Battle Siege (The Battle Series Book 3)

by Mark Romang

  “Is he some sort of magician, an illusionist? Or is he really a miracle worker?” Dixon asked, to no one in particular.

  “Abbadelli is none of those things. He’s the False Prophet.” Liam Kelvoy said. “He gets his power from the Antichrist.”

  Dixon shot Kelvoy a hard look. “Yes, you’ve said that before, Doctor.”

  Kelvoy shrugged. “It never hurts to review what we know,” he said earnestly. “I used to teach, Mr. President. Reviewing is essential to learning.”

  Dixon ignored Kelvoy. “Do any of you think Skymolt really knows where the missing people are?”

  “He doesn’t have the slightest idea,” Chancellor Braun said.

  “I disagree. That was the one true thing Skymolt said tonight,” Kelvoy insisted. “He knows the missing are safe in Heaven.”

  Dixon turned to Harrison Barnes. “Mr. Barnes, at our last meeting I asked you to try and map out Henrik Skymolt’s genealogy. Have you succeeded?”

  Barnes shook his head. “I’m embarrassed to say I failed miserably at tracking down Skymolt’s lineage. I came across several dozen Henrik Skymolts. But none of them are who we just watched on the screen.”

  “You couldn’t find any siblings at all?” George Anderson asked, still stroking his goatee. “That’s hard to believe. Maybe Skymolt is an orphan.”

  “I couldn’t find anyone definitively related to our world leader. And let me tell you, I went way back. Interestingly enough, I did find a Viking warlord that lived on the Isle of Man in 812 AD. His name was Henrik Skymolt.”

  Estelle Duval, who’d been unusually quiet, chimed in. “So Henrik Skymolt is one of three immortal beings: Almighty God, the Antichrist, or a Viking warlord that’s been living on Earth for over 1200 years.”

  Dixon looked at the president of France, “Honestly, Estelle. Surely you don’t believe any of those farfetched possibilities.”

  “Skymolt is a monster. That’s all I really know, Mr. President.”

  “You might as well call Skymolt the devil, because the evil one indwells Henrik,” Liam Kelvoy said quietly. He held up his well-worn Bible. “The evidence is in here, my friends. Countless prophecies have come true regarding the Tribulation period we now live in. And we just witnessed the one found in in Second Thessalonians 2:3-4.” Kelvoy opened his Bible and quickly found the aforementioned passage. He began to read. “Let no one deceive you in any way. For that day will not come unless the rebellion comes first, and the man of lawlessness is revealed, the son of destruction, who opposes and exalts himself against every so-called god or object of worship, so that he takes his seat in the temple of God, proclaiming himself to be God.” Kelvoy closed his Bible. He looked at the dignitaries soberly. “Henrik Skymolt is the man of lawlessness. Surely you can see that.”

  “Whatever Skymolt is, he’s evil. So anyone have any ideas how to get rid of him?” General Morris asked.

  “We already tried to kill him. You saw how that worked,” Estelle Duval said. “We killed him, put him in the dirt even. And now he lives again.”

  Brett Loring picked up a stray piece of straw from the barn floor and twirled it in his hands. “We have an approaching opportunity to get it done right, once and for all,” the U.K. prime minister said.

  Every eye in the barn settled on the prime minister.

  Loring took a deep breath. “SIS has a man inside Skymolt’s inner circle. He’s reported back to us that Skymolt will soon ask all the world armies to march against Jerusalem. He wants to obliterate Jerusalem and the Jews living inside. And he plans to command the armies himself.”

  “That sounds like Armageddon to me,” General Morris said, perturbed that the Brits had better intelligence than him. But then MI6 had always put out the best spies.

  “That’s precisely what it is,” Kelvoy said quickly.

  “So what are you proposing, Brett?” Dixon asked, ignoring the professor’s comment.

  “When Skymolt asks us to move troops and armament against Jerusalem, we don’t balk at his wishes. We go along with it, and we look for an opportunity to drop a bomb on his head.”

  “What kind of timeframe are we talking about, Brett?” General Morris asked.

  “Troop movement is supposed to start two years from now, or sooner.”

  “It won’t work,” Kelvoy said. “Only the second coming of Jesus will defeat the Antichrist.”

  Loring looked at the U.S. president. “I guarantee if you drop the MOAB—Mother of All Bombs on Skymolt, he won’t rise from the dead,” Loring said referring to the American bomb once dubbed the world’s most powerful non-nuclear bomb.

  “The prime minister is right, Mr. President. The MOAB may just work,” Morris said. “All we need is a C-130 to deliver it. And we have plenty of C-130s.”

  “But do we have any MOABs left? Skymolt confiscated much of our arsenal,” Dixon pointed out.

  “He didn’t get it all. We squirreled away a few items for just such an occasion,” Morris said.

  “I’m telling you only Jesus can defeat the Antichrist,” Kelvoy insisted to a deaf audience.

  “We have to exhaust all possibilities, we can’t just sit on our hands and hope Skymolt dies in the Battle of Armageddon,” George Anderson said.

  President Dixon nodded. “I agree with the prime minister. We have to try something. We can’t allow Henrik Skymolt to ride roughshod over the entire world. And if we should succeed at killing Skymolt, the world can go back to the way it was before he took power.” Dixon looked at the other six. “Is everyone in agreement?” One by one they all nodded, some faster than others, but eventually they all said yes.

  Liam Kelvoy watched it all in silence. No one believed him, no one took him seriously. But really, it didn’t matter at all that he was telling them the truth. The truth was working against them all. Everyone in the barn, including Kelvoy had taken Skymolt’s marking chip. It was too late for all of them. They’d traded their souls for the ability to buy and sell.

  Before the Rapture, Kelvoy had acquired a vast knowledge of the Bible, so much knowledge that he earned a PHD and became a professor. But knowledge wasn’t enough. He’d ignored the command to love the Lord with all of his heart and soul and mind. He’d only loved the Lord with his mind, neglecting to cultivate a relationship with Him.

  And so he was left behind. And when he became hungry, when his stomach urged him to find food and eat, he did the unthinkable and willingly took the chip, sealing his fate forever.

  Kelvoy stared dully at his Bible. We’re all doomed, he thought. Utterly doomed.

  Chapter 47

  Olympic Peninsula—later that day

  “I think I see someone coming,” Brooke said to Banks in a low voice. “He’s walking parallel to the ridge and heading right for us.”

  Banks looked in the direction Brooke indicated. He soon saw a man, trim and fit, walking carefree like a man out for a recreational hike. Banks couldn’t tell if the hiker was a lawman or not. His body language and attire provided next to no clues. He certainly didn’t look like he was tracking anybody.

  Banks pulled Brooke behind a tree. They stood together on a forested ridgeline 500 hundred yards from the bunker. He and Brooke arrived a little early to reconnoiter a hiding spot that gave them cover and a large field of vision.

  “If this is your guy, the lawman named Nick, you’re going to have reveal yourself,” Brooke whispered in his ear. “Otherwise he’s going to walk right by us.”

  Banks nodded. He’d prefer to hang out with Brooke behind this tree. He found her company much more appealing than giving himself up. But the vision he experienced only a few hours ago compelled him to pursue a greater objective, a noble aspiration that didn’t include a pretty young woman like Brooke.

  “Okay, but you stay behind this tree until I can figure out if this is Nick,” Banks whispered in Brooke’s ear. His legs trembled slightly. Not from the idea of giving himself up, but from the sensation of Brook’s long hair brushing against his lips. Of all the times
to develop a crush for a girl, this was hands down the worst possible time.

  Banks battened down his love hormones, marshalled his courage and resolve, and stepped out from behind the hemlock tree. He waved his arms to attract the man’s attention, who was now only thirty to forty yards away and climbing steadily toward them. The man spotted Banks and lifted a hand in return.

  Banks felt his heart speed up. The fear of the unknown and the shape of his immediate future soured his stomach. Neither Gabriel nor Andrew Maddix told him what would happen to him after he reprogrammed the drones. It was probably best he didn’t know his fate. He seriously doubted there would be a parade thrown in his honor. Henrik Skymolt will not like what I plan to do, Banks thought. If I succeed he’ll be furious.

  The man walked up to within ten feet of Banks and stopped.

  Banks didn’t wait for the man to speak. “Are you Nick, by chance? A lawman sent up here to find a fugitive?” Banks asked.

  The man raised an eyebrow. He nodded his head warily. “I’m Special Agent Nick Loomis. But how did you know my name and the reason I’m here?”

  “A lucky guess, I suppose.”

  “I don’t believe in luck, Mister…?”

  “I’m who you’re looking for. I’m Nathan Banks.” Banks stepped forward and held out his hands, close together.

  “Why are you holding out your hands?”

  “So you can cuff me and take me into custody, haul me off this mountain and process me somewhere.”

  “Why the change of heart, Nathan? You went off the grid and had everyone buffaloed. No one could find you. And now you’re suddenly giving up?”

  “It sounds crazy, but yes, I’m turning myself in.”

  “But why? And you never answered my question as to how you knew me,” Loomis said.

  “I had a vision last night, a dream where the angel Gabriel visited me. He said you would be coming to this ridge, to meet me here at noon.” Banks watched the man’s mouth drop open.

  “The archangel Gabriel said I would be coming for you? I’ve never heard that one before.” Loomis said.

  Brooke stepped out from behind the tree. “I grant you it may have sounded like an odd statement, like something a lunatic might say. But it really happened. Nathan isn’t crazy.”

  “And who might you be?”

  “My name is Brooke. Nathan is my friend.”

  Loomis looked at his watch, and then looked up at Banks, bewilderment growing in his eyes. “Well, son of a gun, it is noon, even though you couldn’t tell it by the sun’s position,” he said.

  Banks looked up at the mostly cloudy sky, saw the sun wasn’t straight over his head like it should be, but already sinking into a late afternoon position. He then looked at Loomis and noticed the believer’s mark on his forehead. He relaxed just a bit. “So where are you going to take me, Nick?”

  “I really don’t want to take you anywhere, Nathan. If I take you back to Seattle bad things will happen to you. So why don’t you just go back from wherever you came from? I’ll tell my boss I couldn’t find you.”

  “That’s kind of you, Nick. But there is something important I need to do, and it’s something to benefit mankind and believers like you and me. I can’t do this task from out here.”

  “Why does Henrik Skymolt want you so badly? There’s a big reward out for you?”

  Banks lowered his arms, heavy from holding them up. “It probably has something to do with the drones. I’m guessing he wants me to write an update to solve an issue or reprogram them.”

  “You programmed the drones?” Loomis asked.

  “It’s not something I’m proud of. But I’m trying to make amends now. Instead of solving whatever issue Henrik and his UWC goons are having, I plan to make it worse and ground the whole fleet. So that’s why you need to arrest me and take me back to Seattle.”

  “Do you think you can pull it off?”

  Banks shrugged. “I don’t know. But I intend to give it my best shot.”

  A low whistle escaped Loomis’ mouth. “Are you sure you want to do this? It sounds like suicide to me.”

  “I’m sure. And if you don’t take me in you might incur the wrath of Gabriel. He told me in the dream to do this, and that God desires I do this.”

  “Well, I don’t want to stand in God’s way. So I guess I’ll do as you wish,” Loomis said. He looked at Banks sympathetically. “Better say goodbye to your friend there.”

  Banks turned to face Brooke. A lump formed in his throat when he saw her eyes tear up. “You’ll be okay out here, Brooke. You have a good setup and enough food and supplies to make it. Just be sure and cover your tracks like I showed you.”

  Brooke stepped forward and threw her arms around him. She buried her head in his chest. “You’re a remarkable man, Nathan. I won’t ever forget you. This is an incredibly brave thing you’re attempting to do.”

  “Say a prayer for me whenever you think of me?”

  “Of course I will. I’ll pray for you every day, morning and night.”

  Although he’d be perfectly content to hold Brooke in his arms all day, Banks started to pull away from her. Brooke stopped his full release and kissed him on the cheek. “When you finish what you need to do, come back and we’ll ride the zip-lines again.”

  “Sure, I’d like that. There’s nothing like a ride on a zip-line to put a smile on your face.”

  Brooke let go of his arms. He winked at her and then turned and walked away. He joined Loomis. “Let’s go before I change my mind,” he said in a low voice.

  Loomis nodded and they headed out, back down and along the ridgeline.

  Chapter 48

  The wind blew through the fir trees and shushed their conversation. They didn’t say anything for quite some time. Finally Banks broke the silence. “So how does a Christian lawman like you work out in the public without Skymolt’s marking chip implanted in him?”

  “Very carefully,” Loomis said. He reached inside his jacket and held out a necklace with a locket attached to it. “It also helps a great deal to have this?”

  Banks looked at the locket. “How does a locket enable you to walk around freely?”

  “It has a Skymolt chip inside it. I just have the locket scanned whenever I buy something.”

  “I thought the chip had to be implanted under the skin.”

  “It’s supposed to be. But I have a rare skin disease that won’t tolerate it. So I get to carry the chip around in this locket.”

  “I wished I would have thought of something like that. I’ve been struggling to stay alive out here in the wild,” Banks said.

  “I really do have a skin disease. But I forged the UWC paperwork all the retail clerks demand to see. So far it’s worked.”

  “Sweet. Hope it keeps working out for you.”

  “Me too. But sometimes I feel guilty about it. People like you have to hide under rocks while I get to move freely about and buy whatever I want.”

  “I wouldn’t feel guilty about it, Nick. Your condition is actually a blessing. And there must be some purpose for it. If nothing else you can be a secret advocate for people like us,” Banks said. “A hero for the rebels.”

  Loomis shrugged. “I don’t know how much longer I can pull off the charade. At some point I’m going to have to go off the grid like you, Nathan, and live out in the wild somewhere.”

  For a split second Banks thought about telling Loomis where the bunker was. But then he thought better of it. Loomis seemed like an honorable man, but he still was just a stranger.

  “Do you have any advice you can give me for long term survival in the wild?” Loomis asked.

  Banks stepped over a large tree root. He found it very strange not to be covering his tracks. “Find a place close to a water source. And somewhere that it doesn’t snow a bunch. Winters in the wild will drive you mad. But before you disappear for good, go on some practice runs. Go out for a couple of days in the woods with nothing but a pocket knife and a fire starter. If you survive that, g
o out for four days. Work your way up to a week, and then two weeks. If the two week trips work out okay, you should be ready for long term wilderness survival. But try to disappear in the spring. That way you’ll have three seasons to get prepared for winter, gather food and build or find a permanent shelter.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks for the advice.”

  “Glad I could help.”

  They came to an open hillside covered in devil’s club. Their pace slowed considerably. The spiny stalks tore at their pants. “You’ll need to carry a machete for underbrush like this,” Banks said. “But a machete will leave evidence of your presence. So don’t use it very often.”

  “I see what you mean, Nathan. So tell me about this dream or vision you had. Tell me about Gabriel.”

  “Well, I actually had two supernatural visitors appear in the dream. One was a saint named Andrew Maddix.”

  Loomis jerked to a halt. Banks bumped into him. “What did this Andrew Maddix look like?” Loomis asked.

  Banks shrugged. “Andrew was about six feet tall, lean and rangy. He had dark hair and a beard. Dark eyes.”

  “Son of a gun. That sounds just like him. Just more proof Heaven is for real. And that our souls keep living after death.”

  “I’m not following you, Nick.”

  “It’s a long story. And it’s a story even crazier than yours.”

  “I’d love to hear it. Now that I’ve met Andrew, I’d like to know more about him.”

  “Andrew was a man with many labels. He was foremost a patriot, a decorated Navy SEAL. And then he was a pastor, a devout man of God. And then he was a fugitive, a possible murder suspect. When I was with the FBI I tracked Maddix from Southern Utah all the way to New Zealand.”