The Portent

by Michael S. Heiser

  The Colonel unfolded the second piece of paper. “I believe you’ve seen a cellphone record before,” he said, sliding it toward him. “The first highlighted number is yours,” he said, pointing with his finger. “The second is that of a very attractive woman who lives here in town who isn’t your wife.”

  “How the hell—” The detective stood up, seething.

  “Oh, come now,” the Colonel cut him off, pulling back the second document. “You can’t possibly be surprised, given what you know about federal information gathering—and that would be the tip of the iceberg, truth be told. This is trivial. And let’s not hear any nonsense about needing a warrant. You know as well as I do that this isn’t a legal matter, and that I could concoct one if such a need arose.”

  The detective sat down slowly and took a deep breath.

  “Now, what’s it going to be? Do you want a promotion or a tawdry divorce? I’m ready to sign that letter and leave it with you—in exchange for what you’ve got, of course. Or I can leave now and call a reporter.”

  The beaten man sighed, then pulled open a filing drawer. He flipped quickly through the row of folders, opened one, and pulled out a sheet of paper. “Here.”

  The Colonel took the page and looked at it carefully. “A bit grainy—reminds me of one of those silly UFO pictures we get asked about,” he smirked.

  “Camera phone images are rarely crisp,” the detective replied, “especially when enlarged. You can clearly see the victim with the gun to her own head and make out some other faces.”

  “Yes,” the Colonel agreed in a low voice. “This does appear quite useful. Do you have any information on any of these people?”

  “Yeah, we do.”

  35

  All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another.

  —Anatole France

  “Don’t try to step off until you hear the hum stop,” Malone warned, moving carefully toward the area of the descending platform that had been blocked by the back wall of the pantry. The entire elevator was rimmed with the cabinetry, which—bolted as it was to the floor—formed a haphazard, oak-paneled guardrail. The descent was surprisingly fast given the lack of a completely enclosed foot space. The half-wall perimeter had been designed as an ingenious camouflage that took precedence over safety. “When the hum stops, we’re on the bottom.”

  The elevator shaft had been dimly lit by the ambient light emanating from the house above. Brian noticed that as soon as the blackness seemed to engulf them, the soft glow of a different light source from below reached their position. A few more seconds elapsed, and an open space underneath the elevator became faintly visible. Near the bottom, Brian was able to discern that the area was about the width of a driveway for a two-car garage. They felt a light touchdown, synchronized with the cessation of the hum.

  Malone took a step off and extended a hand first to Melissa, and then to Dee. “It’s only a couple inches, but trust me, you can still stumble off the thing.” The others followed.

  Neff lingered a moment. “Hit this light switch to send the lift back up,” he explained, demonstrating from inside the faux pantry room. “The switch won’t do anything upstairs; it only works when the unit is in this position.” He flipped the switch and quickly stepped off. The elevator began its ascent. “We can call it back down from inside Miqlat.”

  The area was illuminated by a series of unstylish floodlights on the walls. A short distance from where they stood was a solitary door of burnished metal, embedded into the frozen, rocky earth. To Brian, it gave every impression of impregnable design, something akin to the door of a bank vault, though much plainer.

  “Opening the door requires your thumbprint,” Ward said as they approached, pointing to the small screen affixed to where one would expect a knob.

  “We’re all familiar with those,” Dee said matter-of-factly.

  “There’s a manual lever a few feet to the right as backup, but it’s held into its current position by an old-fashioned combination lock. We’ll, of course, make sure you memorize that.”

  “The biometrics aren’t new, but that’s different,” Malcolm said, grinning and pointing to their feet. A small rectangular doormat greeted them with the message, There’s no place like 127.0.0.1. “I don’t know what it means, but I’m sure there’s some fun behind it.”

  “That was Summit’s idea,” Neff explained, chuckling. “She’s—well—unique, as you’ll all find out. 127.0.0.1 is what’s known as a loopback address—it’s the address of the local host for a website.”

  “It’s how geeks say ‘home,’ ” Malcolm laughed. “I love it.”

  “Exactly.”

  Neff moved to press his thumb onto the reader but stopped. He looked at Brian. “I should tell you that you’re something of a celebrity here,” he said with a humored air. Brian looked at him skeptically. “I’m just saying. And what happened upstairs is bound to add fuel to the fire.”

  Neff pressed his thumb to the reader. A loud click echoed through the small subterranean chamber; the door popped ajar. “Please,” Neff said pleasantly to Brian, gesturing toward the entrance. Brian took Melissa’s hand. Her face was still lightly etched with apprehension.

  “Anywhere with you is the right place to be,” he told her softly.

  She looked up at him appreciatively. “I’ll be fine.”

  Brian led the others through the doorway. The contrast to the dark, bleak underground scenery they’d left on the other side was overwhelming. He heard Dee gasp behind him. He turned toward Malcolm, whose brilliant, toothy grin captured his own feelings perfectly. Melissa stood speechless, her hand on her chest, eyes wide at the unexpected sumptuousness before her.

  The entrance opened into a round, spectacularly spacious living area. Brian estimated that the area had to be at least a hundred feet round. A high, domed cathedral ceiling composed entirely of oak was sectioned off by dark, sturdy beams. Lights at regular intervals gave the entire circumference a warm, understated, radiant glow. Directly across the expanse was an enormous fireplace, its tall, wooden-overlaid column extended from a gray base of variegated stone. It was currently decorated with an enormous Christmas wreath.

  Brian’s eyes drifted downward to where they stood. The circular space had an outer perimeter of deep brown hardwood flooring. Various points of exit and entry dotted the pathway, each open lintel decorated for Christmas. A full quarter of the wall space to their right was taken up by a modern, exquisitely equipped kitchen.

  The lion’s share of the living space was taken up by a sunken inner circle, accessed by several ramps and short stairways. Portions of the inner space were carpeted and furnished with luxuriant leather sectionals. Brian could see a large viewing screen on one wall, which an array of reclining theatre seats and loungers faced. A popcorn machine was positioned against the wall adjacent to the screen. At the very center was a rustic, U-shaped oak table. Its two protruding limbs were disproportionately long, giving it the appearance of a massive wooden tuning fork. A small welcoming committee stood inside the inner depression at the end of a wide ramp that sloped downward from where the visitors stood.

  “Didn’t I tell you that you just had to see it?” Malone said, reading their stunned expressions, his thick mustache obscuring a satisfied grin.

  A beaming, strawberry-blonde girl in skinny jeans and a simple red-and-navy checked shirt clapped. It took a few seconds for Brian to recognize her without her fatigues, pulled-back hair, and automatic rifle. “Safe and sound!” Madison whooped as she ran up the ramp. She embraced Ward tightly, then Malone and Neff. The others followed behind.

  Clarise’s familiar face, framed by her mass of long brown curls, was the first to greet Brian. “Welcome to Miqlat,” she said as she reached out to hug him, holding the embrace longer than he expected. She repeated the gesture to Melissa. Others in the group were likewise welcoming Malcolm and Dee, along with th
eir colleagues.

  “This is our little ritual,” Clarise explained, releasing Melissa. “We see so much evil—so much of what’s wrong with the world—that we make it a point to always let everyone who enters Miqlat know that they’re wanted and secure. It may seem a little odd, but it keeps us close. We’re the only family each of us has.”

  “Not odd at all,” Brian said softly. “We know just what you mean.”

  “Good,” she laughed, “because the more people we get down here, the longer it takes!”

  The greetings continued, the murmur of enthusiastic, friendly voices reverberating through the domed chamber. Suddenly, a shout of joy pierced the air. Heads turned toward three people emerging from an opening next to the kitchen. Brian recognized one as Nili, her shoulder-length jet-black hair parted in the middle, resting atop a simple white collared shirt tucked into her jeans. The girl next to her was much younger, an expressionless teenager with long, tussled pink hair, wearing a pair of oversize square black glasses. She was holding a cat. Between them sat a thin, bearded man with dark brown, shoulder-length hair in a wheelchair, who was beaming from ear-to-ear. He raised his arms a few inches and shouted again. Nili smiled down at him and pushed him forward toward the group.

  Neff broke through the mix and stood next to Brian and Melissa. “That’s Sabi,” he said, smiling toward the approaching wheelchair, “but I’m sure you guessed as much.”

  “We did,” he replied.

  “While it’s true that my money is behind all this,” Neff continued seriously, “if we have a leader, it’s Sabi.”

  They looked at him, unable to conceal their surprise.

  “Don’t be fooled by his appearance. Sabi is special.”

  “How?” asked Melissa.

  “Well … there’s really no other way to say it, even though it’s so cliché—and there’s no awkward pun intended. Sabi walks with God. It’s as simple as that. We do nothing without his blessing.”

  Brian watched as Nili stopped a few feet away. With what seemed considerable effort, the impaired man slowly lifted his right arm from his lap to the rail grip of his wheelchair, then slid his hand toward a protruding knob. At his touch the chair moved the rest of the distance toward where they stood.

  “Professor Scott,” Sabi greeted him in his now familiar accent, “what a pleasure to meet you face-to-face. I cannot stand to embrace you and your lovely wife,” he apologized, still smiling broadly, “but would you do me the honor?”

  “Absolutely,” Brian said with a smile, bending over and hugging his frail shoulders lightly but firmly. Melissa did the same.

  “I really have to know how you knew I’d be able to give the password,” Brian said.

  “The Lord tells me such things,” Sabi said sincerely with a broad smile, “when I need to know.”

  Brian didn’t know what to say.

  “You must learn not to doubt,” Sabi warned good-naturedly. “We have much to talk about and much time to share our stories. God will show us what he is doing. But now there are others who have waited much too long to meet you.” Sabi turned his head to make sure the pathway was clear and backed up his wheelchair.

  Nili took a few steps forward. To Brian’s surprise, she was crying. Tears flowed from her soft brown eyes over the perfect olive skin of her cheeks.

  “I’m sorry,” she managed, trying to smile. She stepped forward and embraced him tightly around the chest, then pulled back slightly and looked at Melissa. “May I?” Melissa nodded, unsure to what she was agreeing.

  Nili took Brian by the shoulders, raised herself on tiptoes, and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “Thank you so much,” she said, releasing him, still weeping. “I will try to explain later. I’m sorry for crying like this,” she added, wiping her cheeks.

  “I look forward to hearing your explanation,” he answered, hoping he wasn’t blushing. “No need to apologize.”

  “Summit, would you like say hello to our guests?” Nili asked.

  The pink-haired girl came closer and stopped a few feet away. She looked carefully at Brian and Melissa, studying their faces. “This is Squish,” she said, looking down at the Siamese cat in her arms. “Do you like him?”

  “Of course,” said Melissa warmly. “May I pet him?”

  “You can try.”

  Melissa reached out to the cat and stroked it on the head. It was alarmingly thin. Had it not been for the alertness in its eyes, she would have wondered if it was malnourished. Squish pressed up against Melissa’s fingers, revealing a slightly crooked jaw. He began to purr loudly.

  “Do you like Squish?” Summit asked dispassionately, having turned her attention to Brian. She watched him intently through her exaggerated eyewear. Brian noticed for the first time that the frames had no lenses.

  “I do.” He carefully scratched the feline behind one of its ears. The cat closed its eyes, enjoying the attention.

  “Thanks for coming here.”

  With that, Summit turned and walked away down into the sunken den with Nili. Brian and Melissa looked at each other, then at Neff and Sabi. Brian caught a glimpse of Clarise approaching out of the corner of his eye.

  “Well, it looks like you both passed the Squish test,” Clarise said, rejoining the group.

  “Are you sure?” Brian asked. “She left pretty abruptly.”

  “That’s normal,” she assured them. “We’re not sure if Summit is autistic or if she has Asperger syndrome. It’s one or the other. I’m her doctor now, but those conditions are a bit outside my expertise, so I’ve had to educate myself about them the best I can. In either case, social skills are a real challenge. We don’t insist that Summit show affection, but we make sure to let her know how we feel about her. If Squish takes to you, you’re accepted.”

  “Does Summit need any special care?” Brian asked.

  Clarise shook her head. “Just patience. She’s pretty high functioning other than the social issues. I’m guessing you won’t be amazed when I tell you she’s very eccentric.”

  “No kidding,” they acknowledged simultaneously through a smile.

  “Summit has been at Miqlat almost from the beginning, about three years. She’s Nili’s cousin. Nili is the closest relation that would take her after her parents were killed in a bus bombing in Jerusalem.”

  “The poor thing,” Melissa said sympathetically, her expression turned to distress.

  “Summit has suffered much,” Sabi added. He’d been listening from his wheelchair. “The scars on her heart are deep, but she has a loving home now, as do we all. God gave her to us and us to her.”

  “Summit has a special talent,” Clarise explained. “It’s a unique gift. Apparently she’s had it since early in childhood. She’s sixteen now, though her maturity level is a few years behind that. I should warn you—she has absolutely no filter.”

  “What’s her gift?” Brian asked, his curiosity piqued.

  Clarise grinned. “I’ll let you both discover that for yourselves. All I’ll tell you now is that she’s our librarian. I’m guessing you’ll be spending time in the library pretty soon.”

  “Excuse us,” came Malone’s familiar voice from behind. Brian and Melissa turned in its direction. “This is Fern, my far better half,” Malone said cheerfully.

  Fern Malone was a few inches shorter than her husband, who stood a couple of inches under six feet. Her grayish blonde hair was cut precisely to chin length and perfectly styled. Brian and Melissa guessed she was in her early sixties, like Malone. Her slender figure and seasoned face gave the impression of formidable elegance, but her smile erased any pretense.

  “Welcome to our home,” she said eagerly and gave each of them a brief, friendly embrace. “I’m sorry it took so long to get over here. Dougie had to drag me away from Dr. Harper. She and I have a lot to talk about given the awful incident at the café. I’m so sorry you both had to see something like that. It’s terrible.”

  “It was,” Melissa acknowledged with a sigh. “It still makes me sh
udder a little.”

  “Well, if you need to talk about it, don’t hesitate. I know you have your friend and, of course your husband, but I’ve dealt with a lot of people who’ve been traumatized—far too many, truth be told—and with dozens of victims like Becky, though the ones that awaken to what’s been done to them prefer the term ‘survivors.’ I have a good set of ears,” she went on, smiling again and giving Melissa’s hand a little squeeze.

  Fern turned to Brian. “We’ll chat after we have lunch,” she said, patting his arm.

  “I’m sure you want to have a look around and get settled in.”

  “Thanks,” Brian replied appreciatively.

  Neff’s phone suddenly beeped. He retrieved it from his shirt pocket and looked at it. “Kamran says it’s his turn to meet them.” He looked up and saw the teenager watching him a short distance away. Neff waved him over. “Kamran can hear just fine,” Neff reminded them. “And he’s quite talkative, even for someone who can’t speak.”

  The dark-skinned young man smiled enthusiastically at them, shaking hands with both of them and then embracing them. He was a few inches shorter than Neff, with black hair and a brilliant white smile, accented by a stubbly goatee. He turned to Neff and signed a question.

  “We’ve all learned sign language fairly well for Kamran,” Neff explained. “We thought it was a wise skill for everyone to acquire in case there’s no digital means of communication. We occasionally have to maintain device silence on missions. Kamran wants to know if Brian has ever studied the biblical magi.”

  “A little bit,” Brian answered.

  Kamran quickly signed to Neff again.

  “How about Psalm 19?” Neff translated.

  “I’m more up to speed, there,” Brian replied. “I wrote a paper on it in graduate school for a textual criticism class. Can you tell me where it’s quoted in the New Testament?”

  Kamran smiled knowingly. This time he texted his answer to Neff.

  “Romans 10:18?” Neff offered.