Mark of the Beast

by Adolphus A. Anekwe

  “Cairo, Egypt? That’s kind of far, isn’t it? Did you happen to know this professor from a previous meeting?” Pearl looked at Dickerson with some admiration.

  “Not really. He fortuitously volunteered his services to me.”

  “What did the good professor say, then?” asked Pearl, crossing her legs and leaning slightly forward.

  “He asked me to substitute the small letter b in the HLA B66 for the capital letter B and then research the ancient use of the small letter b, and to focus my research on ancient philology and the Aramaic languages.”

  “That’s original. Well, did you?” asked Pearl, leaning a little closer.

  “As a matter of fact, I did, and that was done in conjunction with an extensive search at Creighton University library.” Dickerson finally settled down and appeared ready to lecture.

  “What did you find?” Pearl continued to look directly at Dickerson, not bothering to include the audience this time.

  “It so happened that in the small community of Beer-lahai-roi, near Kadesh, located in ancient Canaan, the modern letter b, which was never used in their language, was represented by the number 6 in their Aramaic alphabet. For example, Abner is written as A6ner, also Ibrahim as I6rahim. The same community was also known as ‘the community of people who can see.’”

  “Who can see…? Who…? What can they see?” Pearl appeared puzzled.

  “In ancient times, according to the Old Testament, folks believed that anybody who saw God died immediately. Therefore, whenever God manifests His presence, you must prostrate yourself and dare not open your eyes, lest you die. But the people of Beer-lahai-roi, however, were known to have seen the Almighty and lived.”

  “That’s a very long time ago in history. How did that translate to the twenty-first century?” asked Pearl, looking half perplexed.

  “I’m glad you asked, because in modern Russia, for example, the writing of the figure 6 has a transliteration to the letter b.”

  “Pardon my obvious curiosity, transliteration? What’s that?” Pearl asked, acutely aware of the awkward silence among the audience and the crew members.

  “That’s the changing into corresponding characters of another alphabet or language, which was done over the years in history,” explained Dickerson.

  “But how did that tie to your HLA findings, if I may ask?” Pearl queried.

  “In the Book of Revelation, according to the Catholic version of the New American Bible, chapter 13 verse 18—if you read carefully what it says—I quote: ‘Wisdom is needed here, one who understands can calculate the number of the beast, for it is a number that stands for a person’—end of quote,” Dickerson lectured while gesturing with her right index finger.

  “Yeah, I think I have read that before,” Pearl replied, shaking her head as if unsure whether she did or did not.

  “I interpret it to mean that with some wisdom, and eyes opened—in other words, with a little understanding—one can find the way to calculate that number.”

  “Don’t tell me that you have figured out a way to calculate that number?” asked Pearl, with her mouth slightly ajar.

  “I certainly did.” Dickerson smiled with a sense of assurance. “Look, realizing that the modern Bible is mostly a Greek-to-English translation, and some letters may be absent in some languages, you can intuitively transpose the letter b with the number 6.”

  The silence in the studio was such that you could hear a pin drop.

  Dickerson continued, “If that is too simplistic, then the next question is, why is the HLA antigen located on chromosome six, at position 66? Is that another 666 calculation, or explanation?”

  A speechless Pearl spread her hands and shook her head in disbelief.

  “Now, let’s do some other calculations; are you ready?”

  “Be my guest.”

  “There are three sixes in 666. Six divided by three equals two. B is the second letter of the alphabet. By inference, therefore, b transliterates to 6. These are some of the calculations the Good Book wants us to do. HLA B66, therefore, based on all the evidence, is the location of 666, the stamped image.” Remember the words from Revelation: “No one could buy or sell except one who had the stamped image of the beast … that number is 666.”

  With mouth wide open in obvious astonishment, Pearl said, “You are shi … You nearly made me say a bad word on television.”

  Huge laughter erupted from the previously mute, yet attentive, audience.

  “The implication, the way I see it,” Dickerson said, “is that, in the Book of Revelation, the beast’s number is marked in the person who is a descendant or a chosen disciple of the beast. That marking is in the histocompatible antigen located at position B66. Therefore, with good wisdom, understanding, and appropriate calculations that position actually corresponds to 666.”

  A silent hush fell again on the audience.

  Even Ms. Hanson, with her mouth half open, could not believe what she was hearing.

  “Dr. Dickerson, I admire you immensely,” one of the audience members stated during a brief question period. “My question is; what do we do now?”

  “You know, this is going to be a very controversial issue,” said Ms. Hanson, trying to extrapolate on the question.

  “Listen, over the centuries, every one of God’s manifestations has been controversial,” Dickerson said in a tone of religious authority.

  “But why were you chosen?” Ms. Hanson mused.

  “That, I really don’t know,” Dickerson replied.

  “How … What am I trying to say … How plausible is this?”

  “The correct question actually should be: What if? And why is the revelation being manifested to us now?” Dickerson said.

  “And with that, we will be right back,” Pearl said, looking directly at camera number three.

  6

  THAT EVENING, ABRAMHOFF CALLED Dickerson at the hotel. “You sure made a Revelation believer out of me, but most importantly, you have added a real sense of urgency to the project.”

  * * *

  Back in San Diego, Professor Abdullah called Dickerson from Cairo.

  “Congratulations, we saw you on the KNN evening report. They were talking about your television appearance with that famous woman,” said Professor Abdullah.

  “Pearl Hanson,” Dickerson said.

  “Yes … yes, now let’s hope you can use it the way God intended it to be used.”

  “Inshalla,” Dickerson responded in her limited Egyptian, not sure whether Professor Abdullah could understand what she was saying, especially with her American accent.

  “God willing,” translated Professor Abdullah, as he smiled.

  He promised to keep in touch.

  7

  IT WAS THE MOST watched television show in United States history. The medical and scientific communities were sharply divided on Dickerson’s personal interpretations of the HLA B66 findings. An elderly Catholic priest, who supposedly performed a successful exorcism in St. Louis, Missouri, in 1952, came on national television offering his services to anyone found HLA B66 positive.

  “Doc, you have caused major-league chaos, you know that, don’t you?” suggested Pinkett on the telephone.

  “What do you mean, I caused major chaos?” Dickerson asked.

  “You’re all over the darn channels, and now you have all these nut-balls on TV pretending to know everything.”

  “Pinky, you know everybody is entitled to their opinion. I just explained mine in the simplest way I could.”

  “Doc, I don’t call that simple. That’s as complex as it gets. Now, we don’t know whether we are coming or going.”

  “I think we are going forward—that is, with our project, Officer Pinkett.”

  “Speaking of the project, how is that coming along?”

  “Well, we’ve completed our initial analysis of ten thousand and two inmates in San Diego and L.A., thanks to Dr. Millons.”

  “Wait a minute … Dr. Millons…? Isn’t he that creep who
loves to give you a hard time?”

  “Yeah, that’s him. But guess what?”

  “What?”

  “He’s my assistant now, and he’s working his tail off on the project, probably to show me how sincere he is.”

  “I wouldn’t touch that man with a ten-foot pole, mark my words.”

  “We are in the medical science profession. This is not the precinct.”

  “I guess you are. Anyway, what were you saying, something about initial analysis?”

  “Yes. Our initial analysis showed an almost ninety-four-percent positive HLA on the mass murderers, grotesque killers, and also the psychopathic killers, especially those who exhibited no remorse about their crime.”

  “Darn, you know there are a lot of those in our criminal system now.”

  “Even among those who kill in attempted robbery, carjacking, or drug dealings, a high percentage of them, sixty-two percent, were positive for HLA,” Dickerson continued.

  “With such high percentage, it makes it difficult not to label all criminals B66.”

  “There are far more normal people than these criminals, in case you missed the boat,” reminded Dickerson.

  “Thank God for that.”

  8

  AT THE UNIVERSITY OF La Jolla, a phone bank was set up at the Department of Immunology for the deluge of calls that came for Dr. Dickerson. Her home phone had to be changed to a security-cleared unlisted number. Her department-issued cellular phone number remained the same, however. The Washington Post reported that most letters sent to members of Congress had been in support of Dr. Dickerson, and many of those letters were calling for nationwide testing for HLA B66. The United States Senate, in response, scheduled several behind-closed-doors committee meetings in an effort to provide a measured reaction.

  “I have completed my analysis, with great help from Dr. Millons,” said Dickerson, in reply to a question from Abramhoff. “We have some incredible results.”

  “I heard. How many inmates did you study?” asked Abramhoff.

  “We analyzed five thousand and two. I bet you had doubled that number?” Dickerson inquired.

  “Between all the facilities, we nearly topped six thousand, I think. I have to check to be exact.” Abramhoff sounded upbeat.

  “That’s great. That’s more than the National Institutes of Health required for publication.”

  “Speaking of publication, which journal should we assign to publish this report?”

  “Personally, I have nothing against the Journal of the American Medical Association,” Dickerson said, citing her favorite journal.

  “But, don’t you think, since this is about human behavior, the Journal of Behavioral Science should get the nod?”

  “The problem with that is subscription. The low subscription rate may not fare well for it.”

  “I know. How about the Journal of Immunology? They have a neutral board, and it has an international appeal.”

  “That’s fair, the Journal of Immunology it is,” Dickerson relented.

  “Have you heard that we might be called to a Senate hearing?”

  “No … not really … why?” Dr. Dickerson asked, wondering how Abramhoff acquainted himself with all this political stuff.

  “Just keep it to yourself for now. It may happen in the next few days or weeks.”

  9

  NEW YORK CITY’S PRECINCT Fifty-seven Investigative Detective Edward Tom Pellagrini’s personal habits revolved around reading ghoul, goblin, and ghost novels—“triple G,” he called them. Left to himself, he would rename the precinct the “G-Precinct.” He took great pleasure in taking on the cases that were the most bizarre. For example, his last case, in early June, involved an odd ritualistic crime where real human body parts covered with blood-tinged bird feathers surrounded by coral beads were found in Central Park. He successfully and single-handedly solved that case.

  “A clan of Nigerian immigrants who believe in human sacrifice must have performed such a ritual,” theorized Detective Pellagrini, “as an initiation for membership into the most powerful and notorious Nigerian gang operating in New York City.”

  Prior to the resolution of the case, nobody knew such a gang existed. Detective Pellagrini researched and befriended many Nigerians, and called on a Nigerian historian at Cornell University for help. He pieced together all the information that eventually aided in the arrest and conviction of all the participants of the crime, even though he was unable to infiltrate the gang itself.

  He personally believed that some, but not all, mystery writers have some occult knowledge of the crimes they write about. He sometimes contacted these mystery writers for either an analysis or insight into some of his more complicated cases. Such a case involved a Mr. James “Dean” Bellshaw.

  Mr. Bellshaw, an avowed homosexual, HIV-positive, was on trial in Manhattan Third District Court, Criminal Division, for the rape and murder of seven young runaway boys who had been missing and were last seen around Times Square. Each of the victims had been brutalized. Their bodies were found at various hidden locations around Central Park near the aqueducts, where they could have been easily dumped from an overpass.

  It was Detective Pellagrini, the strict vegetarian, who set the trap that eventually led to the capture of James Bellshaw. He methodically studied the modus operandi of the assailant.

  “Look, let us follow his crimes objectively,” Pellagrini said.

  “Jim, we have been following this crime now for six months,” Detective Stubbs, his partner, reminded him.

  “But we have never looked closely at the pattern,” insisted Pellagrini.

  “I don’t see a pattern,” Stubbs responded, looking around at the others in the station’s small meeting room.

  A bald-headed young man in his late thirties, Stubbs sheepishly more or less followed Pellagrini. He sometimes had an idea, only to be critically and analytically refuted by Pellagrini, an exercise that both took no personal offense at.

  “Me neither. I don’t see any pattern,” Sergeant Maria Chintzy, who had followed the case with Pellagrini and Stubbs, chimed in.

  “Okay guys, pay attention.” Pellagrini picked up a chalk, walked over to the board on the west corner of the detail room, and began to illustrate.

  A slim, fifty-something-year-old gentleman, he hardly ever wore a suit, believing that suits actually masked one’s true identity. Often considered too analytical by the rest of the group, he seldom got invited out to drink with the boys.

  “The first body’s time of death was analyzed to be approximately eight p.m.; the second body, twelve midnight; the third body, three a.m.; and the fourth, four a.m.—all on different days.

  “Then there was a three- to four-week delay.”

  “Three and a half,” Detective Stubbs interrupted in jest.

  “Smarty,” retorted Pellagrini. “Four weeks, then it began again, first at nine p.m., then one a.m., then three a.m., again different days.…”

  “I’m lost,” Chintzy interrupted, looking totally confused.

  “Just bear with me for a second,” begged Pellagrini. “Look at the intervals between the crimes and the days separating each discovery. We have four, three, and one intervals in both the time and the days. Those corresponded to eight p.m., twelve a.m., three a.m., and four a.m. That also corresponded to the number of days apart.

  “Then he started again, four weeks later, and had five and two intervals, again corresponding to nine p.m., two a.m., and four a.m. in time and days apart.”

  “What the heck does all that mean, professor?” hissed Detective Stubbs in exasperation.

  “What does it all mean, gentlemen and lady?” illustrated Pellagrini, posing like a college professor. “I think this guy is trying to give us his address.”

  “You are crazy,” blurted out Stubbs. “Why would he give us his address? So we can go and catch him? Just send us a note and we’ll be done with it.”

  “Maybe he wants us to catch him in a bizarre kind of way, who knows?” an
swered Pellagrini. “A cry for help, just plain crazy, or demonically possessed.”

  “Let him go jump into the Hudson River; that will solve our entire problem,” suggested Chintzy. “Or better yet, just drop us a note like Stubbs suggested.”

  “Not these psychos,” Pellagrini said.

  “So you think he lives at 43152 … what?” Chintzy asked, finally appearing to follow Pellagrini’s logical thinking.

  “It is not 43152 … what.” Pellagrini was anxious to reveal his thoughts. “I think it is number four hundred and thirty-one, on Fifty-second Street. Notice the four-week interval between four hundred and thirty-one and fifty-two.”

  “Far out, Detective, that is funky. I would never have thought of that,” Chintzy said, nodding her head.

  “So what do we do now? Arrest everyone living in the building on suspicion of murder?” asked Stubbs.

  “No,” Pellagrini said. “I don’t think he’s finished yet. I believe his next move is for the apartment number. It’s been two weeks now and no bodies have been found. However, we are not going to wait for him. I suggest we set a trap for him.”

  “How do we do that?” Stubbs asked, showing an objection. “The last trap we tried nearly cost a life.”

  “We need to start canvassing the building this time, taking nightly pictures of all suspicious characters, follow them randomly to various locations in the city, and see where that leads us.”

  “That will need a lot of manpower, you know what I mean,” said Stubbs.

  “And maybe womanpower, too,” corrected Chintzy.

  “Well, excuse me.” Stubbs rolled his eyes in resignation.

  “I will have a meeting with the chief tomorrow, and I need everyone’s support,” Pellagrini said.

  “You got mine,” Stubbs and Chintzy said almost simultaneously.

  Detective Pellagrini was able to convince the chief of his plan. The plan was approved, and within two days twelve officers were assigned to the project.

  After four days of active daily surveillance, Mr. James Bellshaw was subsequently picked up. He was followed twice to Central Park. On each occasion, he stopped at the north-end drive near the pond, came out, surveyed a particular area, then drove back home. Each occurrence happened late in the evening. A thorough search of his two-bedroom apartment revealed videos of older men with young boys in various sexual acts. Also a bracelet and an earpiece that were discovered eventually matched those of victims six and seven. He was charged with their murders pending further investigation of the other victims.