Reckoning

by James Byron Huggins

  “Always there will be fundamental questions of uncertainty that only faith may bridge. And it is because of what I know of these fundamental questions, and faith itself, that I say with confidence that reason will never fully close the void between the known and the unknowable. Faith, alone, is forever the final step." He paused. "It's true, you know, that the secret things belong to God. And yet those who worship the Man-God, or this Sun-Man of the Cosmos have, since time immemorial, fought to destroy the restricting moral influence of men who would live by the words of Yahweh. And this is because the Man-God, from the very beginning, has regarded Yahweh's very existence as a hated and mortal threat to his moral autonomy. And, for certain, the very idea of an omnipotent and holy God is an attack upon the ground of what he holds most dear: Himself.

  "It is nothing unique to the history of man," Malachi sighed. "One side elects to believe that the Cosmos, or Nature, or the Superior Man himself holds the keys of eternal life. They believe that man himself should be the ultimate measure of Good and Evil. While we believe that a holy and righteous God has given man the commandment that we must worship Him with all our heart, mind, soul, and spirit, abide by this Law, and claim no moral sovereignty for ourselves. One side claims that they themselves are God as Man, the ultimate expression of what is good and right and true. The other side simply chooses to worship and serve the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Moses, who proclaimed that we must worship no other God before Him."

  Malachi paused, frowning.

  Silence hung like a heavy cloak over the room.

  "The dream of the God-Man is to decide his own moral dominion, and by the freedom that he claims, extend that moral dominion over the Earth," the old man said, distant eyes on flame. "It is a perversion of a solemn truth, for man was, indeed, created to have dominion over the Earth. But not by the might of his own hand. No, and not by the power of the politics or money or a sword." He shook his head. "No, it was by the mercy of God that man was born to subdue the Earth, remaining within the justice that God ordained.

  "And it was against this dark dream of mortal cosmic dominion that Simon died resisting. Because he knew what the end of that dream would be. He remembered what oppression was wrought in the holocaust of ancient empires who held the God-Man as a supreme being. He remembered the dynasties of Mesopotamia which worshipped the gods of the Earth; evil monarchies that forced the predatory will of the strongest upon the weak. For always the strongest rule where there is no dominion higher than man himself.

  "We should learn from history; it reveals former things. In ancient worlds there were many religions that held man himself to be the all-embracing Absolute of good and evil, the decider of his own destiny by the strength of his arm. They rejected the concept of an invisible, omnipotent God who created man and then revealed Himself to man, a God who established codes of conduct that could not be altered in the fleshly domain. And, even as it is now, it was a time of decision. A time to decide by an act of will to serve the God-Man or serve the Hebrew God that, alone, breathed life into dust to make flesh, and still retained the right to decide life or death for that flesh."

  Malachi shifted, released a long breath.

  "Measure a god by the sacrifice he seeks. Measure a man by the prey he selects. Is it revealing that the ancient empires who worshipped the free moral mind of a master race always selected their sacrifices among the weak, the defenseless, or the poor? Is it a coincidence that all the past dynasties ruled by the God-Man, or Sun-Man, mortared their altars with the same blood? And it's true, you know. Just as it is true that modern politicians crush down the weak to impose the perverse will of a few followers.

  "From the Druids to the Massalians to the keepers of demonic Baal to Dagon to the priests of the Aztec's Xipe Topee, the Sun-God, it was always children and the weakest that were selected for death. Always the weakest. Never the strong, no. And why is that?" Malachi turned towards them, vivid and bright. "I'll tell you why. It's because man without an omnipotent God to restrict his actions will forever serve the beast that lives so strongly within, becoming a predator over a fallen world. And, as nature demands, the strongest men become the strongest predators. And as any predator, men will select easy prey before strong. And the poorest among us, and our children, are always among the weakest, the most defenseless."

  Stillness in the room was unnatural, the poise of listeners afraid to move within the dark content of the words.

  "Yes, Gage, predation is the final plateau of the God-Man concept. Not love, and not mercy. For a jungle does not recognize mercy; it only recognizes strength. The strong rule and the strongest rule completely. And it is this cruel fate that has always been the end of those who find their god in Nature, or in themselves, or in the Cosmos or the Sun. Man as God. Nature as God. The Sun-Man. They cunningly devise whatever ideology that will allow them to justify their moral autonomy and their predatory lusts. A thousand faces for the same being. A thousand names to personify a god who is exactly what they want him to be. And they violently reject the unyielding moral code imposed upon man by Yahweh, a God who has always enforced a code of justice that would defend the weak, and punish the cruel."

  Gage noticed that Malachi's face seemed tired. But he still needed some answers.

  "And how does the manuscript work into this?"

  "Our enemy believes that the manuscript reveals the names, the family lineage, and the place of birth of the ultimate God-Man, or Sun-Man," Malachi answered steadily, evenly. "And he is the one they have waited for during the long centuries. They believe that this God-Man, this superior being, will bring into reality the perfect kingdom, their kingdom, on the Earth. They believe that this ultimate being will conquer the world by the strength of his arm, and the universe by the superiority of his mind. They believe that he will drive the archaic concept of Yahweh from the entire world, rebuilding the Earth in the image of himself. We shall all be one, they say." He shook his head. "Yes, we shall all be servants of the God-Man, which is much better than simply being servants of God. Though it seems to me a petty jealousy. The God-Man would simply have us worship him, instead of the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.” He grunted, “"And this, they call social enlightenment ..."

  He paused. "In any case, Simon and I did indeed read the manuscript, though Simon alone read the section of text that contained the Name. And now, obviously, the manuscript has been stolen from the Archives in Rome, where Clement had suppressed it. And our enemies, these servants of the prophetic God-Man, have chosen to silence any of those who might know enough to protest the crime. But something has gone wrong. Their plans have not succeeded. Did you not say that Simon told you of a priest, Santacroce, who repented of stealing the manuscript and buried it again instead of delivering it to the conspirators?"

  Gage nodded.

  "Yes, so it seems," Malachi intoned. "And now we are faced with the dilemma of finding and destroying the manuscript before these unknown predators can again obtain it."

  Gage seemed confused. "Why does it have to be destroyed?"

  "Because we must not allow them to discover the name of this Man-God, Gage. Or the place or the year of his birth."

  "Why?"

  Malachi turned to him. "Because if our enemy could discover his name, they could nurture him, bring him up. They could have the foundations of his kingdom in place far before the time he is ready to assume the mantle of power."

  "And then what?"

  "They would turn over the world to him."

  Outside, an owl's booming cry again carried through the night.

  Gage stared steadily at Malachi, trying to figure it through.

  "So if they don't have the name, then they'll have to wait for him to emerge," Gage reasoned. "They won't be able to protect him, to nurture him. They won't be able to set his kingdom in place. He'll have to do it for himself."

  Malachi nodded curtly, stared again into the fireplace.

  "Exactly, Gage. And that will be an expenditure of his power. An expenditure
that this God-Man does not wish to make. He would like to reserve all of his strength to attack his enemies, to unite the vassal countries that will serve him. Then he would be able to destroy many more of those who stand against him. You see, to build this empire himself, he will have to divide his efforts, his attention. He does not want to spend his time and energy building what could already be in place."

  Gage stared down. "And Simon was willing to die for this?"

  "Simon believed it was worth his life, yes," the professor answered. He stared into the flames, suddenly morose. "The God-Man will come, Gage. It is foretold. It is prophecy, and not prophecy contained in this cursed manuscript. No, it is part of God's plan that the beast will come. He will be defeated in the end of time by the Messiah, in the last great battle on the Earth in the plain of Meggido, not far from where we found you dying in the night. But Simon also believed that anything he could do to weaken the evil one would greatly serve Christ, and save many lives in the future. So, yes, Simon was willing to die for this."

  With a gathering intensity Gage focused on the old man. "Beast?"

  Malachi did not look up.

  "It will be a man," he said gravely. "And it will be a beast."

  For a long moment Gage's storm-gray eyes remained locked on the professor, the room utterly still. Even the flames seemed subdued. The long silence lengthened, even longer, until finally Gage broke the tension. When he spoke his words were startlingly clear and unhesitating, like a man who speaks louder than necessary to compensate for something else.

  "This manuscript ... it wouldn't have anything to do with the Antichrist, would it, professor?"

  Malachi turned from the fireplace, his face bright with flame.

  "As a matter of fact, Gage, it does."

  *

  FIFTEEN

  "Yeah, yeah, I got it already," Kertzman said, brutal forearms on the desk. A mug of black coffee, topped with thin circles of an unknown, sinister-looking residue, rested beside him, steaming. "I understand what he did in Delta. He was a fast-entry man. The first in, quick decisions, resourceful and all that. But he left Delta in 1986." Kertzman studied the file. "It says he joined Central Intelligence. Why don't I have anything on that?"

  Radford spoke up. "Uh ... there's a little trouble with clearances."

  "Oh?" Kertzman growled, raising his eyebrows ominously. "How'z 'bout I get on the horn and talk to a congressman on the Oversight Committee and get all the clearances I need in two minutes?"

  "Well, I—" Radford began.

  A sledgehammer fist struck the desk.

  Kertzman was on his feet, brutal and dangerous. He leaned massively forward, huge squared fists pressing into the desk. "Don't mess with me, boy!" he shook his head. "I'm the cowboy who's running this show! Come up against me again and we'll see who's got war experience!"

  "Kertzman, look, I'll get it for you," said Radford quickly, rattled but managing, remarkably, to hold steady.

  Kertzman noticed that Milburn, unlike the almost perpetually pacific Radford, had actually started at the outburst, and badly. Curiously, Kertzman notched that one for reference. Bad form for a former Delta guy.

  An awkward silence followed the moment while Kertzman studied both of them. He had not really lost his temper. He never lost his temper. That was something he had learned in police work almost 20 years ago and remembered it with an old adage: Never let your temper get your head shot off. But he had grown tired of the posturing, the arrogance, had chosen to react with a little fire in order to establish domain, settle these two in their place. Kertzman felt the temptation to continue with the belligerence; it was generally the best approach when dealing with obnoxious cretins. But it was enough. Control was established, territory recognized and accepted by all.

  "OK," he muttered after a moment, sitting. "So what did Gage do in CIA?"

  "TAC," said Radford quickly, nodding to Milburn. "Bob, here, will explain."

  Milburn caught the ball without hesitation. "I suppose you know the problem with counterintelligence operations, Mr. Kertzman?" he asked cautiously.

  "No," Kertzman responded flatly. "Educate me."

  Milburn twisted awkwardly, a quick gesture.

  Another one, thought Kertzman.

  "Basically," Milburn said, "counterintelligence differs from normal intelligence work in that counterintelligence attempts to penetrate the security of a foreign network while at the same time preventing any security violations of our own. As you know, our security is often compromised in this field. That's why all of our internal reports are so closely monitored and analyzed. It's a constantly evolving environment. Almost everyone, at one time or another, is in bed with somebody else so it's difficult to maintain integrity. Sometimes we plant a double agent on the Russians only to find out later that he was feigning defection and feigning alliance with us, too. Instead he'll turn out to be working for someone like East Germany." Milburn made a fatigued gesture, waved his hand. "Double agents. Triple agents. Betrayals. Secret alliances. Games beyond comprehension. It gets complicated."

  "I'll bet," said Kertzman.

  "In any case," Milburn continued, "over thirty percent of our counterintelligence activities are compromised by some type of security leak. But the percentage is a lot higher in tactical operations where some contractor in the field can turn a lot of money from the other side for a small bit of well-placed information. The stakes are high in that stuff, and a lucrative reward is considered well-spent if it buys information about an opponent's upcoming tactical move. Like the sanction of a defector or a preemptive terrorist hit. So in order to short-circuit this long-term security problem we came up with the concept of a small, self-directed tactical assault unit that would have little connection to formal intelligence channels and would, therefore, be relatively secure."

  "Like Israel did in 1972 after the Munich Olympics," said Kertzman, anticipating. "They took six men, gave them money and a list of names, and told them not to come back until they'd killed all of their targets."

  "Yes, it was like that." Milburn sighed. "Only not so badly designed. We didn't want it to end up in another Iran-Contra scandal or Watergate fiasco."

  "And how did you prevent that?"

  "First of all, by selecting the best. Most of the field operatives in Iran or Watergate were supposed to be professionals, but they did sloppy work. Everyone except Liddy, that is. He was good but he used a bad crew. They were incompetent. Just look at the way they tried to pull off the burglary. They had the wrong tools for gaining entrance into the building. Carried incriminating information on them. Taped the locks shut so that anybody could discover entry. And half of them cracked up completely under interrogation." He shook his head. "Amateurs. It was stupid. Reckless. Those guys don't even exist compared to the people we selected for Black Light."

  "Black Light?" Kertzman grunted.

  "That was the designation for the unit," Milburn replied. "Gage was codenamed 'Dragon.'" He paused, leaned back slightly, settling in. "Black Light was a unique unit. It designed its own plans, its own timetables with no idiot supervisors who didn't understand the complexities of tactical assault messing around with things. The Pentagon has known for decades that military tactical teams should be able to design their own plans without civilian interference. Civilians aren't trained to plan or run a tactical operation. It takes millions to even train someone in the military to make decisions like that. You know that much, Kertzman. This arrogant, stupid interference by civilian White House officials, including some presidents, in America's military operations is the primary cause of our catastrophic failures. Commanding men in battle is not a civilian skill. I don't care what you've been elected to. Commanding men in the chaos of battle is a difficult military skill acquired from a lifetime of study and training."

  Kertzman nodded. "Yeah, I know. I've seen it. Saw it in Asia. Saw it in police work." He concentrated, probing. "And Black Light was created to go around civilian interference?"

  "Right," Milbur
n said. "The Pentagon couldn't command a team like that because of too much civilian supervision, especially from the White House. So the CIA developed the team, ran them."

  "And these guys were America's best commandos?"

  "Black Light recruited exclusively from Delta and SEALs," Radford said, a touch of pride. "And Gage was the best fighter Black Light ever saw. He might have even been the best fighter that any unit ever saw. That's why he was coded 'Dragon.' Every intelligence agency in the world was afraid of him. They said he was unkillable."

  A long silence. Kertzman took a slow, relaxed sip of coffee, sniffed. "So how come Gage was so good?" he asked, flat. "All of you guys had that fancy warfare training."

  Milburn shook his head. "Gage was different, Kertzman."

  "How so?"

  Concentration was evident on the CIA man's face.

  Kertzman knew he was having trouble finding the words.

  "Gage had all the training, yeah, just like the rest of us," Milburn continued. "But he had something different. He had this strange ability to somehow instantly read a chaotic situation. He was, like, a genius at selecting the perfect tactical response to almost anything. I mean, a real genius. In the jungle, where he could really move around and utilize the terrain, he was a nightmare.''

  "All you guys go to tactical schools," muttered Kertzman. "I read the file. Covert warfare. Urban warfare. All kinds of warfare. That's part of standard training."

  "You don't understand, Kertzman," Milburn answered. "Gage was beyond all that. Way beyond it. He had some kind of gift for unconsciously memorizing terrain, positions, angles of fire, distance. In the most intense firefight you could ever imagine Gage could somehow anticipate the movements of fifty soldiers before they knew what they were going to do themselves. It was like a giant chess game in his head, and he was way ahead of everybody else. It was like he could capture this tremendous oversight of things. Not just the small picture. A lot of guys can do that. He would have the big picture. It would just be there, in his head, the perfect thing to do in order to defeat the enemy. He was at his best in a chaotic situation." He shook his head again. "You're either born with that kind of ability, Kertzman, or you're not. All the training in the world can't give it to you. I knew lots of guys with millions of dollars’ worth of tactical training. But they could only get the small stuff covered in a combat situation, like a single room, or one side of a building, an alley or ravine. Gage could see it all in his mind, every side of the building, every entrance, every stairway or doorway with distances, approaches, angles of attack, and the best places for ambush. He had the ability to make a split-second analysis and select the perfect tactical response. And let me tell you something, Kertzman, not one man in a million can do that. Not one in ten million. It takes unreal mind speed. Computer speed. That's one reason he was so unbeatable. He was a pure tactical genius."