The Portent

by Michael S. Heiser

  He went on, “I wonder, what will the masses believe—an epic conflict played out right before their eyes and a Jesus who arrives according to script with phenomenal power to save the day … or your pathetic, isolated voice telling everyone it’s a theological scam? I think we both know the answer. You can always say nothing, of course. And so the end result is that Yahweh’s children are damned if you do, and damned if you don’t.”

  “You’re a bit too convinced of your own omniscience, Colonel,” Brian cut in. “God will find a way to undermine your fantasy.”

  “If you really believe that, why don’t I see confidence on your face?”

  “How I feel,” Brian said evenly, “has nothing to do with what’s true and what isn’t—or where sovereignty resides.”

  The Colonel’s eyes darted away from Brian’s.

  “Here you are,” the waitress said melodically, handing the Colonel a small folder with the bill. “Have a good evening.”

  “I already have,” the Colonel said through a smile, glancing at Brian as the waitress turned and left.

  “Bravo, Dr. Scott,” said the Colonel as he retrieved his wallet. “I’m so glad we could have this chat.”

  Brian watched his adversary carefully flipping through a wad of cash, calculating the expense and tip like any other customer. He tried to control his thoughts, to avoid the distraction of what he’d just heard in order to focus on what to expect as the meeting ended. The Colonel flipped the pad closed and waved it at the waitress, who was now attending to an adjacent table. She took it with another smile and left again.

  The Colonel turned to Brian. “I’ve enjoyed this evening so much that I have one more revelation for you about me and my associates. Then you’re free to go. No one will be following you. But first, I need to use the restroom—the beer just goes right through an old man like me. I’ll only be a moment.”

  The Colonel stood and put on his jacket, and then went toward the restroom, which was clearly visible from where they sat. Brian slid his coat on and then his hat, which was the signal to Neff and the others in the car that he was preparing to leave. He waited, resisting the urge to just run out. He was afraid that an early exit would draw some sort of retaliation, for him or the others.

  “Sir, I think there’s some mistake.”

  Brian turned and saw their waitress. Her complexion was slightly flushed, but she was still just as pleasant as before.

  “What is it?”

  “Is your friend still here?”

  “He’s in the restroom.”

  “I think he gave me the wrong bills.”

  “I saw him count everything out. Trust me, he’s not the type to overlook any details.”

  “Well,” she looked at him, a little flustered, “it’s just that he left me the biggest tip I’ve ever had—$153! I can’t believe it. I’ll come back in a minute to make sure.”

  Brian nodded as she left. His thoughts were interrupted by the ring of his phone. He retrieved it from his pocket and answered.

  “Neff? I’ll be a minute yet.”

  “Brian—you have to get out of there now!” shouted the voice on the other end.

  “Why?”

  “We just heard from Clarise. We’ve been played. I have terrible news.”

  Brian listened in dumbstruck dismay as Neff relayed Clarise’s description of the events on the beach, his eyes riveted on the door of the restroom.

  “Get out now. Don’t confront him. He could have soldiers stationed somewhere in plainclothes. Just get out now—we’re right outside.”

  Brian hung up. He rose quickly and headed straight to the restroom, fury welling up inside him. He pushed the door open and froze as it closed behind him. In panicked disbelief, he thrust open the two stall doors. The undersized, windowless restroom was empty.

  53

  All the world is full of suffering. It is also full of overcoming.

  —Helen Keller

  “Dr. Scott.” Nili bent over Brian’s seated form. He was resting his head between his folded arms on the hard wooden table, which was covered with stacked books and scattered articles. She gently shook him on the shoulder. “Brian.”

  Brian slowly stirred, first opening his eyes and then lazily lifting his head. For a moment he was confused. Why was he sleeping in a library? His mind soon started to clear, the events of recent days rebooting into his consciousness—the race to the beach in the car, the horrible, mangled form of Father Fitzgerald, the abduction of Dee. He could still see the flashing lights on the helicopter as Ward descended onto the beach.

  Conflict about what to do with Father Fitzgerald’s body had surfaced almost immediately. Clarise had insisted on keeping it, believing there was something important to learn. Others had wanted to leave everything untouched and call the police anonymously to direct their identification of the John Doe.

  The debate hadn’t lasted long, as Malone had picked up a 911 call on the police monitor he’d brought with him on the boat. Someone had seen the chopper land on the beach and had alerted the authorities. Ward and Clarise had decided to take the body to Minnesota, to their friend Cal. His pathology office—the one where Brian and Melissa had first met Clarise—would have everything necessary to store the body, examine it, and preserve anything Clarise might consider useful. Cal could be trusted to make up a scenario in case anyone discovered the new resident in his morgue and asked questions.

  “What time is it?” Brian asked.

  “Seven o’clock a.m.,” Nili answered. “I was on my way to swim in the lap pool when I saw the light from the library. You’ve been here all night?”

  Brian nodded through a yawn. “Yeah … research. Summit was here till midnight finding things for me. She’s amazing.”

  Nili smiled, then turned serious. “Fern is making breakfast. She’s already served Malcolm.”

  “Malcolm? Really?”

  His friend had been inconsolable on the trip back. Once at Miqlat, Malcolm had gone to his room and isolated himself, refusing to speak to anyone. It had been three full days since anyone had seen him. Brian knew he was paralyzed with guilt for what had happened.

  “Yes,” Nili confirmed. “We didn’t speak, but he told Fern he had agreed to meet with Sabi in the chapel. They’re there now. When he’s ready, he should listen to the recording.”

  “I’ll say something to him,” Brian assured her.

  The recording was the one small victory they’d managed in the whole affair with the Colonel. Brian had worn a voice-activated recorder during the episode, and it had worked like charm. With the exception of Malcolm and Summit, everyone had listened to it repeatedly and begun pouring themselves into deciphering the Colonel’s comments, searching for any clue about what he might be intending to do with Dee. It was now apparent that the entire episode had been engineered for the purpose of reclaiming her. But why?

  The door to the library opened. It was Madison, still in pajamas and slippers, her tussled hair tied back in a careless knot. Her usually cheerful face was drawn. The young woman had been traumatized as well, silently competing with Malcolm for who should take the blame for what had happened to Dee.

  “Did you hear?” she asked, barely above a whisper.

  “About?” Nili asked, hoping there was nothing new to worry about.

  “Malcolm’s out.”

  “Yes. I was just telling Brian.”

  “What’s he going to say to me?” Her face knotted up, and she started to cry.

  Brian got up and walked over to her, putting his arms around her.

  “He won’t blame you—I guarantee it.”

  “I keep running everything through my mind, trying to figure out what I could have done differently,” she sobbed.

  “There’s nothing you could have done,” Nili said soothingly. She’d already offered Madison this reassurance repeatedly since their return. She reached out for Madison, and Brian released her.

  After a few moments, Madison was calm enough to speak. Nili pulle
d out a chair from the table so she could sit. “I got out of the car to look at the saucer,” she sniffed. “It was so fantastic, I wanted to see it. I was out less than a minute when I felt the sting of the dart. I reached for my neck, and knew what it was. I tried to get back in and lock up, and that’s the last thing I remember until I woke up in the car next to mom on the way back to the plane. Why did I get out of the car?”

  “Because they planned it that way,” Brian replied. “They were counting on the spectacle to be a distraction.”

  “If you hadn’t gotten out, they probably would have killed you,” Nili said with confidence. “If they couldn’t draw someone out of the car quickly, they may have opened fire to get at Dee with speed. You’re blessed to be alive.”

  “I don’t feel blessed. And what about poor Dr. Harper? I can’t stop thinking of what they might do to her.”

  “We must trust God,” Nili said sympathetically, then fell silent. She looked at Brian from behind the seated girl. Her eyes betrayed his own thoughts. It was hard to muster any hope. But there was nothing else to do.

  “Nili’s right,” Brian said faintly. You aren’t to blame for the evil others decide to do. Malcolm knows that—we all know that.”

  She nodded weakly.

  “Did you eat yet?” Nili asked her, touching her shoulder.

  “Just a little coffee.”

  “Let’s go; you’ll feel better.”

  “I’m gonna see if Melissa’s up yet,” Brian said, “and then we’ll go talk to Malcolm.”

  54

  The cost of quitting will be a life of peaceful stagnation. We sons of eternity just cannot afford such a thing.

  —W. A. Tozer

  Brian and Melissa walked silently, hand-in-hand, down the dimly lit corridor, their hearts heavy not only because of their fears for Dee, but because of the lingering uncertainty over Malcolm. Their friend’s reaction to the tragedy in Rhode Island had been expected, but unnerving.

  They’d come to rely on Malcolm’s optimism and stability. Even though he’d played a game of misdirection back at Area 51, they’d known he was dependable. His ability to cut through tension, and his flair for saying the right thing at the right time, had helped them both through difficult turns. They wanted to return the favor now but felt completely inadequate.

  As they approached the chapel, they could hear instrumental music emanating from the room. Brian stopped to listen before opening the door. The tune was familiar.

  “What’s wrong?” Melissa asked, looking up at him.

  “Nothing, just listening,” he answered. “It’s my favorite hymn, “Be Thou My Vision.” I’m just struck by how long it’s been since I heard it.”

  “That was one of my favorites as a girl, too,” Melissa replied distantly.

  They listened for a few more moments before going in. The chapel was one of the smaller spaces at Miqlat in terms of square footage. It was deliberately plain, yet charged with symbolism. The room was circular with a high ceiling. A solitary, upright padded bench formed a perfect circle within the room, broken only in one place for entry into the center and out to the walking space behind it.

  At the center of the room was a tall, unfinished, rough-cut wooden cross nearly fifteen feet in height. There was literally no place you could go without being confronted by it, without your attention being arrested by its presence. No one had a better seat than anyone else in the chapel—everyone had equal access to the cross. There was no choir, no pulpit, no band, no screens. There was only the towering fixture dominating the room, at once a compelling memorial to the horrible event that gave it meaning and a comforting refuge to all who believed its message. It was spectacularly simple, communicating all that needed to be said without the utterance of a single word. Brian loved it. Every time he entered the room, things came into focus.

  Malcolm was seated at the edge of the break in the circular bench, where Sabi had guided his wheelchair through to the center, adjacent to the cross. Their heads were bowed in silence, each of them listening to the music with closed eyes. Brian could see the end of Sabi’s prayer rope dangling from the side of his wheelchair under the armrest. It was a familiar sight by now; he’d rarely seen Sabi without it on his lap. He’d explained that the object was his constant, visible reminder to pray without ceasing, orienting his mind as his fingers, awkwardly but doggedly, fumbled for each knot.

  They took a seat as quietly as possible. Melissa leaned into Brian, resting her head on his shoulder. He put his arm around her. They waited, gazing at the cross in silence, their thoughts absorbed by the circumstances they’d experienced that had led up to this moment—events terrible and tragic, inspiring and uplifting. It was impossible to deny the unseen hand behind it all, but their hearts ached for Malcolm.

  Brian closed his eyes and tried to pray. He understood this sort of emptiness all too well, but words failed him. The hymn drifted to an end, replaced by new lyrics carried along by an understated piano tune that filled the void in both his mind and his heart:

  Tears are falling, hearts are breaking

  How we need to hear from God

  You’ve been promised, we’ve been waiting

  Welcome Holy Child

  Welcome Holy Child

  Bring Your peace into our violence

  Bid our hungry souls be filled

  Word now breaking Heaven’s silence

  Welcome to our world

  Welcome to our world

  So wrap our injured flesh around You

  Breathe our air and walk our sod

  Rob our sin and make us holy

  Perfect Son of God

  Perfect Son of God

  Welcome to our world

  “That’s who we need.”

  Upon hearing the familiar voice, Brian opened his moistened eyes and turned toward Malcolm, whose eyes were closed, a faint smile on his face.

  “He is why we endure,” Sabi added softly. “And one day, as the Scriptures say, Jesus will present us to God’s council … the great cloud of witnesses … as His brothers, sisters, and friends.”

  Malcolm opened his eyes. He leaned forward and touched Sabi’s shoulder, whispering to him. Then he turned and looked at Brian and Melissa.

  “Sorry for the past few days,” Malcolm apologized, coming toward them. “It’s been really rough … for a lot of reasons.”

  “No need,” Melissa answered, dabbing her eyes. “We missed you. We need you with us.”

  “I don’t plan on going anywhere. That’s been part of the struggle, or maybe the resolution to a struggle. What happened with Dee … it has forced me to come to grips with some other things. It just brought everything to a head.”

  Sabi remained silent, his head bent in concentration. Brian could see him once again fingering his rope. “What is it?” Brian asked.

  Malcolm sighed. “Everything, really. Since I learned Andrew was dead, I’ve felt lost. He was the reason I entered the priesthood. That’s no doubt misguided, but he reoriented my whole life—and that’s part of the problem.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Malcolm pursed his lips, mulling over an answer. “Andrew was consumed with his mission to expose the evil inside the Church. You both know he spent part of his career in the Vatican. He’d heard stories from curia members he trusted that satanic rituals had been performed in the Vatican by some rogue priests as sort of a surrender of the Church to darkness. He believed it and wanted to identify the people responsible for the sacrilege and have them removed. Over, the years he’d recruit people inside the Church hierarchy and on the outside to gather information. The obsession exposed him to some really strange stuff. He was never one to just stay out of things, either. He’d get involved and make serious enemies.

  “We met while I was in graduate school, and I decided I wanted to be part of it. It gave me a mission that went beyond my love for science. I’m not saying I didn’t see eternal value in that, but what Andrew was doing felt more immediate—more in the t
renches. Honestly, it was seductive, but in the right sort of way. I wanted God to use me.”

  “You don’t want that now?” Melissa asked.

  “I’ve been wrestling with how I can still be useful … how I can stay on the front lines. I’ve been struggling to see how I can be without Andrew. I don’t know anyone on the inside. I don’t know who is on Andrew’s side and who isn’t. I have no contacts. I was basically his understudy. I just don’t know who I can trust to keep going in that direction now.”

  “What about just being a priest?”

  “It’s not that easy. There’s so much corruption and complacency. Without Andrew to help me navigate, I can’t help thinking I’d spend too much valuable time trying to work around the authority above me. And I don’t believe I have the pastoral heart I need to stay put in a parish.”

  “That’s understandable,” Melissa observed, “but as a Jesuit, you could still have the life of a scholar.”

  “That’s true—and it brings up another part of the problem. I actually haven’t taken my final vows yet. I’m at the stage called Tertianship. This latest episode is making me seriously consider asking to be released from the order and my earlier vows—or just walking away without even asking. I’m thinking in ways someone in my position shouldn’t, and in my mind, that disqualifies me.”

  “Wow,” said Brian. “I had no idea you were struggling like this, Malcolm.”

  “I’m good at hiding that sort of thing. There’s more to it, too.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t want to forgive the Colonel,” Malcolm admitted frankly. “I want him punished. In fact, if I’m honest, I want him to die. I can’t see him sparing Dee once he’s done with her. He needs to pay. I know it’s not right—a priest has to be able to do things that he’d tell others to do. I’m just not there. Forgiveness is a great concept until you have someone to forgive, especially someone this wicked.”