Battle Sky (The Battle Series, Book 4)

by Mark Romang

  Would it work? He wouldn’t know until they tried.

  Back when Trislio dropped him off in the parking lot, and after Banks had regained his composure, he’d looked through the satchel. When he saw the electronic components he’d been a little confused. Now he knew what they were for, and why they’d been given to him. I understand things other people don’t. I can do things other people can’t do.

  Banks had enough copper tape and integrated circuits to make three RFID tags. As he began working on the other tags, he listened to the conversation going on with his companions.

  “We told you our stories. Now it’s your turn, Mary,” Brooke said. “How did you end up here?”

  “My husband worked in construction. He had his own handyman service. It wasn’t a lucrative business, but we were frugal and managed to pay our bills on time. But then Tom had a terrible work accident. He spent a month in ICU, and then he died. We had just enough life insurance to pay off Tom’s funeral costs. But we didn’t have any medical insurance. The bills quickly overwhelmed me. I lost our house and lived in my car for a long time. I couldn’t find a job, at least one that would provide me with a home, let alone put a dent in Tom’s medical bills.

  “When I no longer had money to put gas in my car, I abandoned it. I started living in the streets. And then the Rapture took place. Three years later when Henrik Skymolt took the world hostage with his mandates, I stopped living in the streets and started living underneath them.”

  “What led you to become a Christ follower?”

  “It wasn’t a what, but a who. A Jew named Jacob Akkerman explained the gospel to me. Jacob is an amazing evangelist. He claims to be one of the 144,000 witnesses mentioned in the book of Revelation. He lives with eleven other Jewish men who spend every day and night evangelizing in the streets. You will likely meet Jacob tomorrow. He goes to all the executions and preaches on the street corners.”

  “Doesn’t he get arrested. How does he get away with proselytizing?” Brooke asked.

  “He has supernatural protection?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “UWC officers have tried many times to arrest Jacob, but when they get within a couple of feet of him they fall to the ground and lay there stunned like they ran into an electric fence. After having this happen to them many times, the officers have simply given up. Jacob and his Jewish companions preach freely.”

  “So Nathan, what if the chip readers fail to recognize these dummy chips?” C.J. asked, steering the conversation back to Tanner’s rescue.

  Banks soldered a connection, and without looking up, said, “Then we’re pretty much screwed.”

  “You never told us how you learned to make RFID tags.”

  “I studied it a little bit at MIT. RFID tracking isn’t new technology. It’s been around since World War II.”

  “But I thought you were a software engineer.”

  “I was, but just because I specialize in writing code doesn’t mean I don’t know anything about hardware applications.”

  “Did you graduate near the top of your class?”

  “C.J., that’s enough.” Brooke scolded.

  “I graduated in the middle of the pack. But I could’ve done better. I didn’t always study like I should’ve.”

  C.J. pointed at the RFID tags Banks had already made. “So how do these things work?”

  “RFID readers transmit an electromagnetic field with their reader antenna. This induced current activates the RFID chip connected to the tag’s antenna. The chip then modulates a response back to the reader. The copper tape that I arranged in loops allows the EM field of the RFID reader to induce current to the antenna,” Banks explained.

  C.J. grinned. “These tags are going to work. I can feel it in my bones.”

  “I only have enough integrated circuits for three tags. So not all of us can go inside the barricade.”

  “I’ll hang back with Mary,” Gretchen offered. “That is, if you’re going with us tomorrow, Mary.”

  “I’ll be there, child. And I welcome your company,” Mary said. “But I’m puzzled how you other three are going to rescue Tanner.”

  “Well, I have a handgun, and so does Brooke. And we have two-way radios. Beyond that, I don’t know,” C.J. said.

  “Just so you know, I’m not shooting anybody,” Brooke declared.

  C.J. shrugged his shoulders. “Fine, I guess I’ll do it singlehandedly then.”

  Banks finished the last RFID tag. He turned off the soldering gun. “Does anybody have any food? I feel like my body is starting to eat itself.”

  “I have a can of mixed nuts in my backpack. It’s the last of our food.” Brooke said.

  “I’m not greedy. The protein in a handful of nuts will do wonders for me,” Banks said.

  Brooke fished in her backpack and retrieved the can of mixed nuts. She handed the can to Banks. He took a handful and passed the can around, but didn’t beginning eating. Once the others all had a chance to get some nuts, he said, “I’ll say a prayer for our food.” Banks bowed his head. “Heavenly Father, you are the one and only God. And you are mighty. You spoke and the world came into existence. By your hand you have kept us alive these last seven years. We believe you did this for a purpose. Help us achieve everything you have in mind for us to complete. We look forward to seeing Jesus appear in the clouds with his army of saints. Please take these nuts and fortify our bodies. I pray that you will bless us with your protection tomorrow, and that you will spare Tanner’s life. In Christ’s name I pray, amen.”

  Banks opened his eyes and popped a filbert into his mouth. He munched the nut slowly, resisting the urge to wolf it down. As he chewed, he couldn’t help but think, I might be eating manna this time tomorrow.

  Chapter 46

  Seattle suburbs—that same moment

  It was the last house on a lonely dead end road; a craftsman-style house from a bygone era. Overgrown shrubs and trees hid most of the home from the road. Long since abandoned, Special Agent Nick Loomis had backed his car into the detached garage and closed the door. He sat in the car, its motor off, a tablet propped against the steering wheel.

  Loomis read and reread the document he had up on the tablet screen. He’d written the document himself. Now he needed to edit it. He’d already ran it through the spelling and grammar check and corrected the errors.

  A lot was at stake.

  Heads would literally roll if the document contained errors: Tanner’s and his.

  The wording had to be just right. Likewise, the tone, tenor and style needed to be spot-on.

  In short, the document needed to look yawn-inducing official.

  Loomis sighed. I can’t find anything wrong with it.

  A USB cable dangled from one side of the tablet. Loomis plugged the other end of the USB cable into a small printer sitting in the passenger seat. The printer was plugged into an adapter in his cigarette lighter. Loomis opened the file options and pushed the print icon on his tablet screen.

  A few seconds later the document printed out on authentic stock used only by the UWC Department of Justice headquartered in Israel, or Sector 1. Loomis flipped his tablet over. He laid another piece of paper onto the tablet back. This paper had a signature on it that he needed to duplicate onto his document. Next, he positioned the printout on top of this paper. Taking a ballpoint pen, he traced the name bleeding through from the underside paper onto his document.

  He worked slowly and continuously with medium pressure applied to the pen. Loomis drew the name in one attempt without lifting his pen. When he finished he looked at the signature he just traced, and compared it with the real thing.

  Forging a signature is extremely difficult. Back when he was still in the FBI, Loomis had worked numerous counterfeiting and forgery cases. He saw firsthand how difficult it is to perfectly forge a signature.

  Even a master forger often screws up, and amateur forgers don’t stand a chance at getting away with the crime. But since he just traced the official signat
ure, Loomis figured he stood a better than average chance at succeeding.

  Loomis took a deep breath. “The signature looks good. It looks legit,” he mumbled to himself.

  What he was doing didn’t set well with him. The irony of his deceitful actions twisted his stomach into knots. He was a lawman through and through. He’d busted forgers before, and felt good about placing cuffs on their wrists.

  But now he was a common criminal just like them. He should do time for this.

  The Great Tribulation has a way of blurring lines. Black bleeds into white and turns everything gray. And out of desperation, good people do bad things they normally wouldn’t do.

  Loomis lifted the lid on the printer and placed his document face down, then closed the lid. He scanned the document with its newly forged signature. And then he printed the document again on the official UWC stock emblazoned with the Department of Justice letterhead.

  Loomis wanted the document to look like it came through a fax machine. He slid the finished product into a manila envelope containing a UWC stamp and seal. He closed the envelope clasp and placed the envelope up onto his dash. Shutting off his tablet, he placed the device onto the passenger seat. He then turned off the dome light and eased his seat back.

  Loomis nestled into his seat. Time to relax now. Grab some shuteye, he thought. Tomorrow will be earthshaking.

  Chapter 47

  Megiddo Valley—Israel

  Standing on Har Megiddo, or Mount Megiddo as it is commonly known, Henrik Skymolt scanned the vast plain below him with pleasure. Immense pride filled his every pore.

  He felt invincible. Unstoppable. And his agenda…inescapable.

  Everywhere he looked he saw warfighters and war machines. The Jezreel Valley spanned twenty miles in length and fourteen miles in width, and there was just enough land area to contain the troops and their equipment. Napoleon Bonaparte once gazed over the Megiddo plain and stated there was sufficient room for all the armies of the world to maneuver here.

  Unquestionably, Skymolt proved Napoleon correct when he amassed the largest army ever assembled in one place. Rows and rows of tanks, SSM missile launchers, self-propelled rocket launchers, and armored personnel carriers were parked and waiting.

  Now it’s time to unleash this firepower colossus on Jerusalem, he thought.

  Skymolt turned and headed for the HQ tent where all the generals of the participating countries sat and waited for him to enter and give the orders to roll southward and attack Jerusalem.

  Vito Abbadelli fell in step with him and struggled to keep up. “Is everything to your liking, Master?”

  “Almost everything.”

  “What remains to be done? Everything appears in place,” Abbadelli said, still dressed in his vestments.

  “I need to make a short trip to the spirit realm,” Skymolt answered. “I will only be gone for a little while. But I will need a place to stash this corpse I reside in.”

  “I have reserved a meat locker in Afula for just this purpose, Master,” Abbadelli said proudly. “The locker is discreet and situated in a quiet part of Afula. I have reserved the entire facility for two weeks. I am certain no one will discover your corpse.”

  “For once you have shown initiative, Vito. I am impressed.”

  “I find joy in serving you, Master. Besides worshiping you, and convincing the world to worship you, I have no other purpose.”

  “We will go to Afula and this meat locker as soon as this meeting adjourns.”

  “Of course, Master. I will go and fetch our Humvee if you wish.”

  “Yes, go Vito. Do it now.”

  Lifting up his liturgical robe so as not to step on it, Abbadelli scurried off just as Skymolt reached the HQ tent. The tall Swede entered the shelter. Portable light stands sat in the corners and provided lighting. In the middle of the room, two large folding tables had been scooted together. Generals and colonels rose eagerly to salute him, knocking over their chairs in the process. Skymolt didn’t salute back. “Please sit down,” he said curtly.

  The commanders picked up their chairs and sat down in them. They looked up at him nervously. Skymolt began his address. “You are making history today, Gentlemen. Today you are beginning the sanitization of the world. When we level Jerusalem today, we will remove the soul of the Jewish race. And the world peace we’ve all dreamt of, will be one step closer to fulfillment.”

  Skymolt began to pace. “I know what you are thinking. Jews live all over the world. But Jerusalem is ground zero, the heartbeat of the Jewish people. And we can kill the snake faster if we cut off its head.”

  General Anatoly Ivanovich spoke up. “Women and children will surely die in this operation. The finger pointing will be intense. Some will accuse us of war crimes, even genocide. Are you prepared to deal with the accusations?”

  Skymolt glared at the Russian general. “Stand up, Anatoly. You too, Dimitri,” Skymolt said, gesturing to Colonel Dimitri Volkov, who sat next to Ivanovich. Skymolt spoke in fluent Russian so there could be no misunderstanding.

  The Russian pair stood to their feet. “Take off your shirts,” Skymolt ordered. The two high-ranking military commanders looked confused, but acquiesced to the demand. “Now exchange your uniform shirts and put them on.”

  “What is the meaning of this?” Ivanovich blustered.

  “Just do what I ask, Anatoly, or I will have you executed within the half hour,” Skymolt fumed. Apparently the three froglike spirits hadn’t been persuasive enough with General Ivanovich, he thought.

  The colonel and the general fumbled with the buttons of their new shirts. As they dressed, Skymolt said, “Dimitri, you are now a general and in charge of this operation. You answer only to me.” Skymolt then turned his attention to Ivanovich. “Anatoly, because you questioned the veracity of this campaign—which borders on insubordination—I am demoting you to colonel. You will answer to Dimitri now.”

  Skymolt turned his attention to a giant map lying on the tables. The map was of Israel, with a large cutout of Jerusalem. Skymolt tapped a portion of the map. “Dimitri, the first thing I want you to do is to put your planes in the air and take out the Iron Dome missile shield deployed near Beersheba. And then I want you to destroy Arrow 2, Arrow 3, Iron Beam and David’s sling. With these missile defense systems out of the way, we can fill the air with surface-to-surface missiles, rockets and heavy artillery. We’ll easily destroy the city wall, overrun Jerusalem with our tanks and infantry and take the city by way of the Kidron Valley. The Jews will scatter like cockroaches when their precious wall collapses.”

  Skymolt didn’t add that he’d personally watched Titus and his four legions breach the walls in AD 70, setting them on fire along with much of Jerusalem in AD 70. From the shadows he’d watched the city fall. Thousands of Jews had died in the fierce battle, many more were captured, and the rest fled for their lives. Of course when he watched Titus destroy Jerusalem, he’d watched it from within his own supernatural skin. Henrik Skymolt hadn’t been born yet. “Are you clear on what I’ve asked you to do, Dimitri?”

  Dimitri Volkov nodded.

  “One more thing, Dimitri. I want the warheads to be packed with chemical and biological agents. Make it happen.”

  Skymolt then turned his attention to the Iranian military leaders. He explained the battle plan to them in Farsi, then repeated the same plan in Arabic to the Syrian and Saudi generals. Finally, he spoke to the Pakistani general in the Urdu language. He wanted everyone on the same page. To do this he had assembled a large team of linguists to act as interpreters to the ground troops and liaisons to the commanders. It did no good to assemble an international army of this massive scale if no one could communicate with one another.

  After he finished instructing the Pakistani general, Skymolt returned his gaze to General Volkov. The newly promoted general appeared nervous. But Skymolt had faith in the diminutive Russian. Although he was somewhat short like Napoleon, Volkov was a competent commander and possessed a calculating mind. Bes
t of all, he was loyal. “It is zero hour, Dimitri. The time for talking is over. Let Armageddon begin.”

  Chapter 48

  Jerusalem

  That same moment

  Hezekiah’s tunnel was originally constructed to transport water from the Gihon Spring outside the city wall to the Pool of Siloam inside the city wall.

  The tunnel was built out of necessity.

  Although the City of David sat in a defensible position atop a hill, the city’s water source situated outside the wall negated the advantages.

  Fearful that the mighty Assyrian army would lay siege to Jerusalem and gain access to the Gihon Spring outside the city, King Hezekiah instructed his engineers to extend a wall around the vulnerable spring and divert its water. His engineers came up with an ambitious plan, and chiseled a 1,750-foot-long tunnel through bedrock beneath the city, and diverted the spring water into the tunnel.

  That was 2,700 years ago.

  In present day Jerusalem, Andrew Maddix and Michael the archangel stood near the Pool of Siloam and underneath an archway that led into the tunnel. Waist-deep water still gurgled through Hezekiah’s tunnel, a testament to the ancient engineers’ ingenuity.

  But water wasn’t the only thing flowing through the narrow tunnel.

  Legions of angels filled the tunnel with Heaven’s glory. No matter that the tunnel was only a few feet high in places and only a narrow two-foot wide opening in other places, the angels poured relentlessly through the tunnel, unencumbered by the tunnel’s small dimensions.

  A rock wall is no obstacle to a spirit, not even a mountain for that matter. The earthly laws of physics don’t apply to the heavenly host in the same way they do to humans. So the angels poured through the tunnel, thousands high and thousands deep, the roar of their wings like rolling thunder.