The Portent

by Michael S. Heiser

  “It’s still early,” Nili observed, looking at her watch. She looked over at Melissa, who had a mixture of terror and concentration etched her face. “Do not be frightened,” Nili said calmly. “He will not be taken. We are prepared to use force and will not hesitate.”

  Melissa nodded, unable to engage her.

  “You’re not going to believe this,” Malcolm’s voice broke the air, this time conveying both surprise and urgency. “But I see him. Inside … main floor, third window from the end … civilian clothes … wearing a brown leather bomber jacket.”

  “Are you sure?” Neff asked, startled. “We haven’t looked away for even a second.”

  “Ditto,” Malcolm responded. “There is a bar in there. Maybe we just couldn’t see him before.”

  Brian trained his field glasses on the door. A cold chill shivered through him. “That’s him. He’s talking to a waitress.”

  “I don’t know how we could have missed him,” Neff said thoughtfully. “But at least we have visual now.”

  “That’s how it is with the Colonel,” Brian replied, his voice betraying both apprehension and irritation. “Just when you think you’re ready to deal with him, he puts you on the defensive.”

  “Do you have everything?” Nili asked, all business, unperturbed by the epiphany.

  Neff held the button down on his two-way so the other car could hear the conversation. “Yes.”

  “Remember your training scenarios,” Nili said. “Be decisive. We’re here and ready.”

  “I will. Be ready when I signal.”

  “We will.”

  Brian zipped up his coat and opened the door. The cold breath of a clear Rhode Island winter night blew into the car. “Pray for me. And Melissa?”

  She looked up.

  “I love you.”

  49

  If we understand the mechanism and motives of the group mind, it is now possible to control and regiment the masses according to our will without them knowing it.

  —Edward Bernays

  Brian stood at the door of the restaurant. The erratic drumbeat inside his chest made him pause for a moment to catch his breath. He exhaled deeply to calm himself before reaching for the door.

  Despite the freezing temperature, his fingers slid on the handle from the sweat that had moistened his palms. He tightened his grip and swung the door open, momentarily stepping aside for a couple on their way out. The friendly chatter of dozens of voices merged into an indecipherable hum in his ears. His glasses began to fog. He took them off and unzipped his coat so he could clean them on the corner of his shirt. The savory aromas emanating from the kitchen gradually cleared his head.

  “Are you Professor Scott?” a woman’s voice asked.

  Brian put his glasses back on and turned toward the voice. A dark-haired, shapely young waitress in jeans and a powder-blue George’s polo shirt came into view.

  “I am.”

  “Your friend gave me a description and told me to watch for you,” she explained, smiling politely. “Follow me.”

  Brian nodded and did as he was told. Turning a corner, he caught sight of the Colonel. The leather bomber Malcolm had noted had been laid to the side of the booth. The Colonel wore a precisely-pressed white dress shirt, buttoned to the wrists.

  The crew-cut officer looked up at Brian as if on cue. Brian slowed his pace but didn’t stop. The surreal vision of the Colonel gesturing him to the table made his stomach flutter.

  The two of them locked eyes as Brian cautiously slid into the booth. The Colonel waited until the waitress departed to speak.

  “Well, Dr. Scott,” he said, clasping his hands, elbows on the table, his voice dripping with satisfaction, “we meet again. I’ve so missed your company.”

  “I can’t say the same.”

  “A pity.”

  “Where’s Father Fitzgerald?”

  “Now, now,” the Colonel patronized, “patience. We have a lot to talk about tonight.”

  “Do we?”

  “Oh, yes—my yes.” His blue eyes penetrated Brian like two cold steel stilettos. “Tonight’s conversation will be one you won’t soon forget—and lest you misunderstand, I don’t mean that in a personally threatening way.”

  “Of course not. It’s not like you’re dangerous.”

  The Colonel smirked. “When I want to threaten you, I will—but that’s for some other time. Tonight we’re going to talk about some things dear to your heart.”

  “I’m not discussing anyone except Father Fitzgerald.”

  “Oh, I’m not talking about your friends—especially Dr. Kelley. Is she well, I hope?”

  “Splendid,” Brian replied, trying to move things along.

  “I’m quite sure she’s all that and more. At any rate, I want to talk about your work. You and I are going to talk theology tonight … and mythology—how they’re the same thing, but yet different. I think you’ll find it fascinating.”

  A conceited grin pursed the Colonel’s lips as he read the surprise in the younger man’s expression. He didn’t wait for a response.

  “I’m going to do something for you tonight that I didn’t do for Andrew.”

  “Before you killed him?”

  “Of course. He couldn’t very well hear me after he was dead,” he replied indifferently.

  “Bastard.”

  “You would be wise to hold your temper, doctor. Do you want what you came for tonight, or not?”

  Brian held his tongue. He nodded.

  “A wise decision. Tonight your job is to listen—very closely. But I won’t be too hard on you. You’ve justified my faith in you already this evening.”

  Brian remained silent, waiting for an explanation.

  “You’ve shown again that you have some pluck to you. I like that, but only because I hate to be bored. You also know when to shut your mouth—another good quality. But those aren’t specifically the reasons I’ve chosen you.”

  “Chosen me?” Brian asked with a slightly incredulous tone.

  “Yes. But before I explain …” He stopped and glanced over Brian’s shoulder at the approaching waitress.

  “Here you are,” she said pleasantly, placing platters in front of each of them, along with a tall glass filled to the brim with beer for the Colonel. “Would you like anything besides water?” she asked Brian.

  “No, that’s fine.”

  “If there’s anything else I can get you, let me know.”

  “Thank you,” the Colonel replied.

  The waitress smiled at him eagerly, giving every impression she liked what she saw. The Colonel watched her leave and then turned to Brian.

  “I took the liberty of ordering for both of us,” he said with a plastic smile. “The fish here at the Galilee is excellent.”

  Brian looked down disinterestedly at the fillets.

  “In case you’re wondering,” the Colonel said, starting into his meal, “it’s not poisoned. I’m not going to kill you—at least not any time soon, I hope.”

  “Can we get down to business?”

  “I just want to assure you that you’re in no danger tonight,” the Colonel continued, ignoring Brian’s urgency. “I want you alive and well. I’ll explain why a bit later. Like I said, I’m going to do something for you that I didn’t even do for Andrew. I don’t have time to wait for you to grow up and learn things on your own. Even I have schedules.”

  “Must be awful.”

  The Colonel chuckled slightly. “I’m going to enjoy this relationship,” he said to himself as he took a bite.

  “So what is it you’re going to do for me?” Brian asked. He watched the Colonel chew at what seemed to be an overly deliberate pace, all the while keeping eye contact with Brian.

  The Colonel swallowed slowly. “I’m going to tell you what we’re up to … what this past summer was all about … what the future portends, that sort of thing.”

  “I find that hard to believe. Keeping secrets is the air you breathe.”

  “But you
’re hoping it’s true,” he replied in a calculating tone. “I can read it on your face. You’re the type who wants to know.”

  Brian didn’t answer.

  “Truth be told, I’m not going to spell everything out for you, but I am going to tell you what you need to know to figure things out. But let’s get the preliminaries out of the way first, shall we?”

  “Where do we find Father Fitzgerald?”

  “A few miles from here. Before I give you the location, I want confirmation that my other-long lost acquaintances made the trip with you. Did they?”

  “What do you think? It’s not like we had a choice.”

  “Quite right. And so …” He waved his fork in the air impatiently.

  Brian looked at him contemptuously, took off the baseball cap he was wearing, and set it on the table. “Keep your eye on the street that runs past the window. You’ll see them in a minute.”

  “What a clever signal,” the Colonel mocked. “How imaginative.” He took another bite.

  Barely a minute passed before they saw the flash of headlights bounce off the window glass. The Colonel put down his fork. A silver SUV rolled into view, the rear window descended slowly. Brian watched his adversary’s brow tighten as Malcolm and Dee’s faces came into view. Dee’s terror was transparent. Malcolm’s face was grim, but calm. The car kept moving, followed by its black counterpart. Only Melissa’s face was visible, but she refused to look at the Colonel, fixing her gaze on Brian instead. He nodded slightly and then she was gone, into the blackness down the end of the road.

  “You saw them, and they won’t be back,” Brian said.

  “Won’t you need a ride home?” he asked smugly.

  “We’ve followed your directions. Now where’s Father Fitzgerald?”

  “Who are your new friends? Imagine my surprise when I discovered all of you had somehow found each other.”

  “They’re … acquaintances of Andrew.”

  “Ah, Benedict, resourceful even in death—a worthy adversary.”

  “Where are your friends?” Brian asked.

  “Friends? I’m alone.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  “Think what you will, but it’s true. We have our own agenda, professor, as you’ll learn this evening. We interact with others in the positions we hold, but we tend to work alone when it comes to our own special interests. At any rate …”

  The Colonel reached into his jacket. Brian presumed there was no danger in the gesture, but he stiffened. He breathed a silent, undetectable sigh of relief as the Colonel pulled out his wallet and extracted a piece of paper. He unfolded it and slid it to Brian.

  “I presume you have a phone?” the Colonel asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Text these coordinates to your friends. It won’t take them long to get to the location from here. I’ll radio the priest’s release when they should be on site.”

  The Colonel picked up his fork and resumed eating as though nothing unusual was happening. Brian pulled out his phone but held it under the table. He finished the task quickly.

  “Very good,” the Colonel observed, taking a sip of his beer. “Someone has trained you well, keeping your phone out of my line of sight so that I don’t know the make, model, or number.”

  Brian waited, offering no reply.

  “Really, have something to eat. It’s on me, of course,” the Colonel beckoned. “And take off your coat, you look uncomfortable. You want to look natural, don’t you?”

  Brian hesitated before taking off his coat and putting it next to him in the booth. He watched the Colonel eat, every movement filling him with disgust as he contemplated the man across from him. He was in no hurry.

  “How did you become what you are?” Brian asked abruptly.

  “Pardon?” he asked, looking up.

  “What happened to you that you’ve become someone who can just torment and kill? You were someone’s kid, for crying out loud. How did you get to this point?”

  The Colonel took a long drink and carefully set his glass on the table. He glared at Brian. “I know what’s running through your head, Dr. Scott. Don’t you dare talk to me about life and death, or of second chances. You have no idea to whom you speak. There is no redemption for me or those who walk my path.”

  Brian felt another chill as the Colonel glowered at him. He could feel a searing malice held in check by a powerful, deliberate force of will. The Colonel finished his beer before continuing.

  “Tell me, Dr. Scott, do you believe that UFOs have something to do with Armageddon?”

  Brian eyed him carefully, startled by the odd direction the Colonel had taken the conversation. He was uncertain whether it was wise to divulge any thought to his enemy, but he suspected that, if he refused to play along, it would send the Colonel into a rage.

  “Not really,” he answered. “I think the UFO myth might have some role to play in terms of a global deception for some reason, but I don’t know what that might be.”

  “I see.” The Colonel paused briefly. “Some Christians think the antichrist will be an alien or an alien hybrid. What are your thoughts?”

  Brian sighed, making no attempt to disguise his aggravation. “Andrew tried to nudge me in that direction, but I can’t see anything in the text that justifies any extraterrestrial element. The antichrist isn’t described as anything other than a man.”

  “Ah, yes—with you it’s always about the text,” the Colonel replied blankly. “Those were carefully worded responses,” he continued, “and ‘myth’ is an apt word considering the context of this evening. You deftly distinguished the extraterrestrial idea from the antichrist. To an uninitiated listener, it would also seem you’ve divorced the antichrist from the supernatural, but you haven’t. I happen to know you do allow for the possibility of the antichrist figure being in some way supernatural in origin.”

  He continued, “And of course, in today’s world, where many would understand ‘extraterrestrial’ and ‘supernatural’ to be synonyms, a supernatural antichrist could be marketed to the theologically illiterate public—which includes most of the Church—as having an extraterrestrial connection. But the word ‘description’ allows you to hesitate, since no ‘description’ of that is found in the New Testament. Isn’t that right?”

  Brian didn’t reply. The unexpected parsing of his answer gave him an uneasy feeling about where the discussion was headed.

  “Let’s be more precise—or perhaps honest. Tell me what you really think. It would take the fun out of this evening if I had to tell you myself what you think.”

  “Give me a break,” Brian scoffed, irritated. “How would you know what I think about theology or the biblical text, or anything like that? You only know what we discussed this past summer.”

  “That’s incorrect,” the Colonel replied, a look of amusement on his face. “I know all about you, doctor. I’ve read every email you ever sent to Dr. Bandstra, all the way back to your undergraduate days at Johns Hopkins. The computers at his offices and home were all an open book to me—legally or illegally.”

  “I first came across your name by reading through his correspondence,” he explained. “The two of you could have filled several volumes. You shared your thoughts on dozens of subjects. You sent him notes, outlines, papers, articles—I’ve read them all and followed your interactions. Once you became a person of interest to him last summer, I had your own computer hacked remotely before we ever took you. I’ve literally consumed every word you’ve cared to put to keystrokes. What I learned convinced me to encourage the Group to approve Dr. Bandstra’s request to add you to the team.”

  “So tell me what I think,” Brian said, irritation turning to anger.

  “Promise not to lie when I’m right?” the Colonel goaded, not waiting for a response. “You’ve thought clearly about a good many things that factor into what we’ll talk about tonight. For instance, it’s true that the New Testament never describes this antichrist as anything more than a man—hence your circumspect
response. But you also know there are some obscure connections between ancient non-biblical Jewish texts and the New Testament writings that suggest otherwise—texts that, in fact, might connect the antichrist figure to the Nephilim, which your Bible tells you were more than merely human. And yet you aren’t sure how much weight to give those texts. That hesitation was behind your resistance to Andrew’s urgings.”

  “Not good enough,” Brian scoffed, trying to not to convey the feeling of dismay surfacing in him upon discovering that his thoughts had been digitally pilfered.

  “All right, then. You know that the Nephilim giants are described as ‘lawless ones’ at the end of the seventh chapter of the Book of the Watchers. The word in the Greek version there is the same one used to describe the antichrist figure in Second Thessalonians 2:8. That’s interesting because of the phrase in Matthew about Jesus returning at the Day of the Lord ‘as in the days of Noah.’ … How am I doing?”

  “Okay, you’ve made your point. What of it?”

  “These are the sorts of things that make you so interesting—and useful. You see things others don’t because with you it’s always about your precious ancient texts—not creeds or traditions. It’s so quaint … almost endearing.”

  “You still haven’t made your point,” Brian replied gruffly.

  “That’s because I’m not ready to give you one yet. We’ll get there, I can assure you, but I have some other questions first. As we proceed, it’s imperative that you realize that the fundamental key to understanding our plan is that we don’t care about truth—we care only about what is believed.”

  “Fine.”

  “Let’s start with your encounter with Adam. Didn’t he convince you of the possibility that aliens from the far reaches of space might factor into end times?”

  “No. I don’t think he was an intelligent alien.”

  “Was he a stupid one?”

  “He wasn’t one at all.”

  “So sure, are you?”

  “Actually, yes.”

  “Tell me why.”

  “He didn’t heal me. We figured that out at the base. I have nanobots swimming in my blood that one of your people put there.”