Angels of Light - Beyond the Veil

by Mark Vance

  “Do you want your Bible back?” Steve taunted, matching Ray Wilkins fixed stare, and refusing to show the entity any hint of fear. “I don’t have it, but I picked this one up in duty free.” he cajoled, retrieving a small, King James Bible from his travel bag and openly daring the entity to respond. Ray Wilkins retreats a half step, but continues staring menacingly at him as the tram slowly rumbles along the dimly lit corridor toward Terminal A.

  After what seems like an eternity, the tram finally slows to a stop in the lower level of Terminal A. The doors open and dozens of travelers depart in unison, heading for the up escalator to the ground level of the terminal building. Burdened with both checked and carry on luggage, he struggles to keep pace and avoid being left behind. Reaching the escalator, he discovers that among the group of hurried travelers on the escalator with him, he is sandwiched between Ray Wilkins ahead of him, and Cole Johnson behind him. He then recalls his epiphany aboard the airplane at mid-ocean, that the battlefield in this struggle is mostly in his mind, and that he must take every thought captive. Grasping his new duty free Bible, he closes his eyes and asks his Creator for heavenly protection and spiritual strength in the battle with pure evil that surrounds him. When he opens his eyes, expecting an outright physical confrontation, both entities have vanished, there is no imminent confrontation, and for the moment no further trace of the skulking demons.

  “Lucky for them. I was just starting to get mad.” he joked, carefully scanning the environment around him.

  Seconds later, the escalator deposits him on the ground level of Terminal A, and the bright sunlight streaming through the curbside windows provides welcome relief. He strolls outside, near curbside check in, but Kay is nowhere in sight. Anxious to keep moving, he dials her cell phone and she answers on the second ring.

  “Where are you? I’m here at Terminal A.” he declared, still automatically searching the faces of everyone passing by.

  “A cop made me move.” Kay stated. “I’m circling back around to the entrance. I should be there in two minutes.”

  “I’ll be the good looking one out front.” he joked. “See you when you get here.”

  Immediately after hanging up, his cell phone rings. Thinking it must be Kay, he doesn’t check the caller ID.

  “I’m still here.” he declared sarcastically.

  “Hello? Is this Mr. Lacey, Mr. Steve Lacey?” the caller asked insistently.

  “Yes. What can I do for you?” he replied.

  “This is Brandon Winston, senior aid to Senator Bancroft. How are you today Mr. Lacey?”

  “Why? Are you taking a survey?” he retorted.

  “Oh, no sir. I’m calling on behalf of Senator Bancroft. He would like to schedule a meeting with you to discuss your recent trip to England.” the aid announced mechanically.

  “Is he tracking me? Steve said accusingly.

  “Oh, no sir. The senator received a call from our Intelligence officials in Washington, D.C. Apparently they received a call from their British counterparts at MI5.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Well, Mr. Lacey. Senator Bancroft was asked by our Intelligence officials to debrief you regarding your trip. When would be a convenient time for you?” the aid asked bluntly.

  “How about half past never?” he replied sharply.

  “Sir?”

  “You may inform Senator Bancroft that I’m satisfied he doesn’t need to know what really happened to the James Tyree Bomber Crew.” he snapped. “And I would also appreciate it if you would lose my number. Goodbye …”

  He is still grinning seconds later when Kay pulls up in front of the terminal in his classic Ford pickup truck.

  “I thought you didn’t like driving my truck.” he teased, climbing into the right seat and exchanging a kiss with Kay.

  “You sure are in a good mood considering.” she stated.

  “Yes I am. I just got off the phone with Senator Bancroft’s office.”

  “Why on Earth would you call him?” she asked startled.

  “I didn’t call him. Suddenly, he wants to talk to me.” he replied with a smirk.

  “Are you going to listen to what he has to say?” Kay asked curiously.

  “No, but I imagine he’s involved in a lot of screaming and hair pulling right now.”

  “You didn’t.” she said, eyeing him accusingly.

  “Oh, yes I did! Now, it’s his turn to sweat.” he stated emphatically, as Kay steered the Ford pickup truck toward the airport exit.

  PART III

  SPIRITUAL LEGACY

  Chapter Seven

  Encore

  “Destruction is certain for those that say evil is good and good is evil.” Isaiah 5:20

  When the Lacey’s finally arrive home, they are unable to enter. Two black Suburbans, with U.S. Government license plates, are parked at their residence, one in the middle of the driveway and the other at the front, curbside. As Steve peers through the front windshield of the vehicle at the curb, it appears to be occupied by several men, and judging by their reaction to the Lacey’s arrival, they’ve been waiting quite awhile.

  “Well, it looks like the senator got my message.” Steve said sarcastically, flashing a mischievous grin at Kay.

  “What do you want me to do?” she asked excitedly, as if seriously contemplating a hasty retreat.

  “Relax …” he implored, grasping her knee for emphasis. “This is nothing compared to what I’ve just been through. Follow my lead and let me do all the talking.” he instructed, as Kay carefully parked the Ford pickup near the front curb and shut off the engine.

  Immediately, doors opened in both Suburbans, and a half dozen intense looking men approached the Lacey vehicle, dividing into two groups at the last moment to cover both sides of the truck.

  “Are you Steve Lacey?” the lead agent asked.

  “No. We’re Bonnie and Clyde.” Steve replied.

  The humorless, and now semi-irritated man stared at both of them intently, and then slowly repeated the question. “Are you Steve Lacey?”

  “Okay, you got me. I’m Steve Lacey. This is my wife, Kay. What can we do for you?” he replied, nonchalantly.

  “I’m Agent Prentice, Defense Intelligence Agency.” the man declared, flashing U.S. Government credentials. “Senator Bancroft needs to debrief you regarding your trip immediately. We have been instructed to escort you to his office.”

  “Do we have a choice?” Steve asked sarcastically.

  “No, sir. We were ordered by the senator to escort both of you immediately.”

  “Are we under arrest?” Steve asked, still trying to sound casual.

  “No, sir. You’re under escort.” the agent replied, as the group of DIA agents ushered Steve and Kay toward one of the awaiting Suburbans.

  Forty-five minutes later, the Lacey’s arrive in the parking garage of a large corporate office complex in downtown Atlanta, and are hastily shown to the office of the Senior Senator from Georgia. Twenty-five minutes elapse, in awkward silence, until the government imposed detention is interrupted by a single agent responding to a radio message in his ear piece. After listening intently for a moment, he cryptically declares, “Senator Bancroft is three minutes out.”

  Steve nods and sarcastically proclaims, “I hope I can stay awake that long. It was a long ride home from London.”

  The agent, sporting a crew cut that denoted ex-marine, is unresponsive, and resumes an uninterrupted, poker faced stare at an imaginary point in open space. The scene is surreal and stereotypical, but Steve is too tired to exploit it for comic relief. He looks at his watch and tries to calculate the length of time it’s been since he had a decent night’s sleep. His mind and body feel like they just flew a West Coast red eye and then ran a marathon. He passes the remainder of the government imposed time out reflecting on the negative effect of sleep deprivation, until his drifting thoughts are interrupted by a door opening, voices resounding, and a portly man with a shock of gray hair entering the room.

  �
�Captain Lacey? I’m Senator Bancroft.” the self-important figure declared, offering a weak politician’s handshake. “And you must be Mrs. Lacey … may I call you Kay?” he asked, feigning sincerity and extending a second handshake toward Kay.

  “Yes, of course.” she replied, returning the warm buttermilk handshake, but ever-conscious of the fact that this was the man responsible for having them both involuntarily summoned to downtown Atlanta.

  “Do you mind telling me why we’re here?” Steve interrupts, openly contesting the involuntary nature of the impromptu meeting and all the contrived politeness.

  “Certainly. Be seated and we’ll get right to it. I know you must be exhausted after that long flight.” the senator suggested, probing for common ground.

  “Couldn’t this have waited a day or two?” Steve demanded, eyeing the senator suspiciously.

  “Well, Captain Lacey, I ask you to bear with us. This is a matter of very high level national security, and it’s important that we understand exactly what you learned on your trip to England. This meeting is an opportunity for you to share with us everything you learned about the Black Hameldon Bomber crash.” the senator proclaimed, eyeing Steve warily but also probing for the slightest hint of any uncertainty.

  “An opportunity? Like I’m supposed to seize the moment?” Steve exclaimed.

  “You could say that … “ the senator replied awkwardly.

  “Well, senator … I believe you already know what happened to the Black Hameldon Bomber and exactly why it crashed. This is just a fishing expedition to see if your fifty year old cover story is still intact. You know what happened to those men and you also know that its shameful, a travesty of justice, and the epitome of betrayal. We both know they deserved a lot better.” he decreed, before adding … “And you also know that the United States Government got away with it!”

  “I see.” the senator said, visibly recoiling at the scathing assessment.

  “Now, here’s the weird part, senator. As culpable as the United States Government and Office of Strategic Services are in all of this, I’m just not that interested in that aspect of it. I’m contending with something much more sinister than an agency of the United States Government. You see, senator, I’m in the middle of a spiritual battle.” he stated firmly, offering the senator an unblinking, icy stare, and daring him to say something inappropriate.

  “A spiritual battle you say …?” the senator echoed, suppressing his reaction to the strange declaration and trying desperately to avoid the appearance of mocking.

  “I don’t expect you to understand or appreciate such things, senator. Most people are ignorant when it comes to spiritual matters. Rest assured however, that I know everything you know about the Black Hameldon Bomber crash and a lot more. I know that those responsible for it in the U.S. Government got away with murder. The people in power always get away with murder, at least on this side of the veil. Justice for all of you will only come when God judges everyone for what they’ve done during their time on Earth. You have no reason to fear what I might say or do, senator, but you should be absolutely terrified that you’ll have no answer for God on judgment day.” he declared, watching the unsettling pronouncement fall heavily on the senator.

  “Now, see hear a minute …” the senator stammered, reeling at the thought of impending judgment and corresponding punishment by the Supreme Being of the universe.

  “Take it easy, senator. You’re still in charge. It’s just that I don’t see the Black Hameldon Bomber crash as a national security issue, like you do. I see it as just another element of the struggle between good and evil. You, and the people you represent are evil, and if you don’t change your ways all of you are destined to experience a satanic landlord throughout eternity.” he exclaimed. “Now, unless you’re going to arrest us, I’d like to get some sleep before your future landlord returns for an encore.”

  “Aren’t Christians supposed to love people and care about their souls and where they spend eternity?” the senator chided, trying to recover lost momentum.

  “Indeed, and only God Almighty can truly read someone’s heart, senator, but the rest of us can perceive the clues of a hardened heart, and your heart could crack walnuts. There appears to be no humanity in any of you people. None of you seem to be righteously indignant, or have your sensibilities even slightly offended by the fact that fifteen brave men were murdered on their way home after saving the world. Scripture tells us that “you will know them by their works,” and your only concern at this late date is whether or not your cover story will still fly! Therefore, you senator, are beyond my help.” he stated emphatically, rising to leave.

  “Not so fast, Captain!” the senator exclaimed. “We aren’t finished yet!”

  “Now what?” Steve demanded.

  “Would you be willing to sign a nondisclosure agreement regarding the Black Hameldon Bomber crash?” the senator asked flatly. “It’s standard procedure for any American citizen handling classified information.”

  “You have to be kidding!” Steve retorted. “I haven’t handled any classified information! I learned the truth from your future landlord! Besides … who would I tell? The news media? Their approval rating is in the gutter with yours!” he taunted. “I told you this is a spiritual battle, senator. You and your ego just don’t get it. You’re a bit player, a side show in all of this.”

  After an awkward silence, the senator ominously declared, “keep in mind that we have ways of getting what we need. I’m sure the last thing someone in your position needs is trouble with the IRS or perhaps the FAA? You understand me, don’t you, Captain?”

  “Better than you seem to understand me.” Steve replied. “You’re just adding to the list of things you’ll have no answer for on judgment day.”

  “Very well, Captain. Thank you for taking the time to discuss this matter with us. I’m glad we were able to come to a mutual understanding that assures your cooperation.” the senator said mechanically.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Take Mr. and Mrs. Lacey home, Agent Prentice. I’ve got a few phone calls to make.” the senator directed. “I’ll be here waiting when you get back.” he added, offering a halfhearted, departing handshake to Steve and Kay as they rose to leave.

  “Good luck with your spiritual battle, Captain.” the senator said with mildly suppressed sarcasm.

  “And good luck with yours, senator. You should know that the first step in winning a spiritual battle is recognizing the fact that you’re in one.” he stated flatly, before abruptly turning to exit the senator’s office.

  Less than an hour later, Steve and Kay are back at their residence, temporarily unshackled from governmental third party interference. Steve jumps into his classic Ford pickup, starts the engine, and carefully pulls the truck into the garage. Waiting outside, Kay unlocks the back door to the home, but pauses in the doorway, hesitant to enter.

  “What’s the matter?” he asks curiously, after securing the truck and exiting the garage.

  “Nothing. I just need a big, strong, handsome man with me before I go in.” she replied coyly.

  “Really? How long before he gets here?” he quipped.

  “Oh, he’s here now.” Kay giggled, motioning for him to enter first.

  As he enters the home through the back door, he is welcomed by two very excited German Shepherds. Everything appears normal, with the exception of the answering machine on the built-in kitchen desk, which is repeatedly flashing the number twelve.

  “Wow! We’re really popular all of a sudden!” he exclaimed, rewinding the tape and listening to a diatribe of incoming messages as Kay simultaneously unloads dirty laundry from his suitcase into the adjacent laundry room. Most of the messages are from Senator Bancroft’s office, appealing for an urgent meeting in the interest of national security. Two are from family members of the Tyree Bomber Crew, including James Tyree’s widow, Jennie, soliciting updates on his trip to England. Those would be particularly difficult calls to make he realized, as
Kay continued emptying the contents of his suitcase. Near the end of the lengthy playback, he paused to listen to the voice of a female secretary at one of the large seminaries in the Atlanta Metro area, offering to schedule a meeting with one of the seminary’s prominent theologians. Apparently, the senior pastor of Lacey’s church solicited additional assistance on his behalf after their abbreviated and decidedly inconclusive meeting weeks ago.

  “That sounds somewhat promising.” he said, replaying the message a second time for clarity.

  “You really should talk to him. He might have personal experience with this sort of thing.” Kay suggested.