Seven Unholy Days

by Jerry Hatchett

  I had gargantuan doubts regarding the existence of hidden Bible messages, but we were getting nowhere with our shotgun approach and a Bible-related code would seem to fit the bill with our man. “You know anything about the methodology?”

  “I remember that now,” Abdul said. “It was based on skipping letters. By skipping a certain number of letters ... ”

  Abdul kept talking but it occurred to me that with the power back on I might have some luck finding some working Internet sites. I was right. My buddy Jeff Bezos over at Amazon.com had wasted no time getting his shop back online; even though the power at their main facility was still down, they had mirror data centers dotting the world.

  My first search hit a book creatively titled The Bible Code. I read the reviews and a few excerpted pages, then started digging for more detailed information. Even with servers and backbones operational in only one region, there was still plenty of information to be found on the topic.

  Abdul was right; the methodology was simple. Pick a starting point, then skip every other letter and see if you come up with a readable sequence. If not, try using a letter, skipping two, using a letter, skipping two more, and so on. Then skip three, then four, and so on. The so-called messages in the Bible were often found by skip sequences of up to thousands of letters. The resulting information was interesting, but that was brain candy for another day.

  I brought Abdul up to speed and asked him if he thought he could come up with a quick kludge to apply the search to the Hart document. He grinned, rubbed his fingertips together, and went to work. The program was ready to go in minutes.

  “Start with the first letter and let’s see if we get lucky,” I said. “And don’t count any spaces or punctuation, just the actual letters like they did when they were searching the Bible.”

  “What skip sequence?”

  “That’s easy. Skip two hundred fifteen; that’ll have us using every two hundred sixteenth letter. If he happened to use a code like this, I have no doubt that he used his magic number.”

  We watched closely while the little program ran. Nothing. “Try starting with letter number two-sixteen,” I said. Again, nothing. Then starting with number four thirty-two. And six forty-eight. No matter where we started, the resulting sequence of letters was nothing but gibberish. I started pacing again.

  On my third trip around the room I heard Abdul say, “Oh my goodness graciousness!”

  “Got something?”

  “I’ll put it on the big screen!”

  I looked in disbelief and said, “How’d you get that?”

  “I included punctuation marks in the last search.”

  And there it was, plain as day and bigger than life. Using every two hundred sixteenth character, including punctuation marks, yielded a definite sequence:

  My Dearest Children:

  Prior to this momentous time, this world has existed in a state of chaos and confusion. It gives my heart and soul untold pleasure to announce that the end of this misery is at hand. Hear me explain!

  Each human being craves to know that he or she exists for a reason. This longing drives people to search for meaning in their everyday lives, meaning in the world about them, and meaning in the universe. For many millennia, untold numbers have clung to a plethora of religions and arcane belief systems, because the human mind and spirit is generally incapable of deciphering the real meaning of life. I lived for years in just such a yearning existence myself. That has changed.

  Throughout and during the past years I have discovered that I am not really human. I am immortal, the quintessential embodiment of life and all that it entails. There have been many false teachings purveyed by scores of false teachers and prophets. Some of these were well-meaning souls. Others were utter frauds. I will not call names for it would be a pure waste of time within this brief missive, but the Truth I shall soon share with you encompasses, supersedes, and nullifies all iconic religious personalities who have preceded me.

  Regarding the current situation, as you are no doubt aware, aeons have foretold the significant events have taken place over the past few days, primarily in the United States of America. Fear not! These happenings are the fulfillment of prophecy. A twisted version, a Program of Events so to speak, can be found seeded all throughout the Book of Revelation in the Holy Bible. I encourage you to read the book, but please my children, bear in mind that the Bible was written long ago by many different MORTALS who were inspired by my lingering cosmic presence over a period of hundreds of years, but their regrettably weak minds and numerous imbecilic translations have skewed the true meaning which I desired to impart.

  Alas, the portions of the Bible that speak of the teacher known as Jesus have been hopelessly butchered. They lead to believe that this man was the Christ. Is it not extravagantly exciting to know that the real Christ is among you right now? I am Christ. I realize that all those who are reading this are likely beside themselves with spewing joy, but there are yet more good tidings. Tales concerning the so-called AntiChrist are also mangled groupings of incoherent thought. There is no separate AntiChrist. I am the Christ and I am the AntiChrist. There is no distinct personality known as Satan, beyond certain necessary elements of my immortal being. I am Satan. There is none other but me. I created the universe and all that exists within it, and have subsequently lain dormant with regard to my reverential being until now. I shall reveal myself fully unto you in the near future for you to worship me! You are henceforth warned that things are often not what they seem. Rely on my Word for your sustenance and survival. To that end, you may expect a series of further communications over the coming days. Until then, I bid you fond adieu.

  God

  The message was clear: ISRAEL OVER! It was time for a conversation with the White House.

  63

  10:18 AM CENTRAL DAYLIGHT TIME (LOCAL)

  SITUATION ROOM

  WHITE HOUSE

  The news that Israel was the likely target for Hart’s finale cast a long shadow of quiet over the room and its assembly of powerful men.

  “Everything on this planet always seem to wind up back in the Middle East,” the President said when he finally broke the silence. He turned to the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Admiral Bradley Stockton. “Brad, what’s the most likely origin over there for a missile strike on Israel?”

  “Christ, sir. It could come from anywhere. They’re surrounded on every side by people who hate them and would love to see them vaporized. Any nation-state in the region is a potential conspirator who might aid and abet this maniac.”

  “We’ve spent a fortune on increasing intel there for more than a decade. How could this have happened? How do we know he’s not bluffing?”

  Major Todd Thompson spoke up. “With all due respect, sir, he hasn’t bluffed yet. And given his known acquisition of the one Russian nuke, we have researched and confirmed that a number of other Russian nuclear assets are unaccounted for.”

  “A number? Are you saying that he could have more than one missile?”

  “I’m afraid so, sir. The delivery vehicles, the missiles, are plentiful in a number of nations we would consider hostile to Israel. For years, the Russians have been willing to sell them to anyone with the cash. The warheads are the real problem and there are presently three missing. This isn’t the first time it’s happened, but we do believe it’s the first time it has happened in Moscow right under the noses of the top brass. Prior incidents have all taken place in the outlying provinces that used to be under Soviet control. There’s also a chance he could get something from the Iranians, but the Russian scenario is far more likely.”

  “I see. What size are these warheads, and how long have they been gone?”

  “Eighty kilotons, devastating. Our sources indicate they were smuggled out within the past thirty days by substituting dummy warheads so they wouldn’t be missed during inventory checks. There’s obviously a high-level official involved.”

  Stanson held up a finger for pause and turned to a
n aid. “Have someone get President Aganine on the phone.” He turned back to his audience. “Maybe we can get some help from him. Brad, what kind of naval presence do we have in the area?”

  “The Ronald Reagan carrier battle group is in the Mediterranean.”

  “Do you need more?”

  “No sir. One CBG is sufficient for any single target, or a package of three targets, for that matter. Give me locations and I’ll make them disappear.”

  “All right, let’s get to it, gentlemen. I’ll talk to the Israeli Prime Minister after I’ve finished with Aganine. I want Hart and his missiles found and eradicated. Is that clear?” He looked around the room and to the videoconferencing screen for nods and got them.

  “By the way, can anyone tell me where the hell my FBI director is?”

  Around the room, heads shook and shoulders shrugged.

  “He better be here within thirty minutes and have one hell of a story if he wants to keep his job. That is all.”

  10:25 AM CENTRAL DAYLIGHT TIME (LOCAL)

  YELLOW CREEK

  “Well that was really useful,” I said to myself as soon as I was sure the link was dead. The most powerful men on Earth were thus far powerless to stop whatever was coming. I felt the weight of the situation bearing down on my shoulders one more time.

  The feed cut back to Larry, who had already managed to build cluttered environs in the White House that rivaled his normal digs back in the Hoover basement.

  “Matt, just wanted to let you know that the agents are still working on your father’s case. No luck yet, I’m sorry to say.”

  “Thanks, Larry.”

  “I think I’ve spotted something in this letter,” Tark said.

  “Are you serious?”

  “I’m certain of it!” He was excited, puffing at warp speed; I could hear the soft cluck of his lips on the briarwood. “Put it on the big screen.”

  “Hang on a second.” I routed the document to the display and Tark walked to it.

  “I didn’t break any fancy code,” he said, pointing at the screen, “but take a look at the first letter of each paragraph in the body of the letter.”

  “Let’s see, I come up with P – E –T – R – A. Petra?”

  “Yes, Petra!”

  “Meaning?”

  “Petra is an ancient city in the Jordanian desert.”

  “You just earned my undivided attention. Is it inhabited?”

  “I don’t know what’s going on over there now, but it was abandoned for centuries. Hidden in a canyon, buildings carved right out of the rock. It’s slap dab in the middle of nowhere, Matthew, and next door to Israel.”

  “You might have just saved the day, Tark. If we’re lucky, the world.”

  “I’m no savior, but I hope it helps. Think this is worth telling the President?”

  “Your calls on this whole thing have been uncanny. How confident are you on this issue?” said the President.

  “It fits, sir,” I said. “I have no doubt he intends to hit Israel, and from a glance at the map, Petra looks to be as likely a launch point as any. I don’t have figures, but I’m sure your people will confirm it to be within the range of those missiles.”

  Stanson turned to his aid and told him to get the CIA busy gathering intelligence on the area, then turned back to the camera. “Mr. Decker, I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done. When this is over I’d love to have you come spend a weekend here at the house.”

  “I’d be honored, Mr. President. May I ask what your plans are from this point in the operation?”

  “Rich?” he said, talking to National Security Advisor Rich Henning.

  “As soon as we wrap up this discussion I’ll confer with CIA, but I think step one is to quickly re-task a hi-res bird or two for a look. Might want to move some drones into that airspace, as well.”

  “We have the latest and greatest on board the Reagan,” Admiral Stockton said. “I’ll get them airborne immediately. I can also mobilize a squad of Marines.”

  “Do whatever you see fit, gentlemen,” the President said. “I want to be very clear on one point, however. It’s not enough to stop the missiles. I want this man done away with. No media circus of a trial. Kill the sonofabitch.”

  “It goes without saying that I agree,” Henning said, “but there’s one big problem. We don’t have any idea what he looks like. We have no pictures, and I do mean none. No fingerprints. Zero to identify him. We’ve talked to people who worked for years in Hardier Enterprises and not one soul has seen him in over twenty-five years. He’s a phantom.”

  “He’s no phantom,” I said, “and I know someone who knows exactly what he looks like.”

  3:10 PM CENTRAL DAYLIGHT TIME (LOCAL)

  YELLOW CREEK

  “I’m normally not a preachy kind of fellow,” Tark said.

  “Then why are you laying it on me so thick? You’ve made it abundantly clear you believe in God. I’ve made it just as clear that I don’t. What’s the problem?”

  “You’re walking right into harm’s way, you could use some help, and I think you do believe.”

  If it had been anyone else essentially calling me a liar, not to mention annoying the hell out of me, I would have reached a breaking point long ago on this issue. But the truth is, I really liked Tark. Loaded with integrity and knows no fear, the kind of friend who has your back no matter what. He was Norman without the Labrador limitations. How could I not like him and give him a little room?

  “Now my curiosity meter is pegged out. What would make you think I do believe?”

  “You’ve always believed, you’re just angry. You felt abandoned when your father got hurt and you never forgave God for it. That’s a scary thing to fess up to, so you convinced yourself you don’t believe at all. That’s what I think, Matthew.”

  “With all due respect, my friend, you’re off base. Your theory was true for the first year or so when I prayed day and night for God to heal my Dad, but when he didn’t answer ... ”

  “You lost faith and quit asking.”

  “I stopped believing, and that’s that. If he was real he would’ve answered.”

  “He answers in his time, not ours.”

  “I hear you, Tark, but we’ll just have to agree to disagree on this one. Let me say this, though. You’re a solid example of the human race and I sincerely appreciate your concern. I’ll be fine.”

  “And what if you’re not?”

  “Hey, we all have to go sometime, right?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “No buts, Tark. I’m no hero, but it’s fallen to me to find and stop this asshole before he kills more people. If I have to die doing that, I’m okay with it. Really.”

  “At least think about what I’ve said.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  “Good enough, and you take care of yourself. I’ll hold down the fort here so holler if you need anything.”

  “Will do. I better get going.” He shook/crushed my hand, then wrapped me up in a big hug. Time to go.

  DAY SEVEN

  MONDAY

  And when he had opened the seventh seal,

  there was silence in heaven about the space

  of half an hour.

  Revelation 8:1

  64

  4:15 AM GREENWICH MEAN TIME (LOCAL)

  12:15 AM EASTERN DAYLIGHT TIME

  TIME REMAINING: 14 HOURS, 1 MINUTE

  SOMEWHERE OVER THE NORTH ATLANTIC

  I can say without hesitation that Jana Fulton is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life. The picture was breathtaking but it didn’t come close to the real thing. The color of her shoulder-length hair reminded me of a canary yellow diamond I once saw in a museum collection of royal jewels. It was about the same color and sparkled wherever light touched it. Her eyes were bluish green—almost turquoise—her skin a creamy tan. She told me a female FBI agent in Omaha happened to be her size and loaned her the clothes she was wearing, a pair of blue jeans and a simple white cotton shi
rt. I tried not to stare but—no, that’s a lie. I stared willingly.

  The military brass in the Situation Room put up a brief argument when I suggested Jana—assuming she was willing—and I should make the trip to Petra. Very brief. Stanson was a man on a mission; protocols and rules were out the window as far as he was concerned and that was that. Jana did need to be there, of course, if they wanted to be sure the right man was dealt with since she was the only person known to us who knew what he looked like. As for myself, Hart had turned this whole affair personal and I’d earned the right to be included.

  She had gotten a treat few civilians enjoy by being flown from Omaha to Memphis in the rear seat of an F-15. One of the helicopters that had brought in the RADIAC operators took me to Memphis, where we both boarded an FBI corporate style jet that got us to Washington in a hurry. We were met at Andrews Air Force base by Major Thompson and a small contingent of serious-looking soldier types. After several hours of briefing Jana and I re-boarded that same aircraft and were on our way.

  I woke from a nap to see her gazing out the window at the blackness of night. “I’m very sorry about Brett,” I said.

  “Thanks. I’m heartbroken, of course, but our whole family steeled ourselves for the “Brett is gone” phone call long ago. He was wild as a buck. I hope that doesn’t sound too cold, but I’m a practical, straightforward person.” She unfastened her seat belt and turned to face me. “Enough gloomy talk for now. Tell me about Matt Decker.”

  I gave her the highlights, sans a few unsavory details like street fighting and strong-arm robbery. She asked a lot more questions and I gave a lot more answers. We moved from me to her and back and forth. I got the full story of the week she’d just been through and was amazed by the strength she had shown once the initial shock wore off. She was comfortable to talk to and it was a nice exchange. We lost track of time and got reminded when the sky outside started lightening as dawn approached.