and start going there. Learn about Jesus and begin developing a relationship with Him. This is the very same task that faces each one of us. We must choose between God and the Devil. If we choose God -- and I pray that everyone will -- then we must become partners in a relationship with Him. We must confess our sins to Him and beseech Him to forgive us and help us to find our way back to Him. Rabbi, Im worried for my husband and children. They dont believe that God had His hand in all of this. They believe that some kind of natural phenomenon is behind this. None of us were churchgoers before and now I think we should be, but they just pooh-pooh the idea and go back to listening to music and watching TV as nothing out of the ordinary had happened. I am sorry for you Barbara. I am afraid that we will be seeing this kind of schism occurring all over the world -- from here on out. I wish that I could tell you that everything will be all right and that your family will come around to your way of thinking, but that would be unfair. I will pray for you and your family, Barbara. Thank you, caller. Hmm....some tough times, eh, Rabbi? So, youre saying that families all over the world will be split on this issue? Sadly, Stan, this worldwide schism was prophesied thousands of years ago and it appears that it is now coming to pass just as it was written. Rabbi, all of these prophecies worry me to the extent that it seems that we dont have any free will in all of this. We seem to be mere automatons, going through predestined motions -- unable to avoid the big tree that the car is zooming towards. Stan, the Bible does talk of predestination many, many times, throughout, however free will is never eliminated! There was talk of those that God foreknew -- or knew before -- that He had predestined to become like Him, but, even among these,

free will is never eliminated. Any of these chosen ones still have the free will to turn away from God and go the other way -- just as a third of the Angels did. Likewise, those that were not predestined to be like God can still use their free will to choose Him over the Devil. In fact, that is the whole purpose of the Tribulation -- to cause us to choose sides, so to speak. Whew! Stan erupts with a loud, prolonged howl. Life is stranger than fiction. You cant make things much weirder than they are. All we need now is for the aliens to land on the White House lawn and announce that they will destroy the Earth if we dont hand over all of our grass-clippings and cow-manure! Actually, at this point, that wouldnt really surprise me in the least. Besides, that would help solve our landfill problem. Am I cracking up? Probably. Will my Producer remove me from the air for a protracted break from broadcasting? Doubtful. Are the men in white lab coats coming for me, even as we speak? I sure hope so! In the meantime, Laura from Alberta, Canada, youre on the air. Good morning, Rabbi, Stan. Rabbi, if we have free will then how is it that Jesus knew that Judas would betray him? Wasnt it prophesied that he would betray Him? Oh my, very insightful question, Laura! Let me answer that this way; I dont know precisely the nature of every event, but I do know that we always have free will. One way to answer your question is that Jesus knew that Judas would follow his own free will down a certain path and end up betraying Him. Lets say, for example, that we are at the top of a hill and radiating from this hilltop are various chutes that end at different places around the bottom of the hill. Now suppose we place a man at the top of the hill and allow him free will to choose any chute which he wishes to choose. Now suppose he jumps into a particular chute and begins his journey down the hill. God can see which chute the man has used his free will to jump into. Furthermore, God can see the nature of that mans journey and where he will come out at the bottom of the hill. Only God -- and those He chooses to reveal these things to -- can see these chutes. We, being ordinary people, can not see these chutes so we find it to be very mysterious that God can see the course of a mans life before it even occurs. Of course, there arent really any actual chutes, but the analogy still works, I think. Rabbi, you are a genius! Thank you so much! Thank you caller. Rabbi, wow! Youre blowing me away! Tonight has definitely become a crash course in God and, who knows, well probably all be needing what youre teaching us this wee hour of the morning. By the looks of things, well probably need it all of tomorrow and every day after that. Very kind of you Stan. Thank you. I wish I had all of the answers -- there is only one who does -- but I dont. I will certainly try my best, though, to help anyone that I can. Jim, from Chesapeake, Virginia, youre on the air. Please turn your radio off! Theres an approximately seven second delay and if you try to listen to both the radio and my voice on the phone, at the same time, you are then in danger that your brain might short-circuit, causing your head to fall completely off of your shoulders and roll across the kitchen floor, scaring the living daylights out of your poor cat -- which would probably have a kitty heart seizure and die from shock! This phenomenon has

been very well researched and documented, so, callers, beware that you dont keep screwing up! Very risky business! Whoa, OK, Stan! Sorry about that. Thats really scary, man! I had no idea that that kind of thing could happen! Technology is really getting scary, you know, and what you just said proves that. The radio is off now. Thank you, caller. Everyone, please remember, when you hear me take your call, turn your radio off. Yeah, anyway, Stan, what I wanted to ask the Rabbi is, If God loves us, then why does he allow evil? Why does God allow evil? Oh, thats definitely a question on millions -- perhaps billions -- of minds! Rabbi? I agree, Stan, that is -- I am sure -- a question that most people have pondered. Caller, I would answer that this way; God could wave his little finger and do away with Satan, but, and this is a critical point, evil would still remain in the hearts of Man. God is using Satan -- and his evil siblings -- as a giant vacuum-cleaner. He is using the invisible pressure of evil to cause us to choose. In this way, when we finally do reach Heaven, there wont be any of us who are untested, and possibly prone to challenging God and turning away from Him as Satan and his followers did. Stan erupts with an eerie howl and pushes the button that plays the recording of a whole chorus of howling wolves -- done by him and recorded and mixed right in this studio. Rabbi, you have really shed some much needed light in some very dark corners on this Midnight Cruise! Heres an e-mail from Kevin in Anchorage, Alaska. Kevin asks, If the disappearances are the Hand of God removing His Church from the Earth, then what happens to the rest of us? Good question, Kevin. Rabbi, what will happen to the rest of us? I hesitate to answer that Stan. I really dont want to answer that one, but I will because I believe that the Truth is the best armor that any of us could hope to have. It wont be pretty, I am afraid. The Bible tells us that we will be facing attacks on many fronts -- plagues, pestilence, earthquakes, tsunami waves, rampant diseases, and the inability to sell or purchase anything whatsoever unless we bow to the Antichrist and accept his mark in either our right hands or in our foreheads. I must warn your listeners, do not -- under any circumstances -- accept this mark, which will be an implantable microchip of some kind. Dont do it! Acceptance of this mark is an acceptance of the Devil and will doom your souls to Hell! Hmm, that doesnt sound like too good of a future to me, Rabbi. It gets worse. Worse? Im afraid so. Hold it right there, Rabbi. Were at a break. Well be right back.

What do you think, Suze? Have you been listening? Yeah, the future sucks! It sure does, Hon! Sucks, big time! Stan, Honey, when we take a break, why dont we just stay there? We could buy a couple of years worth of dehydrated foods and take it with us. We wouldnt need to come back here, for anything! Im with you Babe, Im definitely with you! Its about time to get the heck out of Dodge! Lets do it! When we go to the cabin well just plan on staying there. The world can just get along without us and -- hopefully -- they wont come looking for us, either. Well just disappear into the sunset. Lets not wait, Stan, lets go tomorrow! Im scared and I want out now! OK, wench, you convinced me. Im getting a little troubled, myself. Tomorrow it is! Were out of here!

Chapter 31

Gibberish
Worldwide hallucinations, revolving around a central theme of people floating up into the air and disappearing into the clouds, have been explained by government scientists. Apparently a massive solar flare caused the magnetosphere of the Earth to generate a small, but powerful, electrical signal within the brains of people around the world. The area of the brain that was affected involved the visual cortex, which determines how we interpret things that we see with our eyes. According to scientists, this area of the brain is also responsible for dreams that contain episodes of people being able to fly. Scientists assure us that this was a freak coincidence of events that, likely, couldnt occur again in a billion years. So there you have it, folks! An aberrant solar electrical storm made some of us see things that just werent there. On to other news, Egyptian President Yousif Hasan is making history as his Peace Accord with Israel continues to be an unprecedented success. The drought in the Southwest is still --

Why dont you turn that stupid thing off! Stanley Ham complained, showing his disgust with the mainstream medias obsession for keeping the status quo -keeping the sheep quiet and content. Susan, his wife of many years, looked hurt. She turned the satellite news channel off. Im sorry, Honey! Stan moaned. This crap has really got my world turned upside down! And my world? She riposted. Stan lowered his head in shame. He hated himself when he unfairly took things out on Susan. She was a real trooper and here he was, slamming her for something that neither of them had anything to do with. He walked over to where she was sitting and he sat beside her. I dont mean to be an ass, baby! Youre my sunshine! Im just being a crab. Dont pay any attention to me Susan relented and put a consoling hand on his thigh. Honey, I know youre not mad at me. I just need you to be here for me. I dont have anyone else, either, and I need to be able to count on someone in this crazy world. Everything is going nuts! I dont know what in the heck is going on anymore! Tears streamed down her face and

her shoulders shook as she silently sobbed. For the thousandth time, in the last few weeks, Stan felt like he was all of two inches tall. At first their seclusion at the mountain cabin had been like a vacation; which it was. Their first one in a lot of years. But, then, the impact of it all finally began hitting them -- full force -- and they had both become irrational and irritable. Little things started bothering them and minor squabbles heated up into nearly uncontrollable conflagrations; angry battles. They both knew that they couldnt continue on this way, but neither of them was quite sure how to go about extricating themselves. Finally, at the end of their respective ropes, they both fell to their knees and prayed to the God that they reckoned must be behind all that had happened. They prayed that God would help them. Sooner than they knew, He would help them. Stan, come here. Susan motioned for him to hurry. She had set up an easel and had been lightly sketching out the lake and the landscape around it; later she would paint over the sketch with oils. Susan wasnt much of an artist but, these days, anything that would keep ones mind occupied, and away from recent events, was a welcome diversion. Stan tried to keep busy, as well. He got up from weeding the garden and asked, Whats up, Hon? See that? Susan pointed. What? Stan squinted in the direction of her finger. Right there. See that little meadow near the water? Mmm. Yeah He shaded his eyes with one hand. See anything in the trees behind the meadow? By gosh, I do! It looks like smoke from a campfire! I wonder who it could be. Stan stared hard, but he couldnt see any signs of activity, other than the obvious smoke plume rising from some fir trees. Hey, what do you say we try out our new canoe? Maybe we can do a little snooping Susan smiled mischievously. Think youre up for it? she taunted, poking him in the gut. Looks to me like youve spent just a little too much time sitting behind that microphone! Think you can keep up with me? Ill bet --- Stan tackled Susan and began tickling her with enthusiasm. You big fink! She screamed between uncontrollable fits of laughter. OK, OK! Uncle! I give up! You brute! All right, maybe you might be able to keep up. Lets find out. They launched the new Mountaineer flat-bottom canoe into the lakes still water and began paddling for the area that the smoke was coming from. Stan piloted the

canoe from the stern-paddlers position and Susan had the bow position; the easier of the two. Despite Stans obvious paunch, he did have good upper body strength; he had kept in some semblance of shape by periodically pumping iron and, although he didnt look it, he could probably whip most guys that looked stronger than him. They paddled quietly and pondered what they might find when they reached the little meadow that they had seen. For Stan, there was a strong sense of uncertainty present in him, but he figured it was better to meet some things head-on rather than to wait for them to show up on your doorstep, unannounced. From Susans viewpoint they might find some new friends in an increasingly unfriendly and alien world. Mitch! Come here! Look! I think weve got some company coming! Mitchel McGreggor surreptitiously grabbed his forty-five automatic and slid it under his shirt -- putting it in the small of his back -- so it would be concealed from view. He sauntered up to where his wife, Lillian, was standing and he casually draped an arm over her shoulder. He looked in the direction that she was looking and he saw the flat-bottom canoe slowly making its way across the water; on a beeline for them. He maneuvered the toothpick expertly and flicked out a small piece of stuff that had been stubbornly jammed between a couple of teeth and then he left the toothpick poking out of his lips while he toyed with it with his tongue. Sure enough, Sugar, we got company all right! Why dont you fire up the coffee pot and Ill go down and welcome them. Lillians eyes lit up with excitement. Oh goody! I could sure use some company! Ill have that coffee ready in a jiff! Mitch sat on the grass and idly tossed small pebbles into the lake -- waiting for the new arrivals. He wasnt worried, but he was prepared. Man was often times an ornery beast; however he appeared from the outside. Mitch had been on both sides of that fence. He knew what it was to be a scoundrel and, lately, he had been learning what the other might be like. Given his druthers, he guessed hed prefer to investigate the other. For him, it was unknown territory and he loved a good mystery. Besides, he knew, deep down in his gut, that the scoundrels life wasnt right; just easy to fall into and his professional life on Wall Street had made that fall all the easier. He watched the approaching canoe with a wary but not altogether unfriendly eye. He liked company sometimes, too. In his former life hed liked strange company a little too much -- sometimes. He had often wondered if he should have a talk with Lillian about all of that, but he finally decided that it would just hurt her more than it would help and, besides, that life was over -- finished! Gone for good! Mitch yawned and laid back, supporting himself on one elbow. He could use some that coffee himself. The couple in the canoe waved and he waved back. Stan carefully sipped the hot coffee. So, Mitch, what did you do for fun before you came up here? Mitch snapped out of his reverie and set his coffee down. I worked on the Street. Thirty years. After that stuff happened, things just didnt seem the same. Overnight I found myself to be a mere shark, swimming with what were now killerwhales. I thought I was pretty ruthless, but the landscape changed unbelievably rapidly and when I realized I was beginning to look like a saint, compared to this new breed of

investors and thieves, I figured it was time to get out. Lill and I didnt know what in the heck we were going to do next, but I had made out pretty good and neither one us really needs to work anymore so we came up here to sort things out. Yeah, I know what you mean about the landscape changing! The world isnt even remotely the same since that day. It was quite a shock! Stan sipped some more of the strong coffee, glad that it had cooled below the scalding point. Apparently the McGreggors liked their brew hot enough to take the paint off of a new car. How bout you, Stan? What kept you out of trouble? Stan chuckled. Well the day it all happened Susan and I missed it. We were asleep. I have an all night radio show and we pretty much found out about it while I was on the air. We got a little off topic that night. Every single one of our callers had a tale to tell about what theyd seen. At first Sue and I thought that the producer had engineered some kind of a joke, but after about the twentieth call we both knew it was no joke! The implications of what had happened bothered us to no end, for some time. Yeah, I know what you mean. Lill and I have gone round and round about that. Whats your take? Stan swatted at a hungry mosquito. Mitch, we think that what happened was the Rapture that the Christians used to talk about -- at least, before they left. Rapture Mitch mused with a faraway look in his eyes. Dont know much bout that sort of thing. Although, neither Lill nor I could buy that solar-flarehallucination crap! Well, youre not alone! Sue and I didnt buy into that media whitewash either, but weve got a Bible and were going to try to find out all that we can. What are you boys doing out here? The mosquitoes are going to eat you alive! Come on inside! Susan and I made some dinner. Its hot, so hurry your tails inside! Lillian shoed them towards the motor-home. Now honey, you sit down! Lillian shushed her protestations. Susan, you just sit right here, honey. I wont hear another word! The women have to eat too! Go on. I have just two more dishes to put out and then Ill be right behind you. Susan smiled. She liked this older woman. Lillian hustled about like a whirlwind and then she, too, sat down. There was an awkward moment of silence and then Lillian wisely solved the dilemma. Susan, dear, why dont you say a little prayer for us -- God knows we could all probably use one. Susan momentarily froze, like a deer in the headlights, and then she realized that they probably did need a prayer. She bowed her head -- they all did. God..... help us! Lillian smiled a happy smile. Thats just perfect, honey! Very succinct and to the point; and exactly what we all need right now. Yup! We could definitely use some

guidance right now! I think He heard you, Hon. OK, everyone, dig in! Theres plenty more where this came from so dont be shy about eating as much as you want! Lillian beamed. She was happy for the first time in a month of Sundays. She really liked this young lady and she was sure she would like her other half, as well. She had always been the perfect hostess, but she had never much liked the company that Mitch drug home from Wall Street. They had been either stuffy and boring or lecherous and drunk. It had all just been one never ending marathon for her. She hadnt complained because that wasnt the way her mother had raised her, but she sure was glad for some real people for company -- for a change, a very welcome change.

Honey, stop paddling for a minute. Stan let his oar finish its stroke so he could use it as a rudder. When he had the canoe straightened out, and heading for the cabins small porch light, he relented and lifted the oar out of the water. Whats up? Hear that? Stan listened intently for a short time. What? The crickets talking to each other. The breeze in the tree leaves. Oh my gosh! They both froze in amazement and delight. A timber wolf, somewhere in the hills surrounding the lake, had, at that moment, tilted his head back and howled at the stars to let the world know that he was still alive and well. Wow! Wow, indeed! Thats so cool, Stan commented, I didnt know we had wolves around here! Sue stood up in the canoe and startled Stan by the unexpected action. Hon what are doing? Sue just smiled and quickly peeled off her clothes and adroitly dove into the lakes placid water; barely eliciting a ripple, so perfect was her dive. Surfacing, she gasped, Ohhh! Its cold in here! Too cold! Baby, quick, give me a hand! Stan shook his head at her impromptu antics and then scrambled to help her out of the freezing water. He had to simultaneously lean his tail end backwards -- to counterbalance himself -- and lean his upper body forward to help her. It wasnt all that easy to tip a flat bottom canoe, but it could be done and he didnt relish the idea of joining her in her arctic bath. Not to mention that, while they could right the canoe and get the water out, it would be an arduous chore and he was getting tired. Oh darn! We dont have any towels! Warm me up, baby! Youre just going to

have to get naked and hold me until I warm up. Hurry! Im freezing! Stan held her, skin to skin, until other matters came to the fore and nature took over. Sue warmed up fairly quickly considering the lack of towels, etc. Hmm. For an over-the-hill and out-of-work DJ, you still have the magic! Good thing the center seat was removable! Stan smiled. Even after all of these years he still loved Susan as if they were on their honeymoon. If there was a God -- and he was beginning to see that there was -surely He must be an extremely generous one to have given Sue to him. Stan kissed her affectionately and they lay naked in each others arms, watching the stars from their nautical vantage point on the little mountain lake.

Susan jogged in place, attired in her favorite lounging around outfit -- baggy gray sweat pants and matching baggy sweatshirt top. Her breath formed small puffs of moisture in the crisp morning air. Where are you off to Honey? No where in particular. Just thought Id catch us some dinner. Mmm. Trout! That sounds good! Honey, Sue informed him, Im going over to Mitchs motor-home and Im going to invite them over for dinner. Then Im going to grab Lillian and take her into town with me. We need some supplies and I hate to shop alone. OK, sweetheart. Suits me. Just be sure to take your cell phone and dont forget to turn it on! Sue pretended to pout and stomped off, smiling at her husbands protectiveness. Stan hadnt just been catch of the day, hed turned out to be catch of a lifetime! Sue drove the jeep over to the motor-home, extended the invite and then took off for town with Lillian in tow. Sue pushed the grocery cart down the aisle. What do you think, Lillian, Oregano or Cumin? Oh, Dear, neither one! Were talking trout here, Lillian warmly chided the younger woman. What we need is some fresh lemons, some black pepper -- unground, some parsley, and butter. Hey Momma! Sue half turned and saw a couple of rough looking Chicanos staring at her. While she was looking, the slimmer of the two grabbed his crotch and rubbed it saying, Hmm. Ill bet theres some sweet sugar under that baggy stuff! Oh yeah, Im sure you got some real candy hidden away for me, eh? Dont you, Momma? You can come to mi casa and fry my bacon anytime! Both men laughed loudly at his juvenile witticisms. Sue paled. Lillian gently pushed her along to break the confrontations spell.

Sotto voce, Lillian said, Come on Hon. Dont pay any attention to those punks! Disgraceful! Come on Sue, lets find our ingredients. Sue smiled at Lillian, despite her feeling of having been violated. Lillian, youre a prize and, of course, youre right! Weve got some hungry men to buy some fixings for. Thats the spirit, Hon! Dont let those toughs get you down. Somebody just forgot to flush and those two crawled out! Susan laughed at the ridiculous picture that Lillian had painted. Well, she decided, Lillian was right. She just needed to slough it off and keep going. No sense in letting the day get ruined. Just then Sue reeled from a rude bump. An old woman, probably somewhere around seventy-five, cantankerously bumped Susan out of the way as she blazed a curmudgeonly trail down the aisle. Sue and Lillian both froze in astonishment. They looked at the retreating harridan in complete amazement. Both of their mouths were hanging open and neither one of them could utter a single word. They were spellbound. Out of the way, rugrat! The grizzled old hag commanded loudly as she bore down on the seven-year old boy that was in front of her approaching shopping cart. Move it, urchin! The little boy was so startled that he fell over backwards, while trying to get out of the old womans way. She kept barreling down upon him and he was forced to skitter backwards, like a crab scuttling on the beach. His eyes were big as dinner plates and they shone with raw fear. At the last instant, before the old hag could literally run him over with her cart -- which she obviously was going to do -- he managed to roll to one side and the crabby old witch continued on her infernal way. Susan rushed over to where the little boy lay. Oh my God! Are you OK? Here, take my hand! The boy gratefully took her hand and Sue gently pulled him into an upright position. She looked into the boys eyes, hoping to see if he was actually OK, or not. Suddenly, without warning, the boys face changed to a mean grimace and he spat squarely into her eye and shouted, Witch! You stupid, filthy witch! For the third time that day Sue and Lillian were openmouthed, unable to respond. The boy took off running and, seeing over his shoulder that he wasnt being chased, he stopped. Without completely turning around, he pointed his small butt at them, lifted one leg slightly, and let loose with long and foul-sounding fart. Laughing the lunatic laugh of an asylum inmate, he resumed running out of the grocery store; knocking stuff off of the checkout displays as he went. Sue stood, dumfounded, and stared after the boy. This time Lillian didnt have

any homilies for her and she, too, stood there -- speechless. After what seemed like an interminable time, but was actually only about two minutes, they looked at each other and tacitly agreed to head straight for the checkout counter. Sue, mind-numbed, began moving items from the cart to the checkouts conveyor belt. We have other customers waiting, you know Sue -- startled -- looked up. What? There are other people wanting to check out. Could you hurry it up a little? The man at the register rudely pronounced. I I mean what Susan stumbled out, confused. Look, lady, how about I trade places with you and you can run the register? There are other people wanting to check out, cappice? By this time Susan was near to tears and she blindly looked around her and didnt see anyone else lined up, at any of the registers. Lillian put a consoling hand on her arm and silently suggested, with her eyes, that they just weather this, too, and then get the heck out of Dodge! The checkout man began merrily humming a little tune and adroitly scanned and bagged the grocery items. He even looked up at them and smiled, as if nothing was out of place, or ever would be. If they hadnt seen and heard his attitude of just moments before, they would have felt like they were in a Norman Rockwell scene; but they knew better. With a happy smile the checkout man announced, OK, thatll be one thousand nine hundred fifty-one dollars and forty-three cents. He looked at them with an air of pleasant expectation. Stunned, Sue looked at the meager amount of groceries that couldnt possibly have amounted to more than twenty-five dollars and then she looked to Lillian. Lillian just shook her head in disbelief. The clerk continued to look at them with an agreeable countenance. They all stood in a quiet standoff for a time. Lillian suggested, Sir, perhaps your register is on the fritz. Maybe you could recheck the amount? The clerk positively beamed at that. Yes, Maam! Id be happy to. He pounded away on the registers keyboard and continued humming the innocuous tune that characterized a far different person than he had recently proved himself to be. Ah, yes, he looked up and smiled merrily at them, heres the problem. The scanner made a mistake. Sorry about that! Thatll be twenty-seven sixty-three, please. Susan fumbled in her purse, looking for the proper combination and Lillian put a restraining hand on hers and said, Ill get it, Honey! Dont you fret. Ill take care of it! Susan smiled a wounded and tremulous smile at Lillian, glad to be relieved of

having to think -- an action that was a Herculean task right now. Lillian counted out the cash and they prepared to grab their bags and leave. Can I help you ladies out with your groceries? The clerk asked, felicitously. Lillian responded for them. Oh, no. Thank you. We can manage. Very well, you ladies have a wonderful day. Thank you for shopping at Macks Food Mart. Come again! They divided the few bags between them and headed for the doors, comforted that normalcy would soon be within reach. Whorish slut! Susan turned, mortified, and saw the clerk still grinning away like the Cheshire Cat. What? What did you say? Why nothing, Maam. You have a pleasant day and enjoy the fine food products that you purchased here! Thanks again for shopping Macks Food Mart! Lillian put a motherly hand on Susans arm and gently, but firmly guided her towards the exit doors. When they were almost through the doors, Susan heard, Tramp! Cant keep your legs together, can you? Your mother was a whore. Like mother, like daughter! Lillian tightened her grip on Sues arm and increased her pace, wanting to get them out of there, now!

Nice one! You seem to be a magnet for trout! Were sure going to eat good tonight! Stan complimented Mitch. Ha! The way youve been catching them, I think therell be enough fish for a week! Stan laughed heartily and then his countenance became more serious. What was that day like for you, Mitch? Ahh, yes, that day Mitch mused, well, Ill tell you, Stan, I think were living in some real interesting times! I was on a late lunch break, in my usual wateringhole, Mels Place, sucking up my usual excess of liquid protein and I was beginning to get that warm glow. Another few minutes and I would have had a good buzz on. In walks this goddess in the flesh, a real looker! Blonde, blue eyes, long tanned legs, and a smile that would have melted an iceberg. Everyone turns to look at her and she suddenly gets this faraway look in her eyes. Next thing you know, she just floats into the air and vanishes through the ceiling as if it hadnt even been there. It was incredible! I never saw anything like it before -- ever! For the first time in the history of

that Wall Street bar, it was silent. You could have heard a butterflys wings beating the air. I mean it was tomb silent. That kind of silence. Stony. I havent touched a drink since that day. Later, when I got back to the office I wasnt really comforted all that much to find that none of them had disappeared. Everyone I knew was still walking around, but things had changed; just the same. They didnt seem like the same people that they had been before I took off for my lunch. They all seemed different somehow. I couldnt put my finger on anything concrete, but they werent the same anymore. Stan mulled Mitchs story over. Yeah, everyone is different now. Nothing is the same. What do you think is behind all of this? Mitch looked towards the far end of the lake, while his hands mindlessly fidgeted with the trout that was still hooked and flopping around in his lap, but he was oblivious to it. You know, Stan, before all of this I was just your run of the mill Wall Street crook and I believed solely in the God of Commerce. Mitchs bank! Everyone else were just people looking to enrich me! Rubes looking for a carny barker like me to fleece them! Youre pretty hard on yourself, Stan consoled. No, son, you dont know the half of it -- and you dont want to know! Im going easy on myself! Anyway, God was just a fiction that the weak-minded and the simple hung onto when they couldnt find any cheap wine to console them; or a decent job. I was about as far from a God as a man could get without bursting into flames on the spot! And now? Now? Mitch got teary-eyed and looked heavenward. Today this former Wall Street shark is just a minnow, son. Today I think that Id better get my act together before I find out what its like to be roasted on a spit, like a stuffed pig. Mitch looked Stan straight in the eye and announced, Son, I think there is a God and I think Hes pissed! Although, I also think that Hes giving all of us another chance; why, I dont know. I cant prove that, but I feel it in my gut. Maybe youre right. I think there is a God, too. I dont know a thing about Him, but Ive got to agree with you. No one else could possibly be behind what happened. It could only be God! Mitch gave Stan a fatherly pat on the back. Son, what do say we head back before we give ourselves a stroke trying to figure it all out. We need to get some eats going on that barbecue of yours! Stan smiled at the older man. He was right. No sense in killing themselves over something that they werent going to figure out any time soon; someday, maybe, but not today. He put his oar in the water and began paddling; all the while his mind was

back in the radio-station sound booth listening to the incoming calls about the disappearances. Interesting times, indeed!

Hey, whats wrong, Honey? Stan had nuzzled Sues neck in that really sensitive spot near her shoulder. She usually melted when he did that. Not tonight. Hon? Sue abruptly turned around and buried her face in his shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably. Stan looked to Lillian for some clue as to what was wrong. Lillian explained the events of the day to Mitch and Stan. Predictably, Stan and Mitch were furious and wanted to go back to town and even the score with a few people. Both Lillian and Sue counseled them to just let it go on account of the fact that what happened was representative of a now worldwide problem and the men couldnt begin to even the score with the entire planet. They were all just going to have to make some major adjustments in their lives -- like it or not. None of them liked it.

Are you guys sure you want to do this? This from Stan. Everyone assented. They had all discussed the issue at some length and, except for Stans trepidation about it, they had agreed that going to church today was, if not the solution, at least a good starting point. None of them really knew anything about God and they figured that surely someone in a church must know what was going on. It was a gamble, but where else could they begin unraveling some of the recent mysteries? Lillian reached over the seat and gently squeezed Stans shoulder. Hon, were all gambling here. Maybe well all regret going there today, but, nothing ventured, nothing gained. Maybe well get some answers Stan was skeptical, but he held his tongue and resumed piloting the jeep towards the big church that had been something of a landmark for them on their infrequent drives to the lake. At least it was a familiar building in an increasingly alien landscape. Arriving, he turned the ignition off and braced himself for the worst. Everyone piled out, simultaneously anxious and excited at what they might find inside the big church. The entry doors were huge and they entered the church as one, side by side; none of them wanting to be the first one inside. Once inside they were surprised. There were only three other people sitting in the church and they werent together. They were widely scattered among the first few pews, as if they were afraid of each other or just in need of some solitude. Mitch and company sat together, a few pews back of everyone else -- so as not to violate their spaces. It was quiet. There was no organist or choir. In fact, there didnt seem to be a preacher, either. They waited. After a time, a haggard and gaunt looking man entered

the dais from a door nearby. He had a pained look in his dark eyes. He stood at the pulpit and gazed out over the pews, apparently not surprised at the paucity of attendees. Good morning everyone. My name is Bob Cummings. I used to say, Pastor Bob Cummings, but that stopped being appropriate after the Rapture so, today, its just plain Bob. I wish I could say that I am glad to see you here today. In a way, I am glad, but in another way, Im not. Before the Rapture I was the founder and head Pastor of this church. Over the years the congregation had grown to almost fourteen hundred people. I was riding high in the clouds. I could preach sermons that made everyone weep. I was Gods right hand man! I saved people faster than God could make them. Fastest preacher in the West! Then that day happened. Bob lowered his head into his hands and sobbed for a while. He lifted his tear streaked face and went on, I watched in amazement as my assistant pastor, Eddie, his family, and about ten per cent of the laity floated up into the air and vanished through the ceiling. I instantly knew what had happened and I also knew something else, something that I didnt want to know, but it was unavoidable -- I had been nothing more than a big fraud all of those years. I was a fake, a phony, a liar even! God had spoken more eloquently in His silence, that day, than He could have by anything that would have come out of His mouth. He made it plain who was actually with Him and who wasnt. Obviously, I had not been with Him as I had fooled everyone -- including myself -- into believing! Bob paused to blow his nose and to sip some water. Tears were still freely flowing down his cheeks, but he continued anyway. God had sent us Evangelists to steer us down the right path. However, everything that they said just sailed right over our heads without even touching us. We were Gods people! We had been baptized by immersion in water -- the tank is right over there. He pointed. We were proud and we were haughty! We had all been saved! God sent us a Revivalist and he said we didnt need revival -- we needed reformation, from the ground up! We smiled and nodded our heads and soaked up the ritual chastisement which, in reality, was not ritual. God had sent that man to us and he told us the truth, but we didnt listen! God even sent us a holy spirit filled individual from among the laity and still we didnt listen. This one had told us that God sent him to speak to us and we secretly laughed for we knew he was deluded and we were the Chosen. He quoted scripture that said if we rejected the messenger then we also rejected the one who sent him. We didnt waste any time rejecting that messenger. Who would have thought that he actually was sent by God -- certainly not us. Oh, no! We knew better! Then God rejected those who had rejected His messengers. Surprise! For a while the remainder of the congregation kept coming; why, I dont know. Perhaps they just came out of habit. After a time they just dwindled to nothing and none of them have been back. I suppose some of them were angry -- and rightfully so

-- at having been led by a phony. The rest were probably just Sunday Christians, anyway. They enjoyed the routine and the camaraderie, but they always left with the same hardened hearts that they had come in with. They had, like the Pharisees, all of the outward trappings of religion, but none of the heart! They were entirely external appearance -- only -- and they had absolutely nothing of real value on the inside. Inside, they were stony-hearted and empty! Bob looked heavenward and cried some more. I want to tell you a little bit about the God that took up His people not so long ago. He was once sorry that He had made Man. He was angry, as well. He was very angry! Men had sinned so thoroughly and completely that God could find only one man -- and a few of his family -- to be worthy of keeping. The rest He destroyed by so flooding the Earth that not even the tallest mountain top was visible above the waters. You may have heard of the man that God saved from that great flood. His name was Noah. God promised, after that, that He would not again destroy the world by flooding. Every time you see a rainbow, you think about that promise. God put the rainbow in the sky to remind Himself and us of His promise. There were no rainbows before the Great Flood. Throughout the rest of Biblical history God shepherded Man through His Saints and the Prophets. Even so, even with His guidance, we once again had gotten ourselves to the point that God was faced with destroying the earth. Only this time there were none worthy of saving; not even one! This time the destruction would be absolutely complete. None would be left! His mighty and just law demanded that we all die for our sins. What was the Lord to do? He had created us so that we might enjoy His companionship; and He, ours. He loved us even though He had to keep His own law -- a law that demanded our deaths! At this point God put into motion the mightiest act that He would ever do. He came to the Earth, in the flesh, in the form of Jesus, and He sacrificed His only begotten Son in our place! Jesus literally sweated blood, in the garden of Gethsemane, as He contemplated the coming shame He would be put to. He foresaw that He would be spit upon, beaten, derided, ridiculed, and crucified! He would have large spikes driven through His living flesh. One spike in each wrist and one solitary spike driven through both of his crossed legs. A crown of thorns was cruelly pounded into his skull; piercing His scalp in multiple places. He hung there on that cross, in shame, and suffered and died in our place! The innocent Lamb of God was slaughtered to satisfy Gods immutable Law! God so loved us that He sacrificed His own Son so that we might not perish, but have everlasting life! This act, alone among all others, was the greatest act that God had ever done! The act of Creation paled in comparison to this act. The resurrection -- the return of the living Jesus from the dead -- paled in comparison to the sacrifice! This act was the most difficult thing that our Lord had ever undertaken. Were talking the Creator here! Were talking God, Himself, here! This was not an easy task -- even for God! He did the most difficult and painful thing that He had ever done and He did it for us! He did it for a whole world full of unrepentant sinners! He did it for a world that did not deserve it! You understand? He saved us by His

Grace, alone! Bob sobbed openly. The tears soaked his shirt -- he took no notice. God has a special judgment for those, such as myself, who misled their flock. I wouldnt blame Him if He roasted me on the spot, right now! However, unless and until He does, I am going to continue trying to bring the lost back to Him. Thats all I know and Im going to keep trying. The important difference today is that I am doing His work -- now. I opened my heart to Him and sincerely -- this time -- asked Him to come into me and make me His own. I believe He is in my heart now and I want to invite any or all of you to come up here and open your hearts to the Holy Creator that made you -- Jesus the Christ! Bob bowed his head and openly beseeched Jesus to forgive him for being the sinner that he was. Even the streetwise Mitch was teary-eyed. The two couples got up and approached the dais. Bob asked them if they would please kneel on the first carpeted step leading to the dais. They did. The air around them seemed to shimmer, as if it was filled with a supernal electricity. He looked heavenward. Lord of all -- Jesus -- I beseech you to enter into the hearts of these four people. Go into them and make them your own! Fill their hearts to overflowing with the water of life; your Holy Spirit. Bless them with your almighty presence and put your seal upon them that all may know that they now belong to you. In Gods Holy name, I now pronounce you all to be Christians; children of the one God! As one, they too cried.

Were so glad you agreed to come up to the lake with us! Even a man of God needs a break now and then! And, from the sounds of it, this break is long overdue! Thank you, Lillian -- all of you -- for inviting me here today. It is beautiful up here! Pastor, what do -- Bob. Please, just plain Bob. Pastor Bob Cummings said with a pained, but firm mien. Lillian loved this troubled looking man of God -- which he obviously was. Farther down the road, after she learned more about the Bible, she would remember his insistence upon dropping his priestly title and she would be reminded of the Apostle Peter and his insistence upon being crucified upside-down; as an apology to Jesus for his initial faithlessness. Mitch stepped in. OK, enough chitchat! Foods hot off the grill and Im starved! I could eat a horse, or at least a big piece of one. With that he put two

heaping serving plates on the picnic table. Bob, do you want to say a blessing? He did and they passed the serving plates and dishes around the table. Afterward they all relaxed around the yards fire pit -- which had flagstone seating -- and they drank some of Sues homemade sweet apple cider; hot, with cinnamon sticks in it. Bob, weve talked a lot, amongst ourselves, about recent events. What do you make of it all? Well, Stan, I think its plain that God removed His church from the world; in preparation for the coming Tribulation. He -- But, Sue interrupted, oh, sorry! Please go on. No, no. Thats quite all right. Bob smiled at Susan. What is it? Well, Susan hesitated, I know God must have taken up a lot of people, but all of the churches are still here! Bob sipped some of the hot cider, pleased to be in such good company -especially after the crushing blow of having had been left behind after God called His people home. He hadnt really had any company, to speak of, since that day. It was good to not be alone. Yes, the buildings are all still here. Thats true. It appears that God is telling us that only those who had been with Him in their hearts had comprised His church. Now we are His church! You, Mitch, Lillian, Stan, myself, and whoever invites Him into their hearts. We are the new church. Its up to us to lead the way for the rest of humanity; to bring them to God. Big job, Preacher! Yes, Lillian, it is, but we wont be alone. There will be some others, scattered here and there, who will be our kin in this mighty work that is now ours to do. Mitch sighed. Whew! You dont pull any punches, do you, Bob? One day a Wall Street shark and the next a An Apostle! Bob finished for him. We all are, now! Bob smiled through tear-filled eyes. Its a miracle that God would accept some whom He does, but He does, just the same! The Apostle Paul had been a mass-murderer of Christians and then he become a Christian, himself! God works in some mysterious ways, but the real miracle is that He keeps working with any of us, at all! Why does He keep working with us, Bob? He loves us, Stan! He created us to be companions for Himself. He wants us to be with Him for the sheer joy of our companionship, but He gave us freewill and we used it to abandon Him and go our own way. Well never do that again! Bob smiled at Susan. No, I dont think that any of us will. We will stay on the road to our Lord -- this time!

Murmurs of agreement went around the campfire and they silently sipped their hot drinks and contemplated the future; a future with God with them. They all knew that the future held some mighty terrible things in it, but none of them feared it. They had God with them, now.

Chapter 32

The Great City

and the great city had fallen and was no more. The traders of the world wept at the loss of their marvelously gilded marketplace. Alas, Babylon the Great -- of the last age -- was no more!

Teddy, my friend! Pull up a chair and join us -- please! I insist, Brandon Donlevy cajoled the young heir of the Tydendale fortune. Theodore Tydendale, III, had been rudely snubbed by many of the elite and, even though he couldnt avoid the others because he had the same penchant for the haunts of the rich that they had, he still nurtured his naked wound and studiously avoided them. On the one hand, he desperately wanted their approbation and he wanted to be an intimate part of their private little clique, but, on the other hand, he was easily hurt and he didnt want to position himself where they could round robin nasty potshots at him with the impunity that accompanied their mountainous and abusively wielded wealth. Not that he, himself, didnt have the same level of wealth that they had -- he definitely did, but he didnt have the insouciance that was second nature to them. He was comparatively weak. His father had buried himself in his empire building and he hadnt had a male to pattern himself after, but he had had a good mother and she had instilled some values in him that he still found it difficult to shake. She had infused him with a part of her heart and that had put him at a definite disadvantage with his studiously indifferent peers. That was also why they hurt him; because he could be hurt -- something few could do to them. They had long since gone beyond the stage where anyone could hurt them, much less that anyone would have the effrontery to try. Yes, do sit young sir, Brian Henry Coultell chimed in. Teddy eyed them with a tremulous and wary gaze; tinged with thinly veiled eagerness. Brandon Donlevy pulled a chair out for him and waved at an obsequious and slavish waiter who drooled at the thought of the big tips that these jet-setters would be likely to leave him. Sit here, with me, Teddy. Whatll you have to drink? Theodore Tydendale was immediately tongue-tied and embarrassed at his selfinduced muteness.

Brandon ignored his stage-fright and ordered a Corona Light for him. He was drinking the same. He could easily afford any drink whatsoever, but he enjoyed the tart and unusual taste that the Mexican cervesa provided. Teddys beer arrived seemingly instantly and he silently and gratefully sipped the pungent drink while the others continued the banter that Brandon had interrupted when he had seen Theodore walking by the gathering. So some of the consumer market is waning a little. Its just a bump in the road. Itll come back. Its all cyclical anyway. Nothing anyone can do about it! Marty Opendert opined with the vacuousness that was the defining earmark of many of the idle rich. Susan Van Deorfans bristled at that. She -- unlike many of the young and perpetually narcoleptic airheads that populated the upper class -- had actually applied herself at college and she had received a Masters Degree in Financial Analysis. Marty, you are so boringly misinformed! Marty cast a lazy and mildly baleful look in her direction while contentedly scarfing down an oversize mouthful of some Swiss delicacy or other. Marty thought Susan to be both a little excessive in her zeal about financial matters and not a little up tight about some other things. Not seriously caring one way or the other about such boring and trivial things, he signaled for some more wine and a second serving of the meaty dish that was further distending his already more than ample waistline. At twenty-nine Marty had grown to become the consummate consumer; neither caring nor wanting to care about any of the serious issues that life had to offer -- he only wanted to shop, play, and consume. Albeit, not necessarily in that exact order; juggling the order was the only spice or variety that he enjoyed. He, too, had actually graduated from a prestigious college although, he had done so merely because it was expected -- not from any internal desire to improve his mind or increase his repertoire of knowledge or skills. He was self-satisfied and, barring any unforeseen miracles from Heaven, he would forevermore remain so. Bobby Nightman felt tepidly compelled to add his two cents to the free for all. All of this fuss over the state of the United States economy I just dont get it! Who, after all, cares? Its not as if it really matters one way or the other if the U.S. withers or blossoms, now does it? We make money no matter who goes up or who goes down. Why even talk about it? Really, Bobby, old man, this from Jonathon Woodrow, III, you can be such a wet blanket. Before the fire even begins to get going a little bit, you already want to extinguish it! Jonathon sipped his wine and savored the sharp and fruity piquancy that it was known for. Come, come, Bobby, be just a little bit more patient -- at least let the kindling get going. You dont have to douse the match before they even ignite anything!

Here, here! Ralph Estuarison exclaimed, raising his wine glass in salute to Jonathons sagacity. Everyone else hoisted their glasses, as well, in mock salute to Jonathons faux courtesy. Theodore Tydendale, emboldened by his inebriation -- he rarely drank and had no tolerance for alcohol, interjected, What about the people of the United States? What about the engineer that cant find work to support his wife and children because weve farmed out all of the engineering jobs to other countries? What about the welders and fabricators that cant find work because weve farmed out all of the manufacturing jobs overseas? What about the working poor that cant feed their families? What about the nationwide just in time delivery system that has completely eliminated all of our reserves of foods and goods and put the entire nation on the brink of total collapse -- awaiting a mere puff of breath to push it, irretrievably, over the edge and into the abyss? His questions were met by stunned silence around the table. Each looked at the others with wide eyes; like deer caught in the headlights of a car. Nobody so much as flinched. Tomblike silence descended upon them like a thick London fog. Then, as if acting on a tacit cue, as one they burst out laughing and picked up their palaver where they had left off -- as if nothing had happened, and, nothing had.

Chapter 33

Confusion
Since they had been freed, Larry Bear Grouse and company had been in the process of setting up a private company, to make use of their skills learned in BlackOps work, when the Rapture hit and they were again thrown for a loop; a very big one! First Archibald Caruthers, their wayward and evil boss had been -- quite unexpectedly -- summarily dispatched by his boss and shortly thereafter the Hand of God had reached down from Heaven and snatched up those that were the closest to Him! Add on top of all of that the things that they had seen during their covert surveillance of the First Baptist Church of Melvins Corner and you came out with the mightily confused bunch that they now were. Not to mention that they were all having dreams. Unsettling dreams. Strange dreams. I dreamed that I was in this garden, somewhere, and there was this kneeling man that could only have been the Jesus of the Bible. He seemed to be praying -- I couldnt quite make out the words, but I got the feel for what He must have been experiencing at the moment. His speech intensified and He began to literally sweat blood. Great droplets of blood fell to the ground around Him and stained His robe! Then a voice from somewhere around me begins speaking. Its a loud voice and it seems to vibrate my bones. It says, This is my son, in whom I am well pleased! Before the world was, He was! I sent Him, the innocent Lamb, to die in your places! My law demands all of your deaths, for your sins have become a stench in my nostrils and I needed justice for those transgressions! You see Him before you, sweating His lifes blood from the strain of knowing what it is He is to undergo. He does not want to suffer and die. Yet you see Him praying to Me that My will be done, and not His. This is your savior! Worship Him and have eternal life! Shun Him who sacrifices Himself for you and you shall suffer eternal damnation! Wow, Bear! Thats some dream, man! I dont think that it was just a dream, Dillon. I could feel the nights breeze on my face and I could hear the leaves rustling. I could even smell that pungent coppery smell that only blood has. Dillon Samurai Rodriguez pondered this for a time and then tentatively offered up his own dream. I know what you mean about it feeling more real than dreamlike. I was in a

cave. It was real dark in there. I walked around, feeling the walls with my hands, looking for some way out. I felt what must have been an exit, but there was some big boulder or something blocking it. As I turned to go backward to recheck the areas where I had started, I saw this man all wrapped up in a big white cloth of some kind. There were flowers or something sprinkled all over him. He was lying on a stone ledge; about knee level. I could see him because all of a sudden there was this shaft of light shining down from a hole or something in the roof of the cave. The next -- Spikes foot wiggled madly and he could no longer contain himself. That sounds just like something that -- Hey, fool, Samurai complained, you want me to take that Sharps fifty-caliber you got and -- Im impressed, man! Craig Specs Cooper cut in. So what happened next? Samurai looked at Spike with a warning eye and Spike stared back defiantly, but held his tongue. Samurai went on, Well, anyway, theres this light coming down from the roof of the cave and before long this dead guy -- I assume he was dead, he sure looked that way -- he floats up towards that light and he just hangs there, in midair. I couldnt see any wires or anything so I dont know how in the world it happened. Then its like the light triggered something inside of this guy and before you know it hes glowing like a Christmas tree; only from the inside out. It was really weird! Then, poof! The lights go out and Im back to feeling my way around like a blind man. The strangest thing is that I couldnt find the dead guy, but I found that big cloth that he was all wrapped up in; just the cloth, nothing else. It was bizarre, man. They confabulated with each other and came to no specific ironclad conclusions except that they did agree that their former trust in reality was, indeed, crumbling like a stale cookie.

Chapter 34

New Rule
Yousif Hasan -- now Prime Minister Hasan, of the Global Union -- stretched languidly and, with a not inconsiderable effort, stifled a strong desire to throttle the life out of the boring speaker that preceded him. Scott Fowler, his Minister of Information, had been a shoe-in for the job. He did have talent but it had been horribly wasted on the New Age drivel that he had been the father of. Fortunately, he was malleable and Yousif, with his mystical powers of persuasion, had no difficulty in convincing Fowler to take the post of Minister of Information. Yousif knew the advantages of having others blow your horn for you. It was the accepted way; not to mention the effective way. Fowler could shamelessly say things about Yousif that he, himself, dared not to say; effusive, flattering, and laudatory things! And now, the man of the hour-- dare I say man, for he is surely much more -no, not the man of the hour, but the man of the Millennium! Prime Minister Yousif Hasan! The first man in history to successfully broker peace in the Mideast! Fowler stepped back from the podium to make room for Yousif as he approached. Fowler clapped heartily and beamed as the assemblage leapt to their feet and wildly applauded the recently appointed leader of the Global Union. Thank you Minister Fowler, Prime Minister Hasan said, to little effect -- the roaring of the crowd drowned out even his amplified voice. Yousif, rather than raising a placating hand to quiet the raucous group, instead stood silent and basked in the adulation and praise that the audience was showering upon him. Unseen by the attendees was the imperceptible red glow emanating from the black depths of Yousifs eyes; engendered by the presence of Satan as the fallen Angel put his clawed hand upon Hasans shoulder. His dark father had never been far from him -- even at birth. Together they basked in the idolization that they were the Stygian recipients of. Hasan the Great! Hasan the Great! Hasan the Great! The standing crowd endlessly shouted the refrain with unbridled enthusiasm. After the hubbub had died down and Yousif had delivered his speech, he took his place at the head of the main dining table in the great hall. Servers busily scuttled about pouring water, serving wine and coffee, and distributing baskets of bread rolls.

Everyone was ready to eat and drink. Governor Richard B. Barrelston savored the Porterhouse steak that he was chewing. The imported French wine didnt have any problem going down, either. After he lost the recent Presidential Race, by a narrow margin, he had been sorely disappointed, but he knew that there would always be 08 and that one he probably would win! However, this particular opportunity looked like it might pan out to be the mother lode! Possibly eclipsing even the office of President of the United States of America. Hard to top that one, but the appointment, that Yousif Hasan was considering him for, might just do that. Global Union Director of the Western Region -- now that definitely trumped the Oval Office by a country mile! The jerk that had beat him and was now inhabiting the White House would be answering to him, Dick Barrelston! It sure looked like the scales of justice were -- this very evening -- tipping in his favor. Ahh, life could sure be sweet at times. Dick sipped the expensive French wine and looked around the room. Various Heads of State were present; some from Germany, France, the Netherlands, Ukraine, England, South Africa, Israel, et. al. Conspicuously absent were any representatives from the United States; not counting himself, of course. The new President had made it clear that his Administration would have no part of the Global Union. The Democrats were furious, but they held only a minority in the House and Senate so they were essentially impotent to make any real opposition to the Presidents policies. They wanted full and immediate membership in the Global Union and they stormed the streets of the poorer areas of the country, fulminating hatred towards the Conservative majority. Demagogues from the liberal left camp were having a field day lying to the poor about the golden opportunities that the President was stealing from them by keeping them out of the Global Union. Politics as usual. Sir, a nondescript aide quietly said, leaning over to hand Dick Barrelston a portable phone, a call for you. Dicks brow furrowed. I told you I wasnt to be disturbed! Yes sir, I know, but I think that youll want to take this one Very well. Dick turned his back on the aide, essentially dismissing him. Hello, Governor Barrelston here. Dad -- Johnny, what the hell is it? Dick angrily inquired, cupping has hand over the phone to muffle his voice against others overhearing him. Do you know where I am? Jesus son, dont you have the sense of a --- Yeah, Dad, I know where you are, but Ive got a major problem here.

Dick rubbed his forehead and tersely responded, This had better be really good, son. I dont have a lot of patience right now! Oh its good, all right! Im in jail -- Again? What did they catch you doing this time? Drinking? Stealing? What? They claim that the guys and I gang-raped and killed a girl and -- Stop right there! Dont say another word! As soon as I get off the phone with you Im calling Michael Faraqueen and hes going to get you out of there. You wont even have to spend the night there. OK? Thanks Dad. I knew I could count on you! I was sitting here -- The line was dead. Dick had already hung up on his nuisance son and was calling Michael. Michael, I need some serious damage control here! Dick outlined the problem and Michael Faraqueen -- his chief spin doctor and damage controller -- assured him that he would take care of the problem. Not to worry. Everything would be cleaned up, ASAP! Dick felt a wave of relief wash over him. He didnt need any scandals right now. Michael would keep everything quiet. Nothing was going to screw up this impending golden opportunity! Michael cost Dick an arm and a leg, but he was worth every penny of it. There was nothing that Michael couldnt put a lid on -- nothing! Governor Barrelston sighed only briefly and attacked the remainder of his Porterhouse steak with renewed gusto. Everything was rolling along nicely and -thank the Devil -- he had people that would keep things that way. Yousif Hasan, the newly elected Prime Minister of the Global Union, made his way around the tables, pressing the flesh -- as politicos did, the world over -- and he stopped at Dick Barrelstons table and put a hand on the Governors shoulder. How are we doing tonight, Governor? Yousif politely inquired. Dick fairly beamed at the unexpected, but welcome attention. Right as rain, Mr. Prime Minister! Yousif seemed almost to wince at the appellation. Please, call me Yousif. I find the other to be such a mouthful and not a little pretentious -- dont you think? Before Governor Barrelston could formulate a reply, Yousif went on, I am having a small gathering at my New York apartment this evening. Would you like to come and join the rest of us? Internally, Dick came within a hair of jumping out of his seat at that. On the outside, he appeared nonplused by it and he agreed that he would like to come. Fine. Fine. Thats just wonderful! Ill look forward to seeing you later on!

Chapter 35

Avarice
Archibald Caruthers was -- although now dead and damned -- still a Station Chief, but not for the C.I.A. He was now a Station Chief in Hells Department of Greed and Corruption. A post that hed accepted without hesitation. The appointment had saved him from being eternally gnawed upon by the monstrous demon that had snatched him out of his bathroom after being murdered by one of the Companys freelancers. Albeit, Satan had made it plain to him that he would be eaten if he fell behind in his quotas. From what Archie personally knew of human nature, he doubted that meeting his targets would ever come close to being a problem. On the contrary, hed often doubled -- and sometimes tripled -- quotas and he was on the fast track to becoming a favored executive in Satans fiendish kingdom. In Texas, alone, Archie had been instrumental in increasing housing rents and sale prices to the point that the average working man could no longer support his family. Both spouses had to work and many times their high-school age children had to work part-time and contribute as well. Two families often had to go in together on renting the most basic of housing. It was no longer uncommon to see two couples, with a few children each, sharing two and three bedroom homes. Everyone from the lower middle-class on down slept in bunk-beds. Only the rich could afford to have their own bedrooms and sleep in their own beds. The bulk of the working class slept with husband, wife, and a few children, all in the same room; with most of the room taken up by bunk-beds. Bathroom use was always on a strict schedule, especially since the family in the other bedroom had needs too. Chamberpots were, of necessity, back in vogue. In just a short handful of years Archies department had successfully screwed nearly everyone who had a family income of less than one hundred thousand a year. Greed alone had raised the cost of housing to rapacious rates; rates that would have risen, but not nearly so much, so fast, without a generous helping hand from Hells Department of Greed and Corruption. Landlords were ecstatic! Anyone who owned a couple of houses were now part of the new elite and they were virtually guaranteed a life of ease and comfort. Banks were eager to loan the nouveau riche whatever they needed to purchase even more

houses, while the luckless renters were doomed to a life of increasing working poverty and prospects of even worse times to come with the dawn of each new year with its attendant rent and utility increases. On top of it all the Infernal Revenue Service and Congress were not remiss to join in the effort to screw the little guy and they yearly piled additional onerous burdens upon the backs of the working poor, while, at the same time, they showered Landlords with a plethora of deductions that added up to virtually no taxes for the greedy rich. Small one room shacks were now going for a grand a month; plus utilities. Two bedroom houses in crummy, slum-like areas, were commanding thirty-five hundred dollars a month. One bedroom efficiency apartments started at eighteen hundred. Throughout it all, the paramount thing that Archie and his crew always kept in mind was the dictate that the little guy -- and his family -- was to live completely without any ray of hope. Whenever one of the underclass of working poor tried to lift his head up, Archie and crew would immediately pressure the Landlord to increase the rent even more and the Infernal Revenue Service would be prodded to summarily announce a surprise audit, adding to the football-like pig-pile weighing on the unfortunate pissant and, in unison, they would crush him. Not to mention the diabolical, grasping fingers of the insatiable utility companies, the ravenous grocery store chains, and the predatory car dealers! Dantes Inferno was centuries ahead of its time. The sign, Abandon all hope Ye who enter here, now hung not at the entrance to Dantes Hell, but, instead, today it was displayed over the entrances to the nursery wards of every hospital in the Nation! However, since it was invariably penned in Latin, the underclass never got the joke; which, of course, was the whole point. They werent meant to get the joke! They were born to grovel in poverty and ignorance at the feet of the chosen -- the upper class; the privileged few that owned property and houses.

Sally Underwood hurried by Bobby, her husband, and cautioned him to be sure that the kids were getting ready for school and to not forget that he had to pick up sixyear old Becky from Oak Grove Elementary at two-thirty in the afternoon. She impatiently queued up in front of the diminutive houses solitary bathroom and she mindlessly chewed at an already bitten-to-the-quick fingernail and desperately tried to get her mind off of the fact that her bladder was about to burst. Glancing at her watch for the umpteenth time this morning, she realized, not surprisingly, that her allotted bathroom time was being mercilessly whittled down to a mere minute or two. Sally considered knocking on the bathroom door and demanding her turn, but she knew from bitter experience that Hank Fletchmeyer would just delay his primping even longer -- out of pure spite -- and she would end up having to hurry to work without even peeing.

A screamed exclamation from her familys communal bedroom cut short her interminable wait and she ran back to the bedroom to find that eight-year old Jimmy had dumped the contents of one of the chamberpots over the head of his six-year old sister who was bawling uncontrollably while urine and excrement dripped down her dress and onto her shoes.

Hank, the head of the other family sharing the house, yelled from the bathroom, Hey, can you get your stupid rugrats to shut up! They made me nick myself while I was shaving! Sally clenched her fists and bit her tongue. She didnt dare get into a confrontation with the jerk that Hank was; he was the primary renter of the house which, by popular and legal convention, gave him certain rights over the secondary renters and Sally and Bobby Underwood were the secondary renters -- they hated the situation but they counted themselves lucky to have gotten even this rotten deal. There was an entire world of worse deals out there; they knew this from experience. Sally felt her incipient ulcer mercilessly stabbing its excruciatingly long knitting needle into her stomach; this additional pressure she didnt need right now! After spanking and sternly disciplining Jimmy and cleaning Becky up, Sally sat them at the table and began serving them some cereal. As she reached into the refrigerator for some milk, Hank stopped her with, Hey, good looking, thats my milk! Sally knew that it was, indeed, Hanks familys milk but she had figured on replacing it after she got off work. Hank sidled up to her and, out of view of anyone else, put a hand on her bottom and massaged it. Tell you what, good looking, you be nice to old Hank and Ill keep you in milk for the rest of your stay here. Sally Underwood inwardly cringed. Her lip began to quiver and she was on the verge of exploding from the pressure of a brewing mixture of intense emotions. Her eyes welled up with nascent tears of rage, humiliation, fear, and anger. Without forethought, she reached behind her, grabbed the slimy paw that was clenching her butt, and pushed it away from her and back towards Hanks ample side. Not trusting herself to say anything that wouldnt threaten her familys ability to stay there, she simply turned away -- milk still in hand -- and poured it over her childrens cereal. Once safely ensconced in the car, on the way to work, she screamed at the top of her lungs and alternately pounded on the dashboard and the steering wheel while large salty tears streamed down her soft cheeks. Another attack -- in a seemingly endless stream of victimizations -- that she wouldnt be sharing with Bobby; her loving husband. Bobby had his own share of daily defeats to deal with without having to shoulder hers, as well.

Archie slapped the neophyte on the shoulder and loudly praised him for a job well done. Thats the spirit! Youve got that little slut and her family right where we want them! It isnt enough to financially crush them and leave them without any hope! Hell no! You have to chase them and keep the pressure up -- relentlessly! Archibald Caruthers was in an uncharacteristically good mood and he was enjoying himself immensely. He had always been at his best when others were suffering the most, but, here, in the warm enveloping arms of Hell, he felt -- for the first time that he could remember -- like he was finally home! Even when hed still been alive, and with the CIA, hed never enjoyed his dark pursuits quite like he did now. Here he played the ultimate covert operative in the game of destroying others. The morons didnt even know he was there; pulling their strings and pressuring them do the things that would eventually bring them here, with him, where he would torture and torment them even more. Archie was glad that his former boss had him murdered. That act had sent him here, and here was definitely where Archie belonged! One day he would find a way to express his gratitude to his former boss. One day....

Chapter 36

Solidification
Yes, yes, of course, Frederick, Yousif Hasan -- Prime Minister of the Global Union -- replied into the telephone that an aide had brought to his table, we agreed on all of this during our last talk. Frederick, Frederick, my friend, calm down -- please! Of course some of the EU countries are balking, this was to be expected. I made you Director of this region because I knew you were the man for the job. I believe in you, Frederick. I know you can do this! I wouldnt have chosen you for the position except that I knew you could do the job. Yousif held the phone away from his ear and sighed with not a little exasperation. He swirled the wine in his glass and savored the aroma of the well aged vintage before sipping some and luxuriating in the tingle that it tickled his tongue with. While swallowing he lamented the fact that he needed others, such as Frederick, to help him to solidify his dominion. He was reminded of an American prison official that had commented to him that the inmates ran the prisons. This official had explained that most prisons -- lacking sufficient guards to do a proper job -- were run only with the cooperation of the inmates. Deals were constantly made with certain pivotal inmates to insure the cooperation of the rest of them. In much the same way -- no matter how much he detested it -- he, too, had to cultivate certain key people that would lead the sheep beneath them and thus help him to bring everyone under the Global Union umbrella, which he, alone, held. Reluctantly, he again put the phone near his ear and interrupted, Frederick, I have the utmost confidence in you! I can not get away any time soon, but, if it will help you, I will co-chair a meeting of the EU on your behalf. Ill help you get the ball rolling and then Ill pass it off to you. How does that sound? Frederick Upham Holmes effusively thanked the Prime Minister and apologized for being unable to galvanize all of the EU countries into allegiance to the Global Union. Hasan placated him some more and then hung up with relish. Insect he thought. It griped him that he needed help; especially from idiots like Frederick, but he had to choose from the available pool and that pool was, unfortunately, overflowing with idiots like Holmes! He rightly supposed that the American prison official must have had occasion to feel the same frustration that he now felt. Former Governor Dick Barrelston -- now Deputy Minister Barrelston, of the Global Union -- sat, impatiently, at the bar and nursed a whiskey sour while waiting for

Prime Minister Hasan to finish with his phone call. Dick didnt have much patience for politics, but he did have an unquenchable thirst for the field and that ravenous hunger for power gave him the ability to appear patient -- even when he wasnt -- and that was all that mattered. In politics and poker appearance wasnt the only thing, it was everything! The Prime Minister canted an eyebrow and a waiter instantly appeared at his elbow and leaned over to hear what Yousif had to say; sotto voce. Immediately he silently whisked himself to the bar and conveyed the Prime Ministers invitation to Deputy Minister Barrelston. Dick signaled for the bartender to top off his drink and, same in hand, he sauntered over to Hasans table and forced himself to politely wait for a signal to be seated. Hasan waved a hand in the general area of a chair and Barrelston somewhat peremptorily sat. Hasan ignored his demeanor and began, Its good to see you again, Deputy Minister Barrelston! How is the family? Your son? I hear hes beginning college this year. Dick inwardly grimaced. His son Johnny had, indeed, begun college and things had not gone well. Johnny had escaped his fathers hired handlers -- again -- and gone partying and brutally beat and raped another young girl. It had cost Dick another arm and a leg to take care of the damage control for that; another crisis in a never ending string of crises. If Johnny werent his only son he would have thought long and hard about a more permanent form of damage control. Smiling with ersatz joviality, he artfully lied, Thank you for asking, Prime Minister Hasan! They are all fine and young Johnny is well on his way to becoming a Rhodes Scholar! Things couldnt be better! Yousif knew better. His dark father had revealed to him the truth that young Johnny was a brutal and vicious thug in rich mans clothing. Yousif smiled at that thought and he mentally approved of the younger Barrelstons approach to women. Women were, after all, on a level with dogs and they werent meant to be wined and dined and romanced. They were made to be taken and then disposed of. He wished the older Barrelston was as vicious and brutish as his son, but, as always, one had to make do with what was available and Dick was the one he had to deal with. Hasan dipped a crouton into the fondue pot and savored the bread seasoning and the tang of the melted Belgian cheese. He followed it with a healthy sip of the fine wine that he was so fond of. Barrelston would do, he thought; if not as well as his son, then at least well enough for the task at hand. Glad to hear it, Deputy Minister! Thats wonderful news! Im sure your son will make you proud! Hasan hated having to coddle this moron, but he was the one that his dark father had chosen to represent the North American region. So, Deputy Minister -- Dick, just plain old Dick will do Mr. Prime Minister. Yes, of course Dick. So, Dick, please tell me that President Emerson has joined our organization and is now a willing participant, yes?

Dicks left eye twitched. He hated it when that happened. Betrayal by his own body! That wasnt good in either poker or politics. Albeit, Hasan was doodling in his plate and seemed to have missed the tattletale eye. Ah, well, you see Mr. Prime Minister, some things take more time than we might like them to. You can fry up a silver-back trout in about half a minute, but you wouldnt want to eat it. To do it properly it takes about twenty minutes. Hasans eyes flared with a blood-red backlighting and his knuckles cracked as his fists clenched so tightly that his hands brown skin nearly turned white. Belying his inner rage, he calmly lifted his hands from his lap and gently brought his napkin up to his mouth where he dabbed at a spot of cheese. I see. Youve had several months to cook this trout and that isnt enough time, eh? Dick Barrelston winced. Mr. Prime Minister, youve got to understand that the government of the United States is a proud and historically independent one. President Emerson is going to take a little time to convince. Im sure hell see the light -- given enough time. Time, Hasan mused, time. Yes, I see what you mean, Dick, but, tell me, how much longer do you think the United States can hold out? Their economy has all but collapsed, many now live in tent cities, the military is hemorrhaging people faster than they are coming in, unemployment is hovering around twenty eight percent, and, since they have stalled us, I have, regrettably, been unable to authorize any oil shipments to the States. Granted, Venezuela and Mexico supply them more oil than we do, however, it is still another unwelcome irritant to a nearly terminal patient. If President Emerson delays much longer then the issue of joining the Global Union will become a moot point and your position would then become an unnecessary one. Yousif Hasan leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs, waiting for Barrelston to respond. Dick wanted to scream. He was much more than merely willing to hand over the United States, he was eager to do that very thing! Nothing should stand between him and the power that he craved, not even the country that had been so good to him. There wasnt any question of where his loyalties lay; they were dedicated to whomever could best benefit him and, in this case, that someone was Yousif Hasan. Dicks mind raced. He couldnt lose his position as a Deputy Minister of the Global Union! He couldnt allow that to happen! He wouldnt allow that to happen! Mr. Prime Minister, I hear you loud and clear. I know what needs to be done. President Emerson is a balky cuss! The Vice President isnt much better, however, the third in line is someone that we can work with. If something were to happen to the President and the Vice President, then getting the United States to join the Global Union would be a piece of cake! Yousif genuinely smiled this time. His dark father had, indeed, chosen wisely! Piece of cake, Hasan repeated aloud and fondly pondered the quaint American idiom. Yes, indeed, Deputy Minister, I do believe that your piece of cake is exactly the solution that we need! I like the way that you think! Lets assume, for the moment, that some unfortunate turn of circumstances were to befall both the President and the Vice President, then the Speaker of the House of Representatives would be next in

line, would he not? Dick was taken aback by Hasans knowledge of succession within the US government until he remembered that the Prime Minister had attended Yales Law School. Yes sir, that is exactly correct! Ambrose ONeil is the Speaker of the House of Representatives and he is the man that we want in the Oval Office. I know him. I know him very well, Mr. Prime Minister. Ambrose is someone that we would have no difficulty working with. He is the one we want! Hasan was pleased. This Barrelston fellow had just redeemed himself. He would be useful after all! Very well, Dick, I believe we have an understanding and it appears that your position will be a lasting one. Yousif stood and held his hand out. Dick scurried to his feet and clasped the outstretched hand and shook it with relief. Thank you for coming this evening, Dick. I am well pleased with you!

Chapter 37

Rations
The 14th Regional Temporary Shelter Facility (14-RTSF in milspeak) was run by General Jimmy Dowarty. Jimmy had distinguished himself both in Afghanistan and Iraq. He was a soldiers soldier. He was admired and loved by his men and cherished by his COs. Today he found himself at something of a loss -- an unaccustomed situation for him. General Jimmy Dowarty didnt have any food and he had nearly fifty thousand civilians to feed; not counting the almost twenty four hundred military men under his immediate command. Go ahead Sierra One, Jimmy spoke into the wireless com-link, I read you four by four. The news from Headquarters wasnt good. Jimmys CO had just informed him of several things that stuck in his craw -- big time! Not only was Mondays normal shipment of food and supplies not coming -- it would be delayed for at least a week -but he was also losing command of 14-RTSF. Since the untimely deaths of President Emerson and the Vice President, and the ascension of Ambrose ONeil to the Oval Office, nothing had been the same. Now hes being told that President ONeil recently entered into an agreement with the Global Union and that all of the Regional Temporary Shelter Facilities are now under the sole authority and directorship of Global Union Peacekeeping Forces. He was relieved of command; effective immediately. His new orders were to report to Washington Headquarters ASAP and hed then be briefed on his next duty assignment. Jimmy was stunned! He didnt keep up much with politics -- he preferred action over palaver, but, this time, political activities had completely blindsided him. Not that he was a total stranger to politics; civilian politicos did, after all, govern the actions of the military -- of which he was a long term and integral part. No sooner did Jimmy break off the com-link to HQ than an army of Global Union Peacekeeping troop transports, Humvees, and eighteen-wheelers descended upon the camp in a flurry of well organized activity. These were soon followed by a swarm of Global Union helicopters. Within forty minutes of their unwelcome arrival, the Global Union Soldiers had completely infiltrated the camp and were well underway setting up their own HQ tents and troop quarters. Before evening had fallen 14-RTSF was completely under the command and control of the Global Union. None of the intruders had given Jimmy or his men so

much as a nod in the way of acknowledgment; they completed their tasks in absolute indifference to the presence of Jimmys troops.

What are you in for? This from the short balding guy in a baggy Hawaiian shirt. Brian Coopers regarded the diminutive man with not a little compassion. Accounting. Oh yeah, Duke OBrian quipped, accounting...yeah, I remember now. We used to do that in America before the corporate geniuses outsourced all of the beancounting to India. Tough break! You? Brian countered. Duke looked at his feet. Surgeon, he replied deadpan. Used to enjoy the heck out of it! It gave me a reason to get up in the morning. After Gracie and the kids died in a car crash, it was all I had left. It gave me some solace, you know; helping others, that is. It helped me to keep my mind off of me and my troubles. Waldoes? Brian gently queried. Duke looked up with a hint of tears in his eyes. Yeah, the stinking corporations never knew when to stop. I didnt see it coming. Oh, yeah, Id read the Popular Science articles about remote surgery, but, who knew the suits and ties would actually do it? Jeez, it was science fiction. Nobody seriously thought that it would ever happen! The next day the jackals fired me and installed a remote operating theater. Guess who? Yup, you guessed it! The East Indians do all of the surgery now; over the Internet! Why pay me two-hundred-fifty-thousand a year when they can get kids in India for thirty-thousand? And those little buggers are good, too! They train them on remotes in college. They never see a real live patient face to face; even in school. Nope! One hundred percent remotes. Theyre like kids growing up playing video games; they leave us old school guys in the dust! Brian rubbed the tension creases in his forehead, willing them to relax -unsuccessfully. How in the Hell did all of this crap start, anyway? He asked rhetorically. Greed, Godlessness, alien monsters wearing peoples skins, Devils in suits and ties! Duke sighed in resignation. Hey, youre not going to eat that, are you? Brian stopped in midstream. He was about to tear open the candy wrapper. He gave Duke a quizzical look. That wrapper is all puffed up, my friend. The bloat in the wrapper is the result of gas expelled from bacterial activity. Trust me, you dont want to risk it! Thanks, Brian said with a mixture of gratefulness and disappointment. He

tossed the unopened candy bar into a nearby trash can. Duke eyed Brian with sympathy. Im hungry too and it doesnt look like any of these new troops have brought any food for us. Sucks! Food... he mused, seems like yesterday my money ran out and I got a job flipping burgers. It didnt pay very well, but at least I ate every day; for a little while. Brian empathized with Duke. Hmm, that story has a ring of familiarity to it. Sounds like about fifty thousand other stories circulating around in our little tent city in the woods. The diminutive surgeon put a hand on the bigger mans shoulder. What do you say we saunter over to the hog trough and see if there are any scraps that the dogs missed? Heads bowed in dejection, they shuffled off towards the general area where food -- until recently -- had been disbursed.

Deputy Minister Barrelston got out of the limo-like stretch Humvee and swelled with pride at the flurry of activity that 14-RTSF was enveloped in. Prime Minister Hasan was happy with him and he would be even happier when the Global Union Peacekeeping Forces began processing the fifty thousand civilians that the camp held. From where he stood, Dick could see the eighteen-wheelers that held the disassembled guillotines that would soon be erected. He smiled. Within only a few weeks the current occupants of the camp would be processed and simultaneously, across the nation, all of the occupants of the other regional camps would be processed, as well. Dick mentally patted himself on the back. He could feel the power flowing through his veins like the finest of fine wines. Even the ecstasy of an orgasm couldnt compete with the sheer thrill of having and exerting power!

Chapter 38

Close Call
Larry Bear Grouse, formerly Lieutenant Larry Grouse, stood in the lineup for execution. He was dressed in surgery-style green pajamas. He knew that the green color of the pajamas came from an historical finding that green light slowed the activity of bacteria and was therefore germicidal. Since some of the corpses would be harvested for body parts, then the green pajamas made sense. Additionally, when he had first arrived, he had seen that, after every execution, the Executioners would signal cleaning-crews to remove the bodies from the guillotine-tables and then those crews would assiduously mop-up the blood and spray the guillotine-blades and tables with disinfectants -- not for the hygiene of the coming condemned, but, rather, to insure an antiseptic pool of body parts. All very neat and tidy, he grimly thought. The nylon cable-tie that bound his wrists together, behind his back, was causing him great discomfort and probably some bleeding -- although he couldnt look to see if that was so. He could hear the frequent tripping of the mechanisms that allowed the guillotine-blades to begin their gravity-driven free fall, followed by the combined whoosh sound of the blades racing through the air and the metallic sounds of the blade occasionally rubbing against the guideways that prevented them from wandering off course. Then, unavoidably, there were the sounds of decapitated heads falling into baskets at the feet of the guillotine-tables. By this time Larry was pretty much numbed to the horrors that this great openair abattoir offered. Besides, after the ten days of the nearly continuous tortures that many of them had been through, what was coming was actually viewed by most as a relief -- an end to their sufferings. Although, not all chose to endure the full course of suffering that Prime Minister Hasan had deigned that the dissidents should go through. There was a way out -- even right up to the moment before the guillotine blade fell -- and many took it.

From the moment that one entered one of Prime Minister Hasans Reeducation Compounds, all anyone had to do to avoid (or end) the impending suffering, was to publicly denounce the God of the Bible and proclaim Prime Minister Hasan to be the one, and only, true God. At that point they would be unshackled and led to the center of the slaughter area where they would ring the giant Freedom Bell and proclaim their freedom from the slavery of the Bible and they would reiterate their allegiance to the only true God -- Prime Minister Hasan. From the Freedom Bell, they would be led to a row of tables where they would sign forms proclaiming their allegiance to Prime Minister Hasan. Here they would also receive Prime Minister Hasans Mark; a microcomputer chip which would be injected under the skin of the right hand, or, lacking a right hand to put it in, it would be injected under the skin of their foreheads. This microchip contained not only all of the pertinent information about the bearer, but it also contained forty thousand universal credits with which the beneficiary could live quite handsomely for about a year before needing to have it recharged with additional credits. All in all, there were compelling inducements to denounce God and kneel before the Devil. About two thirds of all of the camps entrants did choose, at one stage or another, to kneel before the Devil rather than suffer more -- or at all; as some barely even entered the camps before they would tremble and rush to denounce God. Larry had had enough of the world as he knew it and no enticement could tempt him anymore. He knew that there was a God and he knew that that Hasan Devil was not it. He tried to arch his back to assuage a pain he had, but this only caused the crusted over whip-welts on his back to break open and the pain of that was infinitely greater than the other. He resigned himself to being as still as he could be. He tried taking a deep breath to steady himself but, there too, the pain made the effort not worth it -- several broken and cracked ribs saw to that. Larry and the others that were queued up, waiting for the end of things, had all earned their places here by refusing to bow to the Antichrist. Larry, even though he had led a fairly bloody warriors life, had believed in God. Maybe he had murdered, maybe he hadnt. He had killed -- innumerable times. That had been his duty -- hed thought -- to God and Country. Murder? He hoped not, but only the Almighty could accurately judge that one. Ironic, he sometimes thought, that a trained killing-machine, such as he was, believed in God. Although, throughout biblical history there had been God-believing warriors. A certain Roman Centurion was said, by Christ, to have more faith than the whole of Israel. He hoped that he would qualify as one of those. His turn at the guillotine came. He was unceremoniously thrown, face-down, onto the table and the top half of the stainless-steel pillory was clamped in place. He could just see a blurry image -- through nearly swollen shut eyelids -- of the basket that would soon be the repository of his severed head. He suddenly realized that the Lamb of God -- Jesus -- had willingly come for mankind and sacrificed Himself for him and

all of the others that walked the Earth. Larry was here, too, to die by his own choice -- a willing sacrifice for the God that he believed in. An overwhelming feeling of love, for the innocent lamb that had come for him, filled Larry. Now, at the end of all things, it finally dawned on him that all God wanted was for His Creation to love Him back. He was a God of love and, at this moment, Larry loved Him, with all of his heart.

He heard the trip mechanism being released and the whoosh of the blade as it began its lightning fast descent towards his neck. He could also hear the harsh peal of the giant iron Freedom Bell as another convert denounced God and kneeled before the Evil One.

Suddenly Larry was elsewhere. He immediately felt his neck and throat. His hands, surprisingly, were free to do that. His head was definitely still attached and uninjured. He felt himself, all over, checking for signs of traumas. Amazingly, he felt no pain -- anywhere. Equally puzzling, he was no longer clothed in green pajamas, but, instead, he was dressed in an ankle-length white robe and sandals. As he pondered all of this someone began to walk towards him. This approaching figure was all aglow, as if from some ethereal internal light. As the person got closer Larry realized that this man was Jesus, himself!

What? How Larry stumbled out, confused. You didnt die an Earthly death because in the final hour you kept my highest commandment, above which there is no other. You loved me -- with all of your heart. The others merely chose sides -- me over the Evil one. You, at the last moment, loved me. Putting his hand on Larrys shoulder, Jesus said, My son. Come.

Epilogue

New Heaven and Earth

Day or night, the skies were now perpetually lit up by the Heavens; and getting brighter with each passing day. Scientists were loath to talk outside of the laboratory about what was going on and the government told people not to panic; this was all the result of a naturally occurring cyclical phenomenon that simply had such a long period between occurrences that no one had seen it before. They assured everyone that there was nothing to worry about. Behind closed doors there was massive panic within the Global Unions main and branch governments and their respective laboratories. Several months before, astronomers had detected signs that the stars were beginning to go supernova on an unprecedented scale. Something was literally causing the Universe to consume itself; like a snake eating its own flesh, from the tail forward. It just didnt make sense! Theoretical physicists, though, were experiencing their heyday -- everyone wanted to know what they were thinking. What they were thinking was the usual cacophony of differing opinions; each one solemnly espousing his own pet version of black-hole theory, or some such. None of them actually had a clue as to what was happening, but they were all enjoying the limelight and basking in the unexpected attention. Suddenly they were catapulted from the dark corners of underfunded university laboratories to the bright lights of daytime and evening television talk shows. No one had ever warned any of them that physics might actually be fun, much less in demand -- as it was now. Not since Carl Sagan had any scientist enjoyed this kind of attention. New Age groups were furiously pounding the Age of Aquarius drum and proclaiming that the skies were, without any doubt, proclaiming the New Age. They were all ecstatic. Finally they would be transformed into the Gods that they had always known they would become. Heady times, indeed! Jeffrey, come look at this. Dr. Amos Mackleby held the printout results, from the World Intelligence Agency super computer, in his trembling hands. Jeffrey sidled up beside the elderly physicist and peered at the printout. Look here, Dr. Mackleby pointed with a nervous finger, this is worse than we

had feared, my friend! Much worse! It looks like we have only about four weeks left before our Sun blows its top, as well! Oh my God! How can this be? Dr. Jeff Combs, thirty-eight, had graduated magna cum laude from Harvard University; just a short handful of years before. He had received his Doctorate in Astrophysics and he held a Masters Degree in Statistical Analysis and a Bachelors Degree in Business Administration. He looked over the figures contained in the printout and felt himself chilling, as if ice-water were suddenly flowing in his veins. The figures were devastating. He went over them again, from beginning to end, and the result was the same -- they were all doomed! The program that he and Dr. Mackleby had written, for the super computer to analyze the current celestial events, had been their last hope. They had been counting on the super computer to find some ray of hope that they could hang their hats on, but there was nothing! Worse, the findings had reduced their optimistic forecast of doom from several years to just a frighteningly short thirty to forty days. Jeffrey felt faint and wavered like a tree swaying in a strong wind. Dr. Mackleby guided him to a chair and he promptly fell into it, shaken to his core. My God, he mumbled, barely able to enunciate the words, how can this be? We still dont know why this is happening! It violates all of the known laws of physics! It cant be happening! Amos stroked his white beard with palsied fingers and mused to himself that there was something behind all of this that they simply werent getting. He placed a sympathetic hand on the shoulder of his young colleague. Jeffrey, my young friend, I think its time that we consider what Einstein said about God not playing dice with the Universe. Our science cannot explain why we are all about to die. It can not explain any of this! I think that its time that we acknowledge that there is a God and that He, alone, must be behind what is coming. There are no other explanations. You and I have talked many times about how there appears to be an intelligence behind the goings on of subatomic particles. Weve talked about the connectivity between the experimenters and the experiments themselves. Weve proven the inseparability of the experimenter and his experiment and yet we have never been able to find what it is that underlies this relationship and supports it. I think we are seeing that underlying force at work, now. Jeffrey, I think we are seeing the Hand of God himself at work here. Even our best super computer can not come up with an explanation. Neither can we. I think its time that we pray, my young friend. Jeffrey put his own shaky hand over that of his mentor and they both silently prayed to the God that they had before now been in doubt of. Silent tears streamed down their cheeks as they prayed and contemplated the end of all that they had known.

The Sun exploded like an angry balloon that had been stretched beyond its absolute limits. Titanic solar flames raged across the expanse of Space in all directions. The Earth and its brother planets were reduced to clouds of ionized gases. The Universe became quiet. There were no more stars or planets; not even interstellar dust.

All was Void. God spoke. The new Universe began. For six days God labored. On the seventh day He rested. God beheld the new Earth and He saw that it was good. Those who had chosen Him over the Evil One, during the time of the Great Tribulation, were set upon the new Earth to populate it and to have dominion over all things on it. The Elect were put over them and God himself was in the flesh and supreme over all. Just as God had given it to Isaiah to prophesy, on the former Earth, none remembered their previous lives, nor did any of those things come to mind. Isaiah 65:17

At the end of the Millennium evil was released upon the new Earth for a time to test the saints and to see if they would chose the Lord or the evil one. After the time of the testing God unveiled the final judgment and the tares were separated from the wheat. The good grain was stored up with God in Heaven. The tares were thrown into the eternal lake of fire where there would be no rest.

The Twelve Commandments, in their proper order, are as follows: 1.) You shall love the Lord thy God with all of your strength, heart, soul, and mind. (This is the highest commandment of all) 2.) You shall love your neighbor as yourself. (Upon these first two commandments hang all of the Law and the Prophets) 3.) You shall have no other Gods before me. 4.) You shall not make and worship any graven image. 5.) You shall not think or say the Lords name without reverence, for God is Holy. 6.) You shall keep the Sabbath Day. 7.) You shall honor your Father and Mother. 8.) You shall not commit murder. 9.) You shall not commit adultery. (nor any sexual immorality) 10.) You shall not steal. 11.) You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor. 12.) You shall not covet anything that belongs to your neighbor.