The 13: Fall
Page 1
THE CLOCK ON THE WALL TICKED DOWN THE SECONDS AS HE STARED INTO THE CAMERA.
This was it. In a matter of minutes, his life would change. Everyone’s life would change.
He rehearsed his lines, though he knew them by heart. There would be no teleprompter. There would be no script. There would only be him. And the camera, of course. And the person who would receive this message.
A small television sat off to the side, monitoring the feed. He could see his image staring back at him. He watched as the second hand ticked off the final seconds. Tick. Tick. And then it was time.
The red light above the lens flicked on. With the remote in his hand, he zoomed in and watched the monitor. This was it. No turning back.
He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath and let it out again. His heart was pounding through his chest. He opened his eyes and set his jaw firm. And then he began.
“Good evening, Mr. President. I am the Prophet. And I have been commanded to give you a message.”
© 2012 by Robbie Cheuvront and Erik Reed
Print ISBN 978-1-61626-769-8
eBook Editions:
Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1-62029-056-9
Kindle and MobiPocket Edition (.prc) 978-1-62029-057-6
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted for commercial purposes, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without written permission of the publisher.
Scripture quotations are from The Holy Bible, English Standard Version®, copyright © 2001 by Crossway Bibles, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.
Cover design: Jason Gabbert Design
For more information about the authors, please access the following Internet address: http://www.thejourneytn.org/
Published by Barbour Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683, www.barbourbooks.com
Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.
Printed in the United States of America.
Table of Contents
Authors’ Note
Prologue
Part 1: The Prophet
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Part 2: Condemnation
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Part 3: Judgment Is Come
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Part 4: The
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Epilogue
Author Biographies
Acknowledgements
Preview Chapter—The 13: Stand
To Whom It May Concern,
According to the Purposes of His Will;
According to Those Who Have Been Called
“The man must be bad indeed who can look upon the events of the American Revolution without feeling the warmest gratitude toward the great Author of the Universe whose divine interposition was so frequently manifested in our behalf. And it is my earnest prayer that we may so conduct ourselves as to merit a continuance of those blessings with which we have hitherto been favored.”
—George Washington
“I have lived, sir, a long time, and the longer I live, the more convincing proofs I see of this truth: that God governs in the affairs of men. And, if a sparrow cannot fall to the ground without His notice is it probable that an empire can rise without His aid? We have been assured, sir, in the sacred writings, that ‘except the Lord build the house, they labor in vain that build it.’”
—Benjamin Franklin
(as quoted by Jarod Sparks,
The Works of Benjamin Franklin, 1837)
AUTHORS’ NOTE
The 13 is a story that we came upon through a great friend and copastor of ours at The Journey Church, where we pastor. Shawn Allen is an amazing, godly man who has been gifted with a great imagination, and we have loved working with him on this novel.
The Journey Church is a multisite church, and Shawn is our pastor at our Hartsville, Tennesse, campus. Before being called into full-time ministry, Shawn was a police officer with the Metro Nashville police force. He is a graduate of Bethel University and is currently attending Southern Seminary. He and his wife, Miranda, live in Lebanon, Tennesse.
In the middle of writing The Guardian, our first novel (also available from Barbour Publishing), Shawn came to us with an idea for a story that was ripped right from the headlines of today’s newspapers. Erik and I were immediately intrigued and couldn’t wait to finish The Guardian so we could begin working, with Shawn, to bring The 13 to life.
Though his name may not be on the cover of this book, make no mistake, Shawn is as much a cowriter of this novel as Erik and I are. His imagination and ability to bring life to characters have been an intricate part of The 13. We could never have written this book without him, and we look forward to partnering with him in our next adventure: book two of The 13.
Thank you, Shawn, for partnering with us on this great adventure. You are our best friend in life, and in our work.
Robbie & Erik
PROLOGUE
Hidalgo County Sheriff’s Department
Edinburg, Texas, July 2, 2025; 10:30 a.m.
Becky Sayers looked at the discolored, flat-screen plasma TV and silently cursed her boss. “You’d think in this world of technology, we could find a TV that wasn’t made before I was born,” she mumbled to no one. “I mean, this thing’s not even in 3-D.” A rerun of Everybody Loves Raymond was playing—the one in which Raymond fakes going to the doctor
so he can play golf. She’d seen it at least four times, but it was one of her favorites.
She pushed back from her desk and stretched her legs. The switchboard had been quiet most of the afternoon. A few drunk-and-disorderlies and a domestic dispute. The holiday weekend usually meant a boring few days at the Hidalgo County Sheriff’s Department. But even though Hidalgo County seemed like half a world away from Washington, DC, the impact of the last two weeks’ events were being felt. It seemed that everyone was waiting to see what would happen next.
The green light flashed on her board. She placed the earpiece in her ear and said, “Thank you for calling the Hidalgo County Sheriff’s Department. This is Becky….”
The caller made her complaint and hung up abruptly. Her neighbors were setting off illegal fireworks; could a deputy come by and take care of it? All of south Texas had experienced a horrible drought these last few months. The governor had issued a decree, suspending all fireworks throughout the entire state. Residents weren’t happy, but they understood. Brushfires this time of year were common and could lead to damage in the billions of dollars.
Becky keyed her microphone. “Roy, this is Becky. I need you to go out to Ms. Dobson’s farm, out on Highway 83. Neighbor kids are shootin’ off sparklers or something.”
She waited for the grumpy complaint that was sure to come. Roy hated dealing with neighborly disputes. He always tried to pawn them off on one of the other deputies.
Nothing.
“Roy, this is Becky—come in.”
Nothing.
“Roy! I ain’t playing! Pick up that radio or else!”
Still nothing.
She switched over to another channel. She couldn’t figure why one of her deputies would switch channels, but she was starting to get a little worried. Roy was dependable, if nothing else. He’d never not answered a call while he was out in the field.
“Roy, this is Becky. You change channels on me to try and get some R and R?”
Nothing.
Now she was getting worried. She switched the channel back. “Clay, this is dispatch. Check in—over.”
Nothing.
“Marcus, check in—over.”
Nothing.
She walked down the hall and found her boss, told him what was going on, and waited for a response. He told her not to worry. It was probably just weather related. “Probably a sunspot or something, messin’ with the radios,” he said. “Try again in a few minutes.”
Back at her desk, she waited, watching the end of the show. As the credits rolled she picked up her microphone. After five minutes of going through the motions again, she decided this was no sunspot.
She grabbed the phone and called the Cameron County Sheriff’s office—the next county over. She told them what was going on and asked if they were having any trouble. Gina, the dispatcher over there, said none of her deputies had checked in or returned back to HQ either.
Becky hung up and called Star, Zapata, and Webb Counties. All three reported the same goings-on. At that point, she dismissed paranoia and called the state police. She was told that they, too, had a few officers who weren’t responding, but all of the state police vehicles were equipped with GPS and were being located as they spoke. The young man at state police HQ offered to send a few officers her way to check on her deputies as well. She thanked him and told him where her deputies were last known to be.
July 4, 2025; 12:00 p.m.
Becky stood in front of her fourth TV camera in the last hour and told her story again. This time it was Fox. NBC and CBS had already been by. The mysterious disappearance of her deputies two days ago was making national news. Several sheriff’s deputies, border patrol agents, and state and local police officers had all turned up dead, all across the border towns in Texas. Over the last two days, New Mexico and Arizona had reported similar tragedies.
Becky was one of the first to discover the disappearances across the border, therefore she was a hot commodity with the news anchors.
The pretty, blond reporter smiled and nodded as Becky told her story. She opened her mouth—Becky figured she was about to ask another question—and then slapped her hand over her left earbud. Her smiled faded and gave way to a look of disbelief, shock, then horror. Tears filled her eyes and her face turned ashen. Her arm dropped to her side, taking the microphone with it.
“What’s wrong?” Becky had never seen a television personality act like this.
The reporter turned to her, eyes wide. She moved her mouth but nothing came out.
Becky grabbed the woman by her shoulders and shook her. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
The reporter looked at Becky blankly and said, “Bomb … They’re all dead.” Her knees gave out, and she slumped to the hard, dry ground.
Becky ran back inside to the flat-screen TV.
Hidalgo County, Texas
July 4, 2025; 11:30 a.m.
Jonathan Keene pulled his car off the road onto the dirt path, according to the directions he’d been given. After a mile, he came to the fork in the road. Up ahead, on the left, there stood the house.
He parked the car, got out, and surveyed the area. Nothing. No sign of anyone. The house was a typical single-family home. It needed a coat of paint, and the railing on the front porch had seen better days. The lawn was unkempt, but a somewhat new-looking satellite dish sat mounted on the corner of the roof.
Walking into the house, he noticed the reflection of light coming from the hillside off to his left. He waited ten minutes. Then, as per his instructions, he left through the back door and walked slowly up the hill toward the reflection.
Once at the top, he got to his knees, placed his hands behind his head, and interlocked his fingers. This was the unsettling part. Out in the open. No cover. The sun blazing in his eyes. The wind blowing dust everywhere. It was hard to see anything past twenty feet. He did feel better, though, knowing that strapped to his back, under his loose shirt, was his Glock 9mm. It lay inches from his fingertips.
After nothing for five minutes, he heard the faint hum of motorcycle engines. Within seconds he was surrounded by a half dozen, armed Mexicans. One, covered with tattoos and a scar across his left cheek, moved toward him. According to the description he’d been given, this was his informant.
“Hola,” the young man said. “Welcome to Mexico.”
Though the walk uphill had been a short one, Keene knew that in doing so, he’d illegally crossed the invisible border into the gangbanger’s country.
“Gracias.” Keene shifted uncomfortably and squinted upward. “You must be Hector.”
“Do I need to search you?”
“Not unless you want to find the nine mil I got strapped to my back,” Keene said.
Hector laughed. “Stand up.”
“So what’s so important that you need to talk to the CIA?”
“Follow me.” Hector began walking down the hill toward the house.
Keene followed the men back into the house, thankful to be back on sovereign US soil.
“I know what happened to those sheriff’s deputies,” Hector said.
“Yeah, so. Call the police.”
“Nah, CIA, la policía don’t want none of this.”
“None of what?”
“That’s a nice watch. Where was that made? China?”
“Yeah,” Keene said. “What’s that have to do with anything?”
“Lots of stuff in your country made by China.”
“Yeah, so?”
“Funny thing. In the last two months, I been seeing lots of Chinese people ‘round here.”
“Maybe they like the food.”
“Maybe,” Hector answered. “But these Chinese been coming in droves. In big military trucks. From down south.”
“Interesting.” Keene gave this some thought.
“You want to know what’s really interesting?”
Keene shrugged.
“These Chinese, they got guns.”
“So?”
“And tanks
. And airplanes.”
“What?”
“You heard me. They got an army down here. They been bringing it up here to the border for the last two months.”
“Impossible. We would’ve known about it,” Keene said. This guy was unnerving him.
“You wanna know what happened to your cops? About three hundred Chinese foot soldiers, with automatic weapons, crossed your border and took them out. I got boys all up and down the border saying they see it, man. Now, I don’t know what’s up with a hundred thousand Chinese being in my—”
“What did you say? How many?”
“From what I hear, about a hundred thousand.”
Keene’s jaw went slack. There was no way a hundred thousand Chinese soldiers were living across the border without the United States knowing about it. Something was wrong.
“You look like you seen a ghost.”
“Why are you telling me this? Why now? Why not two months ago?”
“’Cause two months ago, I couldn’ta cared less. You Americans don’t know what goes on down here. You come to your vacation spots and get treated like kings. Then you go back home and don’t care what happens to the rest of us. Well, guess what? These Chinese start showing up and doing nice things for our communities. Nobody says anything ‘cause they like it. Then, without warning, they start taking over. And our policía don’t care. They getting paid off. Next thing I know, I start seeing guns, tanks, and fighter planes. And then they come into town and line up five men and shoot them in the head. They say, anyone talks or tries to do anything, they kill the whole town.”
“This is—this is ridiculous!” Keene said. “I don’t know what your game is, but this isn’t funny. You could get into a lot of trouble—”
“I ain’t playin’!” Hector shouted angrily. “They kill my little brother, man! And something bad is about to happen! I’m telling you as a favor.” He hung his head and wiped his eyes. “I don’t know why your government don’t know about this, CIA, but I’m telling you. Someone had to mess up big to miss this.”
Keene stood there dumbfounded. There was no way this could be true. An entire army couldn’t march on the United States’ border and not be detected. He had to call Jennings. He reached for his phone and felt the buzz against his leg. He looked at the display. Funny, he thought.