The Rapture Dialogues: Dark Dimension (The Second Coming Chronicles Book 1)

by Terry James

He paused again, his forehead beading sweat, his throat constricting and dry because of the intensity of the sermon he had spent the past 45 minutes preaching with all his might.

  “It is happening again,” he said, then let his eyes dart from face to face to see their expressions. The many faces were still locked in awestruck silence.

  “We have entered the time that Jesus foretold would break upon the world when His coming again draws near. I’ve been shown by our omniscient Lord that we are now in a time like it was in the days of Noah, the days just before he and the seven others entered the Ark.”

  “What’s this all about?”

  James Morgan’s question broke the several minutes of silence in which the three men had been riding. They drove southward on the road adjacent to the flight line on the western side of Randolph Air Force Base.

  “Sorry, Colonel. We really don’t know, exactly,” the taller, slimmer agent said from the passenger-side seat while the other agent drove the dark blue government sedan toward the dark-glassed portable structure setting on the west-side flight line, 50 yards from the hangars.

  “That’s the President’s mobile command center. Are we going there?” Morgan said, moving his head to see the structure that loomed ahead.

  “Yes, sir,” the agent riding shotgun said.

  The squat, one-room edifice, completely encased by thick, nearly black glass-plastic composite windows, was set in place any time LBJ came to the San Antonio area. Although no one really knew all its functions and purposes, it had communications that could reach from where it sat to anywhere in the world, any time, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.

  It sat there now in the brilliant Texas sun, ominous in its presence, a few blue Air Force vehicles parked nearby.

  James felt his anxiety rising, the Jack Daniels’ effects not strong enough to help him maintain the composure he wished for now. What, he wondered, could be so important as to bring him to the President’s mobile command center on a Sunday afternoon? Maybe he would meet some extraterrestrials…

  His silent musing brought an inward smile, while the agent brought the car to a stop near the portable building’s main entrance.

  An agent, probably Secret Service, Morgan surmised, opened the door when the men walked up the few steps. He said nothing but stepped to one side to allow the three men to walk into the big room. No one else was in the building.

  Tables and desks were arranged throughout the room, with five television monitors atop pedestals. Several phones were scattered about the desks’ tops. James noticed there was only one red phone. He glanced more closely. “White House/LBJ Ranch” was printed on its broad base, which housed several batteries of buttons.

  “He will be here in eight minutes,” the agent who had opened the door said. The others nodded.

  “How’s the wife and kid?” the thirty-something agent said to the stockier of the two men who brought James to the command center.

  “Fine. She’ll be 13 this week,” the agent responded.

  “Thirteen!” the agent who had asked said. “Now you’re in for it…”

  “Yeah. That’s what I hear,” the man said, scanning through the dark glass to determine if the objective of their wait was in sight.

  “You have a daughter, Colonel,” the taller agent who had brought him said. The revelation that the man knew the fact told James they had investigated his personal life. The thought wasn’t comforting.

  “Got any advice for Agent Ballard?”

  “Patience,” Morgan said. “They do outgrow some of it.”

  He started to ask the agent how he knew about his daughter. It wasn’t necessary. James knew how, and why. They all knew. Since the incident when his friend Clark Lansing had disappeared, they knew everything about him, about his family…

  “They are here,” the man who had let them in the command center said. The other two men almost snapped to attention. James remained seated.

  “Good afternoon, sir,” the greeter said when a short man with graying, thinning hair walked through the door, followed by several other men. The man nodded to the agent who held the door open but said nothing. His eyes darted quickly until he found James Morgan.

  “Col. Morgan,” he said with a smile that seemed almost a grimace. He offered his hand.

  James, after rising from the chair, felt the short, powerful grip, the hand having a tinge of roughness. This was a hand used for things other than pushing pencils. Probably handled the roughened bars of weights in regular workouts.

  “I’m Bob Cooper,” the fifty-something year old man said, pumping James’ hand cordially. “I work at the Defense Department.”

  “Yes, sir. I know who you are,” Morgan said, wishing he hadn’t.

  “Oh? Well. I don’t know whether that’s good or not,” Cooper said with a slight laugh. “I’m in covert operations. We’re supposed to have low profile.”

  Bet that’s hard to do, when you’re always in the news, summoned to testify before Congress, James wanted to say, but only thought it.

  “Good to meet you, sir,” James did manage to say. He studied the blue-gray eyes that studied him back.

  “Well, I hope you can still say it’s nice to know me after we’ve had our talk,” the deputy director of Covert Operations for the U.S. Department of Defense said. The words were matter-of-fact. Neither threatening, nor joking.

  “Gentlemen,” Cooper said, looking at the men who had accompanied him, then glancing at the other two agents. “Col. Morgan and I will be fine here. We need some privacy, if you don’t mind.”

  “Sir. You have the meeting at 3:30,” one of his assistants said.

  “Yes. Please give me at least 30 minutes with the colonel.”

  With that, the assistant left the command center with the others.

  The stocky man wore a perfectly tailored gray suit. Probably a thousand dollars or more, James thought, not knowing why he would be so observant about such a minor thing when his stomach was churning like a taffy-twisting machine.

  “I think you know, at least in a general sense, what this is about, Colonel,” Cooper said, turning from his pacing to face Morgan.

  “Has something to do with my talking with Capt. Lansing, I was told,” he said firmly, his growing agitation overpowering his nervousness.

  “Sit,” the deputy director said with a motion of his right hand, not demanding, but bidding.

  Both men took seats at a long table, directly across from each other.

  “Colonel, I think you realize that you’ve breached the…understanding…this government has always had with you since…the incident.”

  James Morgan said nothing for several seconds, but felt anger beginning to rise. He said, “What are you people doing to me? What are these nightmares, or visions, or whatever they are, Mr. Cooper?” His question was tinged with the emotional fire he felt.

  “What nightmares?” The deputy director seemed genuinely in the dark.

  “You don’t know about my sleep-walking, the staring into the sky, the mumblings?”

  James saw in the man’s eyes a vacant look, the eyes shifting as if watching marbles roll back and forth along the table-top. He seemed to try to recall any intelligence he had stored on the matter. Deputy Director Robert G. Cooper was a good, very practiced liar.

  “You’ve had these nightmares of what?” Cooper asked.

  “I can’t remember them, but my wife has had to bring me in from the balcony outside our apartment a number of times.”

  “How do you know they are associated with the things we’re talking about? Your agreement to keep these matters to yourself?”

  James felt the temperature of anger increase a degree. “I didn’t agree to go insane,” he said.

  “These things haven’t been brought to our attention, Colonel. Your physicals don’t indicate any mental abnormalities, according to the reports I’ve seen.”

  Both men sat without speaking for several seconds before Cooper broke the silence. “What does this have to
do with Capt. Lansing? Why are you telling him these things about the incident?”

  “How do you know what I told the captain?” James said with defiance in his tone. “Never mind. I know you have your ways. I don’t begrudge security.”

  “Col. Morgan…we must keep this matter within the proper confines. We went over all that with you a long time ago. Hasn’t the government lived up to our side of the agreement? Haven’t you had the assignments you requested?”

  James said nothing, analyzing the deputy director’s words for peripheral meanings.

  He wanted to lambaste Cooper about the matter of the slowness of his attaining rank but thought better of it. His question could be easily deflected with something like an assertion that that area wasn’t within Cooper’s jurisdiction. It would make himself seem petty and self-serving.

  “Capt. Lansing came to me, Mr. Director. He’s got problems himself. Along the same lines that I have,” James said with a calmer demeanor.

  “How? You mean he has these nightmares, or whatever?”

  “Come, now, Mr. Director. How can you know that I told him about Clark Lansing, his father, and not know about my and his problems when we sleep?”

  The deputy director’s face took on a steely expression. He leaned forward on his elbows, his fingers clinched against his chin while he spoke.

  “Okay, Colonel. We’ll quit playing cute games. We know all about your mental…shall we call them for now…glitches? We know about Capt. Lansing’s visitations.”

  The blunt admissions made James’s mind snap to increased alertness. The word, in particular, struck like an ice pick in the eye. “Visitations!”

  “You haven’t any idea what is involved here, Colonel, believe me. You don’t want to know,” Cooper said, his icy tone stabbing through the tension between them.

  “Colonel, you are hereby ordered by your government to keep these things confined to the circle, which you have seen fit to expand.”

  The deputy director sat back in the chair and eyed Morgan, who sat, elbows on the table, his fingers intertwined over his mouth, his thumbs supporting his chin.

  “And, that circle, I have to tell you, now includes your daughter.”

  James poured the Jack Daniels over the ice cubes, gave the liquid a few sloshes by circling the glass in the air, and then downed the liquor. He thought that he had just broken his vow to have no more drinks today.

  He poured more, thinking how he might as well break the vow right.

  “Okay, Smilin’ Jack, you wanna tell me about it?”

  Laura’s tone was light, but James knew her question was serious. She wanted answers. He didn’t feel like keeping secrets any more, the drinks already beginning to loosen his tongue.

  “They’ve involved our girl in this thing…”

  The words sounded as disturbing to himself, as to his wife.

  She didn’t say anything for several seconds, trying to understand his meaning.

  “The Roswell thing?” she said, then, realizing it was the only thing that could disturb him to this extent.

  James took another swallow of the Jack Daniels.

  “Said it’s my fault for widening the circle of people who know about the…the incident,” he said, his words almost without emotion.

  “No less than the deputy of Covert Operations for the DOD--Robert Cooper. He ordered me to shut my yap, or else.”

  “Or else what?” Laura asked, her mind racing. What did it mean? Her daughter would be under the prying eyes and ears of the government?

  “Who knows?” James said, starting to pour another drink.

  Laura snatched the glass from his hand, poured the ice into the sink, put the Jack Daniels bottle in the cabinet and shut the door.

  “We need you rational, Jimmy. Not flying higher than one of those jets you love so much,” she snapped.

  The name sobered him. She never used the name “Jimmy” unless she was getting angry with him.

  “I know, Super L. I’ve got to think this thing through.”

  “We both have to think it through,” Laura said, her anger beginning to rise above her concern for their daughter. “They’re not going to get away with interfering in Lori’s life!”

  Lori sat in the chair beside the table in the small apartment’s living room, the phone to her ear.

  “Mom. We’re back. Had a great time at New Braunfels, ate some German stuff, then drove up to see some friends at San Marcos. You remember Jodie and Melissa?”

  Mark was skeptical as he reclined with his legs stretched out the length of the sofa. But Lori seemed to know her parents would go along with the plan.

  “Listen, Mom. I don’t know how else to say it. I’m spending the night at Mark’s officer quarters.”

  Mark watched Lori’s blue eyes sparkle, her nose crinkling with a stifled laugh while she heard her mother go berserk at the other end of the line.

  “Oh, Mom. Have a little faith,” Lori said, and then listened again for several seconds.

  “Mom, Mom! Now listen to me for just a second, and I’ll explain.”

  Lori paused, looking over to Mark and winking.

  “Okay. It’s strictly a scientific venture. Seriously, Mother, we want to see if Mark has another of the sleep things like Dad goes into. I’m going to sit up and try to record it to see if he says anything.”

  Mark watched Lori thinking, her expression having lost its humorous glow.

  “Is Daddy okay?” she asked in a concerned voice.

  Mark twisted from his reclining position and swung his legs into a sitting position.

  “If you think I should be with you, I’ll …”

  She listened to Laura, her expression displaying mild surprise.

  “Okay. See you in about half an hour when I pick up some things. Goodbye.”

  “Something wrong?” Mark said.

  “Mother said Dad’s gone to bed. He’s upset.”

  “About what?”

  “Me. She said somebody from the Department of Defense chewed him out today. Said they practically threatened him. He told her they’ve included me in their…how do you say it? Their surveillance operation.”

  She sat beside him on the sofa.

  “What do you think it means?”

  “Your father knows what it means. It makes him sick, and I don’t blame him,” Mark said, more to himself than to Lori.

  “It’s the whole thing about Roswell, the disappearance of my dad. You now know everything, and they want to make sure that knowledge about those things stays confined to as few as possible.”

  Both were quiet, thinking their separate thoughts. Finally, Lori spoke.

  “Nobody believes that stuff. Why are they even concerned? Only kooks and nuts think anything of the UFO reports.”

  “That’s why Col. Morgan is more concerned than ever, the reason it concerns me.”

  “I don’t understand,” Lori said, gripping his right arm and laying her face against his shoulder.

  “It means there’s got to be something to all of this alien sightings stuff.”

  Lori stood at the small kitchen sink an hour and forty minutes later, drying the few dishes Mark had left strewn along the countertop over the days since taking up residence.

  “Why are you worrying with those?” he asked, watching her from the kitchen table where he stood brushing his teeth.

  “If you knew me, you would know I’m a clean Nik,” she said, continuing to dry a saucer with a hand towel. “Besides, it would just pile up if somebody didn’t…”

  Mark now stood beside her. He rinsed his mouth out and spit in the sink, then rinsed again.

  He wiped his mouth with a nearby towel and threw his arms around her, pulling her close.

  She pushed away at first, but relaxed when he kissed her, deeply, but tenderly.

  When their lips parted, she looked into his eyes, her face reddened by her surge of emotion. She blew her breath through pursed lips, as if letting steam escape.

  “You sho
uldn’t do that if you don’t mean it,” Lori whispered.

  “Did it feel like I meant it?” Mark asked softly.

  She said nothing, but nodded yes, her eyes glancing downward, then back to meet his.

  “I love you, Lori Morgan,” he said, just before their lips came together again in a lingering kiss.

  He surprised himself with the words he had long been sworn never to say to any girl until his flying time for the military was finished. He had watched as his friends fell one by one to their loves, and to the SAMs of Vietnam. He must never follow their mistakes…

  All reservations went out the window in one moment of epiphany, when he saw this beautiful young woman standing there at his kitchen sink--looking every bit the domestic wife. Two days with her and he knew, knew without the slightest doubt whatever, there was none other for him.

  “Wow,” she said softly, thinking how foolish the word sounded in her own ears, but not caring whether it sounded foolish to him.

  “You take the bed,” Mark said. “I’ll take the sofa.”

  They continued to hold each other close. Lori looked upward into his eyes.

  “You don’t have to take the sofa…you know? It’s a double bed,” she said.

  Mark didn’t respond for a moment but took her by her hand. He stopped with her at the door to the small bedroom. He kissed her again, and they embraced for a long minute of silence.

  “I’m not a guy with great character or anything,” he said, looking deeply into the trusting eyes that wanted only to show him she loved him in return.

  “Some guys would say I’ve completely lost my mind, and, maybe I have,” he said. “But, I do love you, Lori. I want to prove it by doing something I probably would never do with any other girl. I…I want to wait. It’s important for both of us that we wait.”

  He saw tears trickle in thin streams from the corner of one of her eyes, then from the corner of the other. He reached to brush them away with an index finger.

  “Do you understand?”

  She said nothing, but nodded yes, her eyelids lowering before looking again at him.

  She loved him too, with all her heart, all her being. His insistence that they wait sealed her love for him with a burning, searing certainty that the heat and throes of passion could never have.