The Portent

by Michael S. Heiser

  “If this were the tomb of the real Jesus—who died quite publicly, to say the least—and friends and family were added to it now and then, how would the apostles’ story have survived? As soon as the early Christians started preaching about the resurrection, why wouldn’t people in Jerusalem have just waved their hands and said, ‘Hey, the guy’s buried right over there’?”

  “How indeed,” Malcolm smirked. “It would have been painfully easy to undermine the whole gospel story. The tomb was out in the open and visible. Everyone in the city would have known about it, including the Romans. They could easily have used it to put a stop to the new religion that would cause uproars in the city and other parts of their empire. But none of that ever happened.”

  “Speaking of obvious questions,” Neff remarked, “if there were only tiny chips of bone in the Jesus ossuary, and Israeli authorities took them and later tested them, how could the Colonel get the DNA sequence? Was it published somewhere?”

  “No,” Clarise said. “What you see in articles like this and my own printouts is a genetic summary; it’s not the whole sequence. I don’t know where he’d have gotten it. You certainly couldn’t guess and get it right.”

  “There’s one possibility,” Brian said, turning to Malcolm. “Can you find the site reports in that folder, or maybe a newspaper article about the original find?”

  “I think I know why you ask this,” Nili said thoughtfully. “Sometimes collectors or antiquities dealers will hire small boys to slip into unexcavated tombs to steal things. There is money in such things.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m thinking,” Brian confirmed.

  “Hey, look at this.” Malcolm was holding a piece of paper and scanning the contents. “It’s a summary by a professor in North Carolina. Listen to this.”

  The tomb was exposed by a dynamite blast on Thursday morning, March 27, 1980. This was just before Easter weekend with Passover falling on the following Monday evening. The district archaeologist applied for the license to excavate on Friday, March 28. The license was issued on Monday, March 31, the day before Passover, but some work was had been done on the site on the Friday morning of the license application.

  At noon that Friday, the day after the tomb was exposed, an eleven-year-old boy from an Orthodox Jewish family saw the exposed tomb on the way home. His mother called the Department of Antiquities to report the exposed and unguarded tomb, worried that it might be plundered. She was unable to reach authorities as the office had closed for the Sabbath. She and her son looked inside the tomb and saw that items had been disturbed, including skulls and bones. The next day, the Sabbath, the boy’s mother reported that she had seen boys playing soccer with one of the skulls. She and her husband ran them off and gathered the bones, even going door-to-door of those children known to her to ask parents to make sure all the bones were returned. She delivered the bones she had collected to archaeologists on Sunday morning.

  “Interesting,” mused Ward. “That means it’s possible that there were bones or bone fragments from that tomb floating around in private stashes, as mementoes, or maybe to save for later sale. We can’t assume everything was given back. The Colonel could have heard about fragments and taken them.”

  “Regardless of how he might have gotten anything, do you all see what the Colonel can do with this?” Brian asked. “Dee was carrying his Jesus. The Colonel has handed us the blueprint, just to mock us.”

  “Think about what he told Brian,” Malcolm pressed. “The part about the resurrected Jesus who was real but not real, how he and his associates would steer people toward a conclusion that would have them believe in a lie without ever knowing it.”

  Brian kept going. “First he gives the world a new hope, a belief in the sort of gods everyone hungers for—the benevolent alien here to solve our problems. Then, when the path to human evolution and Utopia suddenly gets sullied by other staged revelations, leading to an attack on Jerusalem, Jesus shows up to save the day—just like the Bible says. Who wouldn’t believe in Him at that point? Every phase of it is a lie, but it’s all real.”

  “And how much do you want to bet that his Jesus will also have no blood?” Clarise said solemnly. “Just what the New Testament tells us to expect.”

  “But what about the tomb?” Nili protested.

  “That’s not hard to figure out,” Brian said thoughtfully. “It requires redefining the resurrection. It won’t be hard since a lot of scholars already argue that ancient Judaism viewed resurrection not as a rising of the original intact body, but the reconstitution of that body in the last days. After all, there will be millions of dead raised for whom there is no body to raise—people who were lost at sea, incinerated, or whose remains are completely turned to dust. The Colonel will say that his Jesus is the true Jesus, wholly reconstituted in the flesh.”

  “But that isn’t what the Gospels describe—or Paul, for that matter,” said Malcolm.

  “I agree, but if this Jesus appears, those passages will be reinterpreted in light of the reconstitution view of the resurrection. And that’s the trap: millions of believers will put their faith in a real but false Jesus.”

  “There’s one missing detail—a missing expectation about Jesus,” Cal spoke up quietly, his voice full of apprehension. “One that I can tell you the Colonel hasn’t overlooked.”

  “What do you mean?” Madison asked, her ears catching the fear in his voice.

  Cal looked around the table. “I didn’t tell you everything that happened back at my office.”

  “Really?” Neff asked inquisitively, eyebrows raised.

  “Please know I’m not crazy,” Cal said, looking at the faces gathered at the table. “It’s me—I’m still the guy you all know. Fern can give me any sort of psych evaluation she wants. I’m not out of my mind.”

  “We trust you,” Madison said, touching his arm, unsure of what was coming. “Just say it.”

  “Well … after he cut off his thumb and said what he had to say, the Colonel just turned around and … he turned … and walked through the wall. It was like he just dissolved right into it and was gone, like he just told every molecule that was him to stop being physical. I swear, I saw it. He wanted me to see it.”

  No one said a word. They were all astonished by the revelation.

  “I believe you,” Sabi said quietly. “It seems that Dr. Scott had a similar experience in the restaurant, without actually seeing what you did.”

  “Even though my mind can’t accept it,” Clarise said, “I believe you, too. We can sit here and theorize how the Colonel’s techno-body could just disassemble—how we’re all just matter, held together as a solid by the vibration of the atoms that compose us—but even if we understood it all in theory, it doesn’t change the impact. We’re looking at a bloodless body, impervious to disease, that can walk through walls.”

  They all understood the implications: When Dee’s boy grew up, he’d be all that, and likely more. There would be no doubt.

  “It was right in front of my eyes!” Brian suddenly exploded in exasperation. “How stupid!”

  “What?” Melissa exclaimed, caught off guard by the outburst.

  “The tip, $153!” Brian blurted out, remembering the exorbitant tip the Colonel had paid at the restaurant. “We had fish … at a restaurant called the Galilee. How could I have been so blind?” he berated himself. “The whole thing was orchestrated to ridicule me—us. What was it he said? That he had one more revelation for me about himself and his associates. He sat there right in front of me counting it out, $153, and I never saw it.”

  “That number, 153,” Melissa echoed, “it comes from Jesus’ conversation with Peter after the resurrection by the Sea of Galilee. Jesus was roasting fish. It’s gematria, isn’t it?” Melissa asked.

  “Yeah. There are several possibilities for converting the numbers to text, but I already know which one he intended.”

  “Yes,” said Sabi unexpectedly. “I do as well.”

  Brian looked at him i
n surprise.

  “The early fathers write of this,” Sabi explained. “It now becomes clear. Jesus was speaking of His children—the metaphor for His body. The Colonel wishes us to think of that divine body … and one thing more … to identify himself with the rulers of this world.” He stared knowingly at Brian.

  “By Hebrew gematria, the number 153 converts to bene-ha-elohim … ‘the sons of God,’ ”

  74

  The trust of the innocent is the liar’s most useful tool.

  —Stephen King

  Brian took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the cold, crisp, Montana air. It was good to be outside again. The last week had been filled with life-altering decisions. The rapid-fire revelations of the past few days had unnerved Melissa—so much so that two days ago she’d asked Clarise to perform an amniocentesis for a DNA analysis of the twins. The procedure had gone well, and today Melissa had insisted she felt vigorous enough to come topside, if for no other reason than to remember what the sun looked like.

  Presuming the test yielded no surprises, Melissa had agreed to deliver the babies in Miqlat’s infirmary and surrender them to Miqlat’s network rather than an adoption agency. One of the pods would be modified to serve as a temporary nursery. Ward and Neff needed to prep the helicopter for a quick flight into Bozeman for materials and “baby gear,” as Fern had called it. Brian, Malcolm, and Melissa had tagged along for the change of scenery.

  “Aw, crud,” Ward said, feeling his pockets as they stood next to the helicopter, his breath floating in wisps toward the others. “Forgot my flashlight. There’s one in the house. I’ll run and get it.” He turned and started jogging back to the house.

  They’d made other decisions as well. After some earnest coaxing, Brian and Melissa had decided to stay rather than adapt to another set of new identities. Malcolm would do the same, though he was still undecided about his future. He’d joked that he wanted his last act as a priest to be marrying Brian and Melissa.

  The decisions had come with demands. As part of the Miqlat team, the three of them would have to learn the entirety of the network of finance, safe houses, and supply trains. Training in self-defense, first aid, tactical arms, and protocols and operations for use of all communications devices was mandatory. They all promised to learn sign language as well, and Neff and Ward had decided that all of them should get experience driving the range of vehicles used by the network, along with basic maintenance. Flight training was, for now, optional, but at minimum it was expected they would learn how autopilot functioned and how to land in an emergency.

  Once Melissa was physically able, the three of them would accompany Miqlat team members on missions, first as observers, then as participants. They’d all agreed the work would be fulfilling, though they didn’t know how their own research would be useful. Brian and Melissa both had a clear sense that they were supposed to keep doing it, if for no other reason than to tune their senses to whatever the Colonel would do in the future.

  “What’s in there?” Malcolm asked Neff while they waited, pointing to the wide two-story building nestled into the tree line about forty yards away.

  “Lots of stuff,” Neff replied. “Riding mowers, yard tools, some maintenance equipment, a woodshop, softball gear, medical supplies, old equipment … We use it to stage things we’ll load onto the choppers to take on missions or move to safe houses or orphanages. We try not to just throw things away.”

  “Here,” he said, pulling a key from his keychain. “Go have a look. You should know where everything’s at around here. Grab me a pint of engine oil and a funnel from the shelf above the workshop desk. It’s toward the front of the garage.”

  “Cool. Let’s go,” he said to the others.

  Neff watched the three of them traverse the short distance to the garage over another shallow layer of white powder. He was glad things had worked out. Miqlat would be in good hands for a long time to come. He unlocked the chopper door and then headed around the front of the bird. He heard the crackle of his radio followed by his name and grimaced a bit.

  “What is it Ward? If you can’t find your light—”

  “Graham, we have company.… We’ve got the front gate motion detector light going off inside.… Look at the driveway—a little into the tree line.… I’ve got glasses on him now.”

  Neff turned and immediately stiffened. A lone figure was walking into view, erect, deliberate. He wore a brown leather bomber with a white woolen collar. Neff’s stomach fluttered.

  “I don’t know him. Do you, Graham?”

  “Yeah …”

  “Who is it?”

  “A nightmare—our nightmare.”

  “Where’s everybody else?”

  Neff slowly raised the radio to his lips again. “They’re in the garage. I don’t know if he saw them. They won’t know where the tunnel entrance is inside the building. I’m unarmed. Get Nili topside—fast. Tell her to bring whatever’s handy. But lock everything else down. Code red.”

  Neff suddenly caught some motion out of the corner of his eye. The front door of the garage had opened. Brian stepped through. The noise didn’t go unnoticed by the trespasser. Neff waved to catch Brian’s attention, then pointed.

  “Neff, we can go through the tunnel and—” Ward began.

  “No, he knows they’re in the garage. He’s headed that way.”

  “The freight elevator’s too slow!”

  “Negative! You’ll come up inside after he gets there, and he’ll know we’re underground. We can’t risk that. Get Nili topside and come across over-ground. I’m going to engage. Do the best you can to hurry.”

  ***

  “You can’t be serious!” Melissa shuddered, terror in her eyes.

  “It’s him,” Brian said breathlessly, locking the door.

  “Holy Mother of God,” Malcolm whispered as he peered through the glass of the front window. “Where did he come from? How—aaagghhh!” He looked at Brian, wide-eyed with terrified rage. “It’s the thumb! He gave it to us knowing he could track it.”

  “Does Neff see him?” Brian asked, panic rising inside him.

  “Yeah, he’s calling to the Colonel … moving toward him … no response. He’s still headed this way.”

  “Melissa,” Brian said, trying to stay clear-headed. “Hide—anywhere you can find. I’m the only one he’s seen. Cover yourself with something. Whatever happens, don’t make a sound. Stay hidden—no matter what. Do you promise me?”

  She nodded, unable to speak, and moved toward the rear of the building.

  “Brian!” Malcolm motioned for Brian to join him at the window.

  Neff had broken into a run toward the Colonel, who had not changed his pace. The Colonel only halted his advance when Neff positioned himself between him and the garage about fifty feet from they were watching. Neff said something. Brian felt the familiar chill run through him as saw a sadistic smile crease his enemy’s face. Neff pointed at him and shouted.

  Without warning, Neff’s body careened through the air in their direction. He hit the exterior wall with a startling, violent crash. Then there was silence. The smirking Colonel turned his attention to the window next to the door and locked eyes with Malcolm. He started moving in their direction again.

  Malcolm bent down and withdrew a handgun from his ankle holster. “It may not do any good,” he said, standing up, “but I’m gonna use it until I know there’s no point. Find a weapon—gas, a torch, some chemical, a shovel, anything!”

  ***

  “Hurry!” Madison screamed as Ward and Nili sprinted into the Pit, shoulder holsters draped over their arms. Ward’s alert had spread through Miqlat like wildfire. Madison had been watching a video camera that panned the outside front of the property and had seen Neff go down. Nili quickly punched a code into a gun safe adjacent to the front door and grabbed a TAR, handed it to Malone, then took another. Summit took off running to her room in tears. Clarise and Sabi were watching the screen with Madison.

  “What’s h
appening?” Nili shouted as they headed for the door out of Miqlat. She threw a handgun to Cal. “Stay here with Madison, but be ready!”

  “He’s heading for the garage. Neff’s just lying at the bottom of the wall. He isn’t moving!”

  “Lock down!” Ward yelled at Clarise as he opened the door. “Invasion protocol!”

  Seconds later, they were gone, rushing to the elevator platform.

  Clarise grabbed the handles of Sabi’s wheelchair and headed up the nearest ramp. She steered him toward his room.

  “Sabi, get inside your room and lock down.”

  “Clarise,” he said with a calm that stopped her cold. “Please take me to the tunnel.”

  “What?”

  “The tunnel … that goes to the garage.”

  “Are you crazy? There’s no way—”

  “It is time,” he said softly, looking up at her, completely composed. “The garage is the only place I have never been at Miqlat. That is the unseen place … where the tunnel in my dream leads.”

  Clarise stood over him, dumbstruck. In all their missions, she’d always known exactly what to do, but now she felt completely unprepared. “I can’t do that,” she finally managed to say.

  “You must. God wills it.”

  “But—”

  “Take me to the tunnel. There is little time. My chair will make the journey.”

  “But what are you going to do?” She started to tear up. “He’ll destroy you.”

  “I am not afraid to die. You know this.”

  “I can’t just turn you over to this monster!”

  “Clarise, if you fail to act now, we will be lost. God bids me to defy him in that place. He has a reason. Take me now.”

  Clarise choked back tears. She grabbed the handles of the chair and began to push it at a run.

  75

  Life and death are balanced on the edge of a razor.

  —Homer, The Iliad

  Brian watched the door, illogically expecting it to burst open, spraying splinters into the front section of the garage. Instead he saw the Colonel’s form seep through the doorway.