The Portent

by Michael S. Heiser

“Correct. It says, ‘their voice’—the voice of the stars, in context—‘has gone out to all the earth, and their words to the ends of the world.’ It’s fascinating because it clearly uses the language of communication for the stars. The quotation is Paul’s answer to the question of whether all people had heard the good news about the coming of the Messiah.”

  “Really?” said Neff. “I don’t recall seeing that. How could I have missed that?”

  Brian explained, “Paul is quoting the Septuagint there—the Greek translation of the Old Testament.” He glanced at Kamran. “The Hebrew text has a different wording.”

  Kamran signed quickly to Neff, who appeared confused. Kamran repeated the signs.

  “He just said ‘their line,’ ” Neff offered. “Does that mean anything? I’m sure I have it right, but I don’t get it.”

  “He’s right, and it certainly does,” Brian replied, his interest rising. “That’s the Hebrew reading in the Masoretic Text. Most scholars think that refers to the horizon.”

  Kamran shook his head emphatically and, in seconds, texted another reply to Neff.

  “He says it refers to the line of the ecliptic, the path of the zodiac,” Neff said, raising his eyebrows.

  Brian stood silently, pondering the interpretation. Kamran seized the lull in the exchange and feverishly went to work on his phone. After nearly a minute of typing, he sent it on its way and looked at Neff eagerly.

  “Whoa, this is new,” Neff said with some uncertainty and looked at Kamran.

  “What is it?” Brian asked.

  “Well, first he wants to know if you know that the Gospel of Matthew never quotes Numbers 24:17, the prophecy about a star coming out of Jacob, when describing what the magi saw.”

  Brian hesitated. The young man’s questions had more than confirmed Neff’s earlier description. This was no casual interest, and Kamran was no casual student. “Yes, that’s true.… Matthew never cited that passage—even though you’d think it would have been obvious for him to do so in that episode. What else?”

  Neff pursed his lips and glanced at Kamran. “For real?” he asked.

  Kamran nodded.

  “Okay, then. He wants to know if you understand the ramifications of all this, especially—how it might relate to what you’ve been posting online.”

  36

  Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.

  —Emily Brontë

  “I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted,” Melissa groaned, stretching out on the couch and placing her bare feet on Brian’s lap. She adjusted the pillow under her head and closed her eyes.

  “Me, too,” he agreed, kicking off his shoes. “The trip’s really hitting me now that I’ve had something to eat.” He began to massage her feet.

  “Oh, that feels wonderful …”

  “The doctor told you to expect the swelling. You should stay off your feet as much as possible.”

  “That’s kind of hard when you’re running for your life—and the extra half ton I’m carrying doesn’t help.”

  “Oh, stop it,” he scolded with a grin. “You’ll get more pampering now. I’m up for it.”

  She sighed and closed her eyes. “That was the plan, anyway—curl up by the fire and relax. I miss our house,” she added wistfully.

  “Well, this isn’t bad, and the shared space out there is nothing short of spectacular.”

  “I agree. As far as underground bunkers go, the place is pretty nice. What did they call our little subterranean bungalow again?”

  “Our living pod,” he reminded her.

  “How quaint.” She opened her eyes.

  The two of them looked around at what would be their home for the foreseeable future. The space, they had been told, was forty feet long and twenty feet wide. It had the look of a moderately-sized modular home. The entrance opened into a small living area, roughly fifty percent of the pod’s length, complete with a sofa, an under-sized desk, flat-screen television, a recliner, and a small ottoman. A queen-size bed and full bathroom consumed the other half-length. The bedroom and bathroom took up about two-thirds of the width, allowing for foot traffic between the two halves. The wall space running parallel to the bedroom served as closet space, though it could be converted to bunk beds.

  “It serves the purpose,” Brian replied. “Like Fern said, it’s just for sleeping. Everything we could want is somewhere else at Miqlat.”

  “I guess so,” she acknowledged and closed her eyes again.

  “We have a few hours before the big get-to-know-each-other powwow tonight,” he yawned. “We can grab some sleep and then decide if we’re going to tell all.”

  Melissa carefully opened one eye. She started to smile but bit her lip lightly to hide the expression. “So what’s keeping you?”

  “That ought to be obvious. You’re on my bed.”

  “Change of plans.”

  “And just what does that mean?”

  “You’re taking a nap in the bedroom with me.”

  Brian stopped massaging her feet. He looked at her uncertainly.

  “It’ll be romantic—at least for the few minutes I’ll be awake.”

  He started to reply but stopped, unsure of every word floating through his mind.

  She started to laugh. “If you could just see the look on your face.”

  “No doubt,” he managed to say with a nervous grin.

  “Help me sit up.”

  Brian took her hands and pulled gently. Melissa sat up and then pivoted on the couch, laying her head in his lap. He looked down at her face, studying it again as he had hundreds of times before. His eyes surveyed every elegant contour, from the understated widow’s peak in her thick, reddish-auburn hair, her electric green eyes, her soft cheekbones, the curves of her natural red lips, and the delicately blunted tip of her chin. He stroked her hair slowly, running it through his fingers, but said nothing.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked, enjoying his touch.

  He waited for a moment. “I’m wishing I had something more magical to say right now than ‘you’re beautiful.’ It’s inadequate, but safe. At least I can’t mess it up.”

  “You’re sweet.” She smiled sincerely. “I know this is all new to you. Just relax. You don’t need to be afraid of saying or doing the wrong thing. I know who you are.”

  “I don’t want to irritate you.”

  “You won’t—and so what if you do? I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Neither am I.”

  “I know. I’m glad.”

  “I just wish I felt like I knew what to do. I want to be sure I’m giving you what you need.”

  “Stop worrying about making mistakes. You’ve already given me what I need the most.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Forgiveness—back at the base. Loyalty, honesty, emotional security—all the things that were taken from me years ago. You give me a reason to believe in the things I used to believe in, rather than hating all of it. It sounds like a cliché, but you make me happy. You gave me my life back—literally, and in all those other ways.”

  “Best thing I ever did,” he whispered.

  “I believe you. But do you believe I’d do the same?”

  He looked into her eyes, again unsure of what to say. The thought of such a sacrifice pierced him with guilt.

  “You’re the only person I’d risk myself for,” she said softly. “You need to believe it. Do you trust me?”

  “I don’t even want to think about that. If something happened to you, it would crush me.”

  “Answer the question,” she pressed gently, looking up into his eyes. “You and I have the same needs, but the reasons are different. You’re my answer—and I want to be yours. Trust is hard for you, like it was for me.” She paused, then asked again, “Do you trust me?”

  Brian swallowed hard. “I do.” He paused briefly. “I know you’re telling me the truth.”

  Melissa smiled and stroked his arm, never breaking her gaze. “I�
�m yours. I can help you with your confidence, but I can’t make you believe.”

  “I do.”

  “Good. So, is there anything else you’d like to communicate?” she asked mischievously, eyeing his expression.

  “Hmm …”

  “I can think of a thing or two,” she interrupted, “but I like getting inside your head too much to volunteer.”

  “I’ve noticed,” he replied.

  “Well?”

  “I look at you a lot,” he said in an almost contrite tone that caught her ear, “especially when you don’t know it.”

  “You don’t need to be sneaky about it.”

  “Good to know, since it’s a habit I can’t break. I watch you all the time—when you’re grading stuff at home, when you’re thinking, even when you fall asleep reading. It’s like I’m hypnotized when you’re in the room.”

  “Tell me more,” she prompted, grinning. “It does me good. I feel a lot of things these days, but attractive isn’t one of them. Rotund is more like it.”

  “You’re so wrong,” he insisted, chuckling. “You’re so stunning I can’t remember what I just had for lunch.”

  “You didn’t have anything. I ate yours.”

  Brian laughed heartily.

  “Really,” Melissa followed, enjoying his delight, “I’m flattered, especially with all the Bond girls running around down here.”

  “I hadn’t noticed.”

  “You’re a terrible liar.”

  “You have no competition—here or anywhere else.”

  “Show me,” she said in a hushed tone, reaching for his neck.

  He embraced her and pulled her close, but hesitated.

  “The phone’s not going to save you this time,” she whispered beguilingly, their lips nearly touching. She pulled him in, her arms wrapped around his neck, and kissed him passionately. He gave in immediately. The two of them caught their breath for an instant and kept going, pressing against each other, mouth to mouth, locked in a heated embrace. He ran his hand down her side, feeling the curve of her hip. She relaxed and pulled back gently, looking into his eyes.

  “More?” she teased breathlessly.

  “What do you think? I didn’t learn how to lie in the last few seconds.”

  Melissa tilted her head back and laughed. “I love it.”

  “But yeah, we need to cool it. It would change everything in all the wrong ways.”

  “That it would,” she whispered. “This needs to be different. I want a clean break from my past.”

  “It will be.”

  “But it does seem obvious that Mr. and Mrs. Carter should get married,” she smiled playfully. “I know a priest in the next pod who could do the job.”

  He grinned. “We’ll add that to what we need to talk about before the meeting.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” she agreed, and gave him a quick kiss. “Come on, we can catch a couple hours of sleep and then make some decisions.”

  “I might need some adult supervision,” Brian added, smirking.

  “I can manage that.”

  37

  I love power. But it is as an artist that I love it. I love it as a musician loves his violin, to draw out its sounds and chords and harmonies.

  —Napoleon Bonaparte

  Father Fitzgerald opened the door to his study. Guided by the light from the hallway, he walked inside to his desk and turned on the small desk lamp. He sat down and turned on his computer. As he waited quietly for it to boot up, his troubled mind went over the unexpected events of the past forty-eight hours.

  The news from Graham had shaken him, but he felt assured that the two charges Father Benedict had entrusted to him were by now somewhere safe. The problem of how to explain Dr. Carter’s sudden absence was now compounded by the morning’s visit from the FBI. He had had no idea of her whereabouts to begin with, but the visit would no doubt leak out, as would the picture the agents had shown him of his suddenly unavailable faculty member at the scene of a terrible, dramatic suicide. He needed to clear his head.

  “Oh, Andrew,” he sighed aloud, “what would you do if you were here?”

  “What indeed?” a voice floated out of the darkness from the far corner of the office.

  The space was large, as it housed the priest’s considerable personal library. His heart pounded. He carefully slid open a desk drawer as he squinted at a faintly discernible form that was moving toward him.

  “Who in God’s name are you? And what right do you have breaking into my office?” he demanded.

  He carefully brought both hands into view, but left the drawer open. He relaxed a bit when he saw his visitor was in military uniform, but he took note of an odd detail: He was wearing his white dress gloves.

  “First,” came the reply, “let me assure you that I’m not here in the name of your God or anyone else’s.”

  The figure now stood in full view, facing the anxious, angry priest.

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m Colonel Vernon Ferguson, your nine o’clock appointment for tomorrow morning. I’ll be keeping that appointment. Unfortunately, you won’t.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “How perceptive.”

  The priest quickly retrieved a gun from his desk drawer and pointed it at the Colonel. “Don’t move. I’m calling the police.” He reached for his phone.

  “I hope one of them has a bullet,” the Colonel snickered, “because you don’t.”

  Father Fitzgerald hit the button for his speaker phone, but nothing happened. Without glancing at the mocking face peering at him, he tapped the button furiously, dread rising in him. He slammed the receiver down and popped open his revolver, staring through the empty chambers. He slowly put it down, a grim scowl creasing his face as he looked up at his adversary.

  “I can’t be sure what dear Andrew would do about now,” the Colonel taunted, “but I can tell you he’d never let himself be caught without a plan. He was so intriguingly resourceful. I’m shocked he would ever bring you into his dealings.”

  The Colonel took note of the surprise on the priest’s alarmed face. “Oh, please, your holiness,” he said sarcastically, “you have to know that secretaries love to talk. Granted, you’ve not told her or, I presume, anyone else about what’s really been going on here and who’s been coming and going. For someone like myself who knows what he’s looking for, it’s not hard to ask the questions that will produce the information.”

  “What do you want?” Father Fitzgerald growled.

  “I want to know where they are.”

  “I don’t know, and even if I did, I’d never tell you.”

  “Now you’re sounding like Andrew—faithful until the end.”

  “Who—you’re the one responsible for his death!”

  “Your analytical powers are impressive.”

  “I’m warning you,” the priest seethed, “you may kill me, but I’ll make sure to do enough damage that the police will find you.”

  The rotund man stood up, expecting the Colonel to pull out a weapon or assault him. Instead the Colonel turned and casually walked back to the dark corner of the study from which he’d emerged. Father Fitzgerald’s eyes darted to the door and the hallway beyond, and then back to the Colonel. He turned to run, but his body seized and stiffened. A wave of panic swept through him.

  “Ah, ah,” the Colonel’s voice drifted from the far end of the office. “Have a seat, old man.”

  The priest’s body was violently jerked backward into the chair at his desk.

  “We’re just getting started.”

  38

  The friend in my adversity I shall always cherish most. I can better trust those who helped to relieve the gloom of my dark hours than those who are so ready to enjoy with me the sunshine of my prosperity.

  —Ulysses S. Grant

  “How are all of you feeling?” Fern asked pleasantly, setting a serving tray filled with baked goodies on the coffee table in front of them. Brian, Melissa, Malcolm and De
e were seated on the broad side of one of the leather sectionals in the “Pit,” as the sunken focal point of Miqlat was known as.

  “Much better, thank you,” Melissa answered.

  “Good. Let me know what you’d like to drink—coffee, tea, or whatever—before we get started. And let me know what you’d like in it.”

  Each of them did as requested, along with the rest of the group … A few of Miqlat’s residents had gathered together, sitting on the floor or a random piece of the furniture that had been rearranged for the discussion. Once everyone had ordered something, Fern and Summit left for the kitchen.

  “So, Melissa, how far along are you again?” asked Clarise, who was seated next to Ward. “I don’t quite recall from when we examined you at Cal’s office.”

  “It’ll be twenty-seven weeks next week, right around Christmas.”

  “Very close to Deidre, then” she observed.

  “That’s in the ballpark,” Dee replied stoically. “I can’t say I’m doin’ the math.”

  Brian looked across the area toward the kitchen where Fern and Summit were busy preparing the beverages. “We’re likely going to get into some adult discussion tonight,” he said, looking at their faces and finally focusing on Nili. “Is that going to be okay for Summit?”

  “It should be,” Nili answered. “Just use discretion. We’ll pick up on what you’re getting at. The only thing that would be a concern is anything violent or frightening.”

  “Understood.”

  “Don’t worry if Summit appears distracted or disinterested,” she continued. “That’s not a problem. We’ll know if she’s troubled.”

  The six of them chatted while they waited for the others to arrive. Summit returned after a few minutes, carefully carrying a tray with four cups. Madison and Kamran had taken seats next to each other on the floor, and they quickly moved to make a path. Summit placed the tray in front of the four newcomers and then walked off without saying a word.

  “The drinks should be arranged in the order you’re seated in,” Clarise told them with a wry smile.

  “Something to do with Summit’s gift?” Melissa asked, taking her cup.

  “In a way,” Neff replied. He and Malone had each pulled chairs onto the periphery after wheeling Sabi in to join the group.