The Portent

by Michael S. Heiser

  Brian looked at Melissa with raised eyebrows. She held her expression.

  “Want to add anything, Fern?” Malone asked.

  “We should mention that sometimes our safe houses and network get used to protect survivors.”

  Malone nodded.

  “You mean people who claim to be victims of mind control or trauma-produced mental dissociation—what used to be called multiple personalities?” Dee asked.

  “Yes, and most of what we deal with goes well beyond claims.”

  “How do you know? I’ve done a lot of research on that, and it’s controversial to say the least.”

  “It is, but we rarely deal with referrals from psychologists or psychiatrists—for precisely that reason. We follow the human traffic—the network of current experimental abuse.”

  “Are you saying you know this is still going on and who is doing it?”

  “We’ve had dealings with several operations, and we have circumstantial evidence for the existence of a few others. Are you familiar with the 2004 Goodwin case?”

  “No, never heard of it.”

  “It’s Canadian. The courts there gave 250 victims the legal right to seek compensation … for unwillingly being subjected to mind-control programming. Trauma-based mind control is, unfortunately, real,” she added softly, “and your Becky is testimony that the interest isn’t purely academic.”

  39

  We shall see that at which dogs howl in the dark, and that at which cats prick up their ears after midnight.

  —H. P. Lovecraft

  “You have an impressive library, father,” the Colonel mused. “I took the liberty of browsing while I waited. Some of the volumes inspired me with an idea in case you were uncooperative.”

  “I don’t know where they are!” the priest blurted out, discovering he could still speak.

  “I believe you. You may be a little slower than Andrew, but deniability is fundamental to what you—and I—do.”

  “Then why not just let me go—and why can’t I move? How are you—”

  Father Fitzgerald suddenly fell silent, but this time of his own volition. His mind filled with terror. He closed his eyes and began to pray silently.

  “Fool,” the Colonel growled, watching the movement of the priest’s lips. “Your prayers are useless.”

  “Only a demon could do this,” the priest said grimly, opening his eyes, steeling himself.

  “A demon? It isn’t wise to insult me.”

  “Demon!”

  The Colonel sighed condescendingly. “You might have been in league with Benedict, but you share little of his insight.”

  The Colonel placed the stack of books on the desk and leaned in close toward the priest’s face, his expression turning hostile. “Demons are like puppies,” he hissed. “They come when summoned. I do what I please.”

  The Colonel straightened himself and turned his attention back to the stack of books. He methodically adjusted each title so that the spines all faced the same direction. He looked over at the priest and then walked slowly around the desk. The priest felt his chair begin to rotate. It came to a stop when he was facing the officer. Father Fitzgerald felt a chill run through him as he looked into the cold blue eyes.

  “I’m not going to kill you—yet,” the Colonel mocked, “but rest assured, this will be very painful. The good news is that I’ve decided to put you to sleep. You’re so fat, your heart would probably give out.”

  Colonel Ferguson watched in smug amusement as the terrified priest tried and failed to shout. He put his hand over the priest’s eyes, and Father Fitzgerald fainted away into unconsciousness.

  The Colonel took out a radio and walked to the lone window in the study. He pulled back the curtain a few inches and smiled. The priest’s house was situated on the outer edge of the small town, in virtual isolation. An expansive wheat field rolled on for what seemed like miles. The location was perfect.

  “Ferguson here. Uncloak.”

  He looked up into the dark sky. A large, round blackness slowly blotted out the stars in the dark winter sky.

  “Be in position for transport in five minutes. I have a passenger. He needs immediate medical attention.”

  40

  He that takes truth for his guide, and duty for his end, may safely trust to God’s providence to lead him aright.

  —Blaise Pascal

  “Trauma-based mind control—today?” Dee asked skeptically.

  “Very much so,” Fern replied. “You know the evidence goes back to just after World War II and of course includes MK-ULTRA. The victims were subjected to electroshock treatment and mind-altering drugs. For the rest of you, if you’ve read the MK-ULTRA material or seen the movie Conspiracy Theory, you’ll have an idea what was done to them.”

  “I’d like to read the court documents. Do you have them?”

  “I do; I’ll get them to you tomorrow,” Fern promised. “You’ll find that the testimony produced names of universities and their faculty who were part of the experimentation. Once you have that sort of information, you can find out who the graduate students were, what grants were received, and where the money went.”

  “But since all of that’s public, it would be insane for professionals and universities to keep going with the research.”

  “It would, which is why this sort of thing typically surfaces in private practices nowadays. Most of the time we engage professionals doing the research for someone else, like the military, for example. They target runaways or drifters, but they’re not above using extended family members. We’ve been fortunate to have people who care about the abuse and its implications on the inside who have occasionally been able to give us names and places where the research is being conducted. We treat that situation like we would any other human trafficking. Sometimes we find victims; other times we fail. It’s less successful since we’re not buying people.”

  Malone jumped back in, addressing Brian. “The thoughts you posted online about alien abduction syndrome and its similarities to this sort of stuff really caught our attention. It sounded like you’d had some firsthand exposure to mind-control trauma.”

  “We have,” Brian acknowledged. “We ran into it at the base where we were confined.”

  “Before we get further into that,” Neff interrupted, “let’s continue our introductions. Madison is next. She’s in charge of all our information technology and communications security.”

  “I’ve been wondering how you keep all that secret,” Brian said. “Melissa and I use cellphones, but only to call each other, and we didn’t use our names for those. For everything else we use prepaid phonecards.”

  “Did you bring some?” Neff asked, looking at her.

  “Yep,” Madison replied. She turned and pulled a backpack from behind a chair. She opened it and retrieved four electronic devices that were larger than a typical smartphone. Brian recognized them, having seen Neff and Malone handle them.

  “These are secure phones,” Neff said as he handed one to each of them. “Madison can explain.”

  “These devices are NSA approved for secure phone calling, emailing, web browsing, and anything else you’d use a PDA or wireless phone for.”

  “Isn’t this what the president uses?” Malcolm asked, admiring the piece of technology.

  “Same technology, different model.”

  “Madison used to work at NSA,” Clarise added.

  “Wow,” said Brian. “Really?”

  “Just for a year,” she said, enjoying the recognition.

  “Why did you quit?”

  “I got a degree in computer science in college and then I had to decide what to do next. I thought about grad school but took a one-year internship at NSA instead. It was interesting, but kind of dull, actually. I wanted something more stimulating.”

  “You mean you found hacking more of a rush,” Ward teased.

  “I won’t deny it,” she said slyly. “Once mom and Ward told me about what they were doing here, I wanted in.”<
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  “Mom?” Melissa asked, looking at Clarise.

  “I had Madison when I was fifteen. I wasn’t married, so she has my maiden name, Sims. She’s twenty-nine, but she’s still my baby.”

  “You must have gotten into technology awfully young,” Malcolm observed.

  “I did,” Madison confirmed, looking whimsically at Clarise.

  “How did that happen?” Malcom asked.

  “Go ahead,” said Clarise, rolling her eyes.

  “Let’s just say, mom had an unscrupulous boyfriend at one point of my childhood who got me into it. I saw the movie The Net when I was eleven, and he showed me how the woman in the movie did what she did. I was hooked. He taught me to do all sorts of illegal stuff and not get caught. It was awesome.”

  “Really, I didn’t intend to raise a criminal,” Clarise said, shaking her head.

  “I use my powers for good now,” Madison said, smiling mischievously before adding, “mostly.”

  “ ‘Mostly’?”

  Everyone laughed as Madison continued. “Outside Miqlat we don’t use email or any text messaging on any device but these. Inside Miqlat we have a little more flexibility, though we have several layers of encrypted defense on every computer. We have to guard against anything that could be downloaded invisibly to capture key strokes or surfing history, not to mention viruses. And webcams are disabled. They can be taken over remotely.”

  “That’s comforting,” Dee said with a smirk.

  Neff then turned his attention to Nili, explaining, “Nili handles all our security and tactical planning.”

  “No way,” Malcolm feigned surprise.

  Everyone laughed again.

  “For real,” Neff continued, enjoying Malcolm’s sense of humor. “Nili trains us in weapons use and self-defense. She’s also the point person for planning missions and leads debriefing afterward. We go over what we did to learn whether we could have done something better or whether something could have gone wrong.”

  “We have our own small-arms pistol range underground,” Nili told them, “and an outdoor firing range for high-powered and military-grade weapons.”

  “Like the LRAD and the EMP cannon?” Brian asked.

  “Correct. The goal is that anyone who might go outside on a mission is completely comfortable with any weapon we might have to use.”

  Brian turned to address Nili. “So you’re ex-military?”

  “I served in the Israeli army full-time for seven years before transferring to Mossad. I’m still informally connected to the agency.”

  “I met Nili on a trip to Israel five years ago,” Neff explained. “She was considering leaving Mossad and coming to the United States for some personal reasons, which she can share if she wants.”

  Nili nodded. “It’s a long story, one that ended for the better a few months ago. Your work played an important part,” she said, looking at Brian. “It was a blessing from Yeshua to discover it.”

  “I can’t think of anything I’d have done that would have been useful to you.”

  “You were the difference between heaven and hell for my father,” she said earnestly.

  Brian could see the emotion in her eyes.

  Neff continued, “We’re fortunate that circumstances developed where Nili could both work for me and maintain some attachment to Mossad. It’s been invaluable.”

  “I have an uncle who is very highly placed in the agency,” Nili explained. “He knows we have the logistics to help if he needs my services outside the country. And occasionally we spy for them or exchange information. Graham also has the resources to provide things outside Mossad’s funding.”

  “Graham hinted that was part of the process for helping Malcolm and Dee,” said Melissa.

  “That’s right. Occasionally Madison—how do you say it?”

  “ ‘Lurks’—‘trolls’—for data,” the girl offered some vocabulary.

  “Yes, trolls,” Nili said, knowing it sounded odd with her accent. “We have scripting and robot technology that flags keywords in Arabic, and then I read the results to see if it’s important.”

  “So you speak Hebrew and Arabic?” Brian asked.

  “Yes,” she replied, smiling demurely and observing he was impressed. “It’s very useful for what we do. In this case, it provided valuable intelligence to trade.”

  At that point, Neff jumped in to continue the introductions. “I’ve already shared your story with them, Kamran,” he said, “and Clarise has introduced Summit to everyone.”

  “I like sushi,” Summit interjected. “So does Squish.”

  “I love it, too,” Malcolm answered, enjoying her quirky manner. Summit didn’t look at him, but contented herself by stroking the cat.

  “Sabi, what about you?” Neff asked. “Could you share a bit of your story?”

  “Of course,” he said quietly. He sat silently in his wheelchair for a few moments, collecting his thoughts. Then he said, smiling, “I am Georgian. You can tell from my accent.”

  The others laughed with him.

  “Really, though, I am Georgian—just not your Georgia. My country is very small, between Russia and Armenia. My Georgia was still part of the Soviet Union when I was a boy. I am thirty-four years old now—a miracle.”

  He paused before resuming. “Georgia became independent from the Soviets in 1991. There was turmoil at the beginning. Several ethnic factions fought for control. The Russians sided with our rivals from Ossetia and Abkhazia. Many native Georgians were expelled from our homeland, including my family. We returned in the 1990s.

  “My mother wanted a quiet life for me. We were Christian Orthodox, and she wanted me to be a priest. Instead, I joined the army. There was fighting off and on, but peace came in 2005. My mother tried to convince me to leave the army, but I resisted. It was a fateful decision.

  “In 2008 war broke out again between us and the Russians and Ossetia. Both sides said the other started the fighting. It does not matter. I was stationed at the airfield near Marneuli. The Russians bombed it and I was injured—paralyzed.”

  Sabi became quiet once more. Madison reached out and patted him on the shoulder. He turned toward her and nodded appreciatively.

  “At first my family tried to care for me, but my needs were too great. I was sent to an institution.” He paused momentarily. “I will not call it a hospital. Those in the West have read about such places—places for orphans and the insane … and people like me,” he added with resignation.

  “It was a horrible place. Many times I was hungry or thirsty, living in my own filth. The few kind people there could do little; they were so burdened. I begged God to kill me. I am ashamed to say this, but it is true.”

  A tear trickled down Sabi’s cheek and into his dark beard. Brian watched with his heart in his throat as Nili produced a soft handkerchief and gently dabbed his face. A silent thank you formed on his lips. He drew in his breath and continued.

  “I grew very angry. I decided I would no longer eat or drink, and I asked the nurses to poison me. They refused, fearing trouble. I begged God to let me die, but He would not listen. I hated Him for that.” He paused. “And then it happened.”

  Sabi stopped and made eye contact with Clarise before resuming. She began to tear up.

  “One night I awoke and saw the form of a woman standing at the foot of my bed. It was dark, so I could not see her face. When she saw me looking at her, she came to me and sat on the edge of my bed. When the moonlight touched her face, I could see she was young and beautiful. I had never seen her before, and she was not dressed as a nurse. I said nothing, but waited, just looking up into her face, wondering who she was and why she had been watching me.

  “Suddenly, she said, ‘Sebastian, it is time. There is much to be done.’ She told me that God had sent her to tell me I would be leaving soon with two Americans who would know my name. And then she disappeared—she vanished before my eyes.”

  Sabi was smiling now. He looked at Ward, who took the cue.

 
; “Sabi’s story is part of our story,” Ward explained. “After we got married, Clarise and I talked about adopting some children as part of our new life and purpose. We spent weeks going back and forth about it, praying about it. One night we were lying in bed when—honestly, I’m not kidding you with any of this—we heard a voice, just as clear as anyone here in this room. It said, ‘His name is Sebastian.’ We both heard it. It just freaked us out; we didn’t get much sleep that night, let me tell you.

  “Then, about a week later, it happened again, only this time in Russian. My extended family immigrated from Russia, so I speak the language pretty well. We both took it as a sign that God wanted us to adopt a child from eastern Europe from a Russian family.” He looked at his wife.

  “I think you can put the rest of the story together,” Clarise, now composed, took up the narrative. “We wound up traveling to eastern Europe. Circumstances—some of them pretty odd, too—eventually put us in Sabi’s institution. We had actually gotten lost trying to find an orphanage. We were trying to get directions from some staff people when we overheard someone mention that it was time to ‘change Sebastian.’ That set off an argument about seeing him, which we eventually won with a bribe.”

  “Needless to say,” she continued, “we were shocked when we saw him. As soon as Sabi learned we were Americans, he told us his story. We couldn’t deny our own experience, but we couldn’t accept a paralyzed man was the point of it all. We just weren’t ready for that.”

  “They did not truly believe,” Sabi broke in, smiling broadly, “until I described the woman.”

  “It was my sister,” Clarise said, wiping her cheek. “But she was dead—she’d died six months earlier. But it was her. His description was precise.”

  Brian couldn’t contain a gasp. He watched as Ward put his arm around Clarise and looked at Brian and the rest of the newcomers.

  “It actually wasn’t that difficult to get Sabi out,” Ward explained. “Adoptions are much harder. Once we had his family’s permission and had paid off who we needed to, we took Sabi home with us. As soon as Neff heard the story, he jumped right in and made sure we had everything we needed. We didn’t know what the point of it all was, but we didn’t dare disobey something so clearly from God.”