Book 1 The Pawns of Prophecy

1.15 The Grandmaster

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Book I: Chapter 15
June 12

My vision of Benedict and his conspirators continued. After the professor’s revelation about The Seven Seals, all three of them turned inward — examining their thoughts.

Antonio Abbracciavento seemed to realize that the subject that he had devoted his life to was unfolding before his very eyes – although now it appeared he didn’t have the stomach for it.

Meanwhile Teri seemed to be relishing every moment. And as for Benedict, well it was obvious that he still had a major part to play before he could finally retire to that much desired rest, (but I couldn’t help thinking of the proverb: He who digs a hole, falls into his own pit).

Eventually Antonio spoke further about the terrible implications of the Seven Seals (And for the most part, he explained my work quite well). Yet, it was all he could do to hold himself together and he noticeably shook during his monologue.

For his part Benedict listened stoically, detaching himself from the grim horrors that the professor described. Once Antonio finished, The Pope added his thoughts, “Dreadful? Yes. Necessary? Absolutely. After all, we must remember — the sheep were made to be shorn. It is their role in The Great Play.”

“All things work together for The Good.” Antonio patted his daughter’s hand as if to console her, yet I knew he was trying to convince himself more than anyone else.   

“You are not responsible for this, Antonio.” Benedict advised. “Just because you have the foreknowledge of the crime doesn’t make you guilty of it.” The oldster was about to reply, but got tongue-tied instead and the Pope sensed his fear, “Sharing what you know with the world will NOT stop the events from happening. Do not even think of such a foolish act.”

Teri looked at her father in horror. “Papa! You were not contemplating this were you?”

Again, Antonio stuttered – further convicting himself.

(Fool. Don’t you realize that God has a plan and things will happen in His time and His time alone.

We are all just the pawns of prophecy – whether we act or not.  

That’s why I don’t care anymore – after all, it doesn’t matter what Antonio, me, or any of us do — He already knows how it will all turn out!)

“Get control of yourself, Abbracciavento.” The Pope grated. “You’d be a fool to reveal such knowledge to the world. No one would believe you. More importantly, The Wheel of Time WILL turn and December 21st will arrive regardless of what you do.”

“Father will do no such thing.” Teri quickly changed the subject. “And speaking of December 21st, wouldn’t you like to hear about Mr. Bates?”

“The rascal is proving to be quite a genius, eh?” Pope Benedict said.

“Indeed. He is becoming a power by literally buying the world.”

“Everybody wants the Identichip, eh?”

“Did you know many nations have stopped accepting trade unless they are paid in E-Yuans through the Identichip? Nobody has confidence in the financial backing of ANY country – except the Bates Foundation blockchain system administered from the World Economic Forum. That’s why people are so desperate to be implanted with an IdentiChip and why UN is recommending it. Even Putin is on board – although I’m sure there’s a back door deal or two in play.”

“So, Mr. Bates has the world by the balls and now the UN wants to sell our souls back to him?” Benedict summarized. “And yet I say — what the wicked dread will overtake them. Yet so be it, friends – for let’s not lose sight of the prize.”

“The Triumph of Christ” by Gustave Dore

Your Grace, what will happen now?” Antonio asked.

“I would bet The Brotherhood is going to have Ban Ki-Moon removed – soon.” The pope was quick to reply. 

“Assassination of The UN Secretary General?” Antonio gasped.

“Father, don’t interrupt.” Teri hushed him.

“That would be the next logical move.” The Pope explained, making the motion to wash his hands of the matter. “And there’s not much we can do to stop it – as I said, the Wheel of Time will move forward of its own accord. Once Ki-Moon is out of the way, the picture becomes much clearer for our adversary.”

“Bill Bates will be elevated to power – just in time for the Great Ceremony.” Teri smiled.

“Ah, my children,” The professor interrupted. “I’m afraid you are mistaken. For Mr. Bates has already declined such a position. Even if he wanted it, surely Putin and Xi would block such a move – those two are always conspiring.”

“Bill Bates as Secretary General is inevitable.” Benedict re-affirmed. “Yet’s that only a minor stepping stone for him. I’m surprised you didn’t see this, Antonio — the world is in turmoil and it has been for over a decade. We need ONE person to step up and draw us together under the banner of peace and safety. The planet is begging for a leader who can help us escape these never ending pandemics and find sustainable solutions to the specter of climate change. Who else could that person be but William Henry Bates III? Sure he makes a pretense of resisting, but in reality only because his time has not yet come. He will accept the post when it is laid at his feet – when the world begs him to take over – and with your pawns Putin, Xi, and that puppet-master Obama leading the way.”

“Father, I’ve already told you The Brotherhood has been pumping The Bates Foundation’s agenda up throughout Africa.” Teri reminded. “They’re using the BLM goons to build anti-Asian sentiment against Ki-Moon among the more radical factions of Europe so he won’t be around much longer. The World Health Organization, CDC, and political hacks like Dr. Flipflop have destroyed people’s businesses and their spirits with never-ending lockdowns against their made-up pandemic variants. Ninety-nine percent of the world is now on universal basic income and nobody can work, travel, or even buy groceries without their Freedom Passes – and that’s assuming they have enough social credits to unlock their account. The public is crying for a savior! Why it’s all going according to plan and you know this already. Why are you being so difficult?

(I would have known that too — had I been to any of the recent Brotherhood meeting).

“But, how does that help our cause?” Antonio asked. “I thought we were trying to destroy Mr. Bates, not give him even more power.”

“Have you ever played Karpov?” Benedict asked.

 “In chess?” Antonio returned the question. “Are you asking if I have played the Grandmaster Anatoly Karpov?”

“Yes.”

“Why would Karpov waste his time with me? I’m no master.”

“I have played Karpov – once.” Benedict reminisced. “1984. You may not know this but I actually did hold Master rank during my youth– although it was unofficial, given my religious position. In any case, the Grandmaster taught me quite a lesson…

“For Karpov’s intentions became understandable to his opponents only when salvation was no longer possible.

“That is what happened to me too.” Benedict continued. “Karpov drew me in, allowed me to rise to a position of power, and then ruthlessly crucified me. Once he decided to make his move, his drive to mate was inevitable and certain. Mind you, at the very point when I felt that I was on the verge of setting up my mate of him — when I felt most secure and actually stole a breath! — the very next instant, he turned the tables on me, and his every successive move led to victory. He was inexorable.”

“And that is what we shall do to Bill Bates, father.” Teri giggled.

“Check and mate.” Antonio agreed.

“Indeed.” Benedict smiled. “We’ll give Mr. Bates what he wants – we’ll give him the world. For that is HIS destiny. But in the end, I’ll take it back – for that is MY destiny.”

(I’ve got to say, although I’m done with The Commission, this vision WAS interesting. Hey, if The End of Days really are coming, then that’s fine by me – perhaps that will finally stop the insanity!)

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Book 1 The Pawns of Prophecy

The Best Laid Plans (14)

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Book I: Chapter 14
June 12

Another day, another vision. I usually don’t get pummeled like this unless something big is afoot. This is not a good sign.

The smell of Boswellian incense embraced Pope Benedict’s robes as he tarried back to his private quarters.

(No, I don’t have a sense of smell in my visions, hold on and you’ll see how I knew this fact).

<Ah-choo!> Benedict sneezed again. (Understand now?)

“Hurensohn!” Benedict swore in his native dialect, adjusting his mask and leaning on his cane for support. “Why do we use such strong ash? Not even these masks can filter it out. ” And he pulled down his mask and rubbed hard at his nose with a handkerchief. “Ach, Father, forgive me, but if Cardinal Renoit waves his censor in my direction next time, I’ll excommunicate the toifel!”

Later that evening, after Benedict was able to shower, I watched as he once more engaged with some fellow conspirators. This time his visitors were not two men who looked like a pair of Hitler’s Aryan army, but instead a young woman and an older gentleman. Interestingly enough, none of them were wearing masks or social distancing – but then again the elites never follow their own rules do they?

In any event, the woman was a gorgeous brunette whose silky hair covered her face yet could not obscure her beauty. Although I couldn’t tell for sure, I was guessing that this was none other than Ms. Teri Abbracciavento.

Interestingly enough, the woman bore a striking resemblance to the older man who sat beside her. The scholarly type, he looked like the classic, European university professor – bushy grey eyebrows, a bulbous Italian nose, brill creamed grey hair, and one of those tweed suits with patched elbows that made him a living cliche.  

 I noticed Benedict snickering to himself, and I wondered if he was amused at the same thing I was – (assuming this really was Teri A.)…

Did her father know what his daughter had been up to lately?

For his part, the pope scratched his cat Deter behind the ears and quipped, “Blessed is the man whose sin the lord does not count against him. So how is death treating you, Antonio?”

“Pah, Death is quite inconvenient,” The oldster replied.  “Were you aware that I can’t get a IdentiChip? Apparently my fingerprints prove I’m dead. How am I supposed to buy anything?”

“Father, I told you that you’d have nothing to worry about.” The woman reached over to pat his hand. “Your death was necessary. We’ve already discussed this. You can still use your silver. Meanwhile, Benedict’s people will see to all your needs – just as they have always done. Correct?”

“Teri is correct.” Benedict agreed (Bingo! It is Teri A. I was right – again). “You have no need to worry, Antonio. Your mind is too valuable to have you waste it on such trifles. Silver and gold still work but if you really want an IdentiChip, we’ll get you one.”

“I should hope so.” Antonio Abbracciavento nodded. “Bitcoin still scares me, there’s nothing backing it. I’d much rather have the IdentiChip Mr. Bates guarantees with the E-Yuans that are in turn backed up by China’s massive gold reserves.”

The pope smiled knowingly to himself, “China’s gold reserves may not be as big as–”

“Father sometimes invents things to worry about.” Teri interrupted. “If his mind is not always at work, he gets frustrated, so he is always thinking of new conspiracies.”

“Figlia mine, I do no such—“ Antonio began.

“In any case,” Benedict glanced down at his watch. “I’ve read your briefing about Lazarus. What is his current status?”

(Hmmm. So Joe was involved with Alan’s recent troubles?)

Teri smiled slyly, “Ah yes, Alan was a nice assignment. Although I didn’t get to consumma-” yet here she glanced at her father. “Well, the important thing is that we have him secured.”

Staring off into space, a pondered, “I wonder, does he suspect anything about me?” And all the while Deter nudged against him, demanding more caresses. 

“No, he believes you to still be as innocent as a baby goat.” Teri replied.

“Two millennia is a long time to live for anyone. I’m sure that Bruder Lazarus will thank us for helping him get to the afterlife.”

(Joe, if I thought you could really end our lives, I’d be the first one at your door. But, you can’t do it. So whatever you are planning, it won’t work).

“So long as I get his immortal seed first.”  Teri reminded.

“Putta!” Antonio could stand it no more. “Enough of such talk before I smack you!”

“I am what I am.” Teri said defiantly to her father. “Of all people, YOU should know that much.”

“My friends.” Benedict played peace maker. “Let’s keep our eye on the prize. Antonio, the time is near. The End Game is brewing and the first check is about to occur. What is the latest from The Prophets?”

“I have read the transcripts and viewed their video streams numerous times. It’s clear that Elijah and Enoch continue to deteriorate and it’s a sad sight to see such great men destroyed — as if History is being reversed.”

“The Prisoners Of Chillon” By Ferdinand Victor Eugene Delacroix

(Hmm, so this Antonio is in league with the mystery man who captured the prophets? Is Joe that man? If so, I didn’t see that twist coming!)

“I prefer to say corrected.” Benedict smiled.

“Eh?” Antonio was confused (and me as well). “Are you talking about an Orwellian history revision? But I thought the United Nations was already doing that?”

The pope laughed, “I didn’t say History was being revised, Antonio. I saw it was being corrected. There’s a difference. Elijah and Enoch were certainly extraordinary men; but, they’ve had their time. They were taken up body and soul to heaven and then preserved for this very mission. Unfortunately it’s no longer needed – thus the correction. As for the prophets, they knew what they were getting into – nothing in His Universe is free and even WE will have to earn our fare before this ride is over.”

“Well, I should hope my work has been enough to stamp my ticket into the kingdom.” The professor grumbled. “And my daughter’s as well.”

“We shall see. But, who knows what tomorrow may bring.” Benedict shrugged. “In any case, please continue. Has there been a new prophecy?”

“Hmm. Well, it seems…”

“Yes?” Benedict pressed, hungry for news.

The color drained from Antonio’s face, “The Seven Seals will soon… be broken.”

“And so it continues.” Benedict nodded, although he too shuddered at the teacher’s words. “There is no going back now.”

(Actually this news IS a big deal. Trust me or check out this video and see for yourself…)

(This was the first vision in quite some time that had my attention – I wonder what’s gonna happen next?)

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Book 1 The Pawns of Prophecy, Mary Magdalene

The Book of Life (13)

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Book I: Chapter 13
June 11

<Ting-ting-ttaling, Ting-ting-ttaling>

Bells from afar softly sounded, signaling the mid-day meal. 

(Gee whiz, why did you sidetrack me like that with all those questions in the last chapter? Now where were we? Oh yeah, Miriam was whining again about how I never help her…)

The Repentant Mary Magdalene, by Domenico Fetti

As I refocused on my vision, I saw Miriam, her eyes closed, masked up, and hands in her lap, “May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be pleasing in your sight, O Lord, my Rock, and my Redeemer.” Miriam opened her eyes. Even still, she did not venture out of for lunch. (She’s probably fasting — that’s Saint Miriam for you).

She moved her chair closer towards her desk. Although a simple secretary table, her desk was hand-carved from chapa wood and like most of the articles in this Tibetan palace it was ornately worked – in this case, the legs were covered with scroll-work and the desk panel itself had a border of miscellaneous Buddhist symbols outside the main writing area.  Few items sat atop Miriam’s workstation – a small stack of airmail stationary, a single pen, and one large leather-bound book.

It was this last item that Miriam now reached for, pulling the heavy tome towards her. Once positioned, she reached a hand up to her neck and then from inside her pale green robe she withdrew a chain that held a tiny key. Taking the chain from around her neck, she inserted the key into the lock that held fast the book. With a soft <click> the massive tome gave up its security and Miriam was free to open it as she pleased.

“As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, O God.” She said as she fearfully opened the book.  Then quickly she sought to find her bookmark — which was in the last quarter of this omnibus — yet, upon locating it, I saw the color drain from the portion of her face that was visible above her mask, for the page she turned to was blank. (I could have told you that, Miriam). Knowing that all the pages after it would also be blank, Miriam steeled herself as she flipped backwards to an earlier page.

“Blank, as well.” She gasped, looking as if a knife stabbed her heart. (Again with the dramatics).

The tears returning, Miriam unconsciously fiddled with her mask (like so many other mask wearing fools, she didn’t realize that by touching her mask she was contaminating it and defeating the entire purpose of wearing it, but nobody listens to real science anymore and like so many others I knew Miriam always hated thinking for herself so she’d just go on wearing that mask and believing she was doing her part to ‘fight the (never-ending) pandemic. #Sheep).

Meanwhile, the woman I hated so much then continued to slowly leaf backwards through the pages of her book…

Miriam went back three full pages from her previous mark until she finally found names again.

“And so, the number is now down to 182,107.” She sobbed – creating an absolute mess of her mask to the point that she got so disgusted with it she ripped it off her face. And then, as a fountain of anger continued to swell within her, “Why, Lord — why must it only be 144,000? How can you do nothing and allow so many to be lost? Don’t you care? Why do you hide yourself in times of trouble? Arise, O Lord! Lift up your hand, O God. Do not forget the helpless!”

(Now, I have told Miriam for centuries that God is no longer listening to us and that He doesn’t care. I mean, seriously, what God would just sit back and allow humanity to become digitized cattle herded by the technocratic overlords of The Great Reset in which the common man is doomed to a future in which we are naught but IoB cogs in a 5G-matrix? And besides that, I’ve also told Miriam that there can only be 144,000 anyway! I know Gabriel has told her the same thing time and again. But Miriam doesn’t listen. Ha – just like any other woman!)

After a short time, Miriam gave up, knowing full well that nothing she could do would change a future that was already predetermined.

And so, closing the book for another day, Miriam grabbed another mask and sighed, “The crucible for silver and gold, but the Lord tests the heart. As always, I will be still and know that He is God.”

Once more she locked up her book, and then moved it back to its place on her desk. After which she arose, fiddled with her new mask (thus contaminating this one too!), and then readied herself for midday prayers with the rest of the palace.

(And there my vision ended. Once again I learned nothing new – another waste of my time).

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Book 1 The Pawns of Prophecy, St John the Apostle

The End is Not Near (12)

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Book 1: Chapter 12
June 11

Now as you know, my gospel wasn’t the only book I wrote. I was also the author of numerous others — including The Epistles of John and the Book of Revelation. In fact, I actually wrote quite a few other books over the past two thousand years (under different pen names of course), but most of those are tomes that I now want to forget.

What’s that?

You heard a rumor that I didn’t actually write The Book of Revelation?

I know that rumor. It’s a crock. Here’s an article all about it – save it for later because I don’t have time to get into all that now. 

For now let me continue filling you in on some more of the trials and tribulations of my looooooong life. 

You say you’ve heard enough? 

Well too bad. You should know once you get an old man talking about the past you can’t get him to shut up so you’re just gonna have to bear with me – or skip ahead to the next chapter. You’re choice, champ. 

Now where was I?

Oh yeah – I was talking about how Jesus made all these grandiose claims about returning for his Second Coming and doing it quickly.

So what the heck happened? Did he just forget? You got questions? I got a LOT more!

You may have heard that I was once known as “the disciple whom Jesus loved.” Yet that’s a moniker I despise now. Why?

Because Jesus died nearly two thousand years ago and I can’t understand how I could be so beloved to him and yet still be left here to rot.

Alas, all this thinking is making me tired.

Where’s my bible?

What, you think because I drink and cuss that I don’t read the Good Book anymore? Sorry to disappoint you there, Sport. I’d wager my knowledge vs. yours any day. 

Have you ever read the Book of Job? 

If you’re not familiar with this classic, here’s a quick vid to give you a taste…

Ok so that video was a bit tongue in cheek but trust me, it ain’t far off the truth.

The fact is that life for Job sucked. And so it is for me now.

Let me sum it up for you with a few verses from Job, Chapter 3: 20-26…

“Why is light given to those in misery, And life to the bitter of soul, To those who long for death that does not come, Who search for it more than for hidden treasure…? For…my groans pour out like water…What I fear has come upon me…I have no peace, no quietness, no rest, but only turmoil.”

Whenever I read those verses, bitter tears trickle down my cheeks – for I know that my dreams of death will elude me today once again – as they have for the last two thousand years.

For I am a man without hope — all my dreams ended the day He made me immortal.

As is my wont at times like this, I can’t help but engage in a bit of morbid self-pity. So I flipped the pages of my bible to my own gospel, and read from John, Chapter 21: 22,

“…And Jesus answered, ‘If I want [John] to remain alive until I return what is that to you?’”

Now let’s be clear on something here, when I wrote that verse, I had no idea that Jesus had already made me immortal. Yet the rumor was out there by the time my gospel first appeared on the scene and the stubborn legend only grew over time.

As you may know, other books have since been written about the subject too – even after I (or at least my original identity) had long since been lost to history.

Are you familiar with what The Book of Mormon said in Chapter 28: 4-7?

Or what about The Doctrine and Covenants, Section 7: 1-3?

As you can see when you read these verses, both of these texts support my immortality myth. And yet, as I think about the authors who wrote those lines I can’t help but wonder…

“So Jesus read my mind, eh? And these writers think I actually told him that it was my desire that I may live forever, huh? How could those charlatans know what I really said or felt? It’s not true.”

OK, to be honest, I’m not really sure anymore what I said or did two thousand years ago, but at least I don’t remember it quite like that.

I just wanted to live until Jesus returned. I mean is that really so bad? 

Let’s not forget something – Jesus was giving us all the impression that his Second Coming would be happening pretty quickly, so you can imagine that I would want to be alive to see that big event, right?

You see what I mean? He specifically said “I am coming soon” and he said it directly to me! How could I not believe him?

I thought he’d be back in a few months, maybe a year. Certainly no more than 5-10 years. But definitely NOT two-freaking-thousand years!

Believe me, there is no way I would have asked to be cursed with immortality!

Who would be so stupid?

It’s terrible.

Yet immortality is my fate now – as it had been then.

As for the rest of my story, if you must know, after Jesus left us, my brother James, Simon Peter, myself, and a few others worked hard in the Judean region for about a decade or so – trying to establish a new branch of Judaism we called “The Way.”

Eventually our sect would classify itself as the new religion of Christianity but back them my friends and I never intended to start a new religion – we simply wanted to perfect our Jewish faith.

For I was born a Jew and I had intended to die as one.

The problem for myself and the rest of Jesus’s Jewish followers was that, unlike most Jews, we believed (back then at least) that Jesus was our long-promised Messiah and that the End of the World was close at hand – mainly because that’s what Jesus told us to believe!

Unfortunately for us, The End never arrived and Jesus himself never came back.

Worse yet, me and my friends had soon caused such a stir in Jerusalem that the Jewish leader at the time — Herod Agrippa – began to persecute us to such an extent that we had no choice but to scatter to the four winds.

I left home and travelled throughout Asia Minor – still continuing to preach Jesus’ apocalyptic message. Eventually I ended up in Rome, but the authorities there didn’t take too kindly to the “End of the World is Nigh” fodder that Peter, Paul, and I were spreading, and over time we were all arrested. They murdered Peter and Paul, and I was supposed to be executed in Rome too.

One day they plunged me into a vat of burning oil, right there in the Coliseum. Does this look like fun to you?

SAINT JOHN THE EVANGELIST IN A VAT OF BOILING OIL by BENVENUTO DI GIOVANNI

Too bad for the Romans because I didn’t suffer a scratch and on top of that two things happened:

  1. I knew that Jesus really did make me immortal;
  2. The entire crowd at the Coliseum converted to Christianity!

At the time, I thought the last laugh was on Emperor Domitian, but soon enough, I realized the joke was on me.

After the failed execution, Domitian had me banished to the Island of Patmos – a tiny, middle-of-nowhere locale that drove me out of my mind.

With nothing to do but starve, it was on Patmos that I wrote The Book of Revelations. I told myself the book was an effort to stay in touch with the seven churches of Asia who were the most promising centers of our faith at the time and that my book would help inspire them to keep alert for Jesus’ Second Coming – which I foolishly believed was still imminent. 

Look – I get it – The Book of Revelation is out there – waaaaay out there.

But the fact is that I was going out of my mind on Patmos – until I discovered a certain plant on the island. See, what you may not know is that I penned Revelation after discovering the island’s supply of coca leaves. With a lot of time on my hands and nothing to do I became  rather addicted to the mind-altering effects of the coca — this may explain the book’s hallucinogenic undertones.

“Oh to have a few coca leaves with me now.” I sighed. Yet I knew that drugs were not a true escape – I’ve already tried them all, without success.

Two thousand years.

A host of identities.

And yet I’m still here. 

Not even Covid could kill me – but then again Covid really didn’t kill anyone did it? (Oops, did I say that part aloud? Oh well).

The truth is that the original Apostle John did not die.

Oh, I had a tomb as you can see here. It’s located in Ephesus and have a beautiful plaque. You should visit sometime. Just know that the body there is not mine.

The fact is that, after Patmos, I simply disappeared from society as “John the Apostle” and became an assortment of different characters.

In the beginning, I thought I was the only one who was immortal, eventually Lazarus and Mary of Magdala found me.

And that’s when my life got  a LOT more difficult…

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Book 1 The Pawns of Prophecy, St John the Apostle

Immortality — Ugh (11)

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Book I: Chapter 11
June 11

OK, out with it – let’s hear your questions. I can tell that you won’t let me move on with my tale unless I start answering some of your nagging questions so let’s get it over with. 

Am I immortal?

Yes. Alan, Miriam, and I are all immortal – we have been since He made us that way – nearly two thousand years ago. It’s a bitch. Trust me.

Take today for instance – here I am just sitting in my bed trying to get some sleep and shake this drunken haze. Yet I can’t get any peace because He keeps sending me more revelations. Enough already!

Being immortal is just not all it’s cracked up to be.

I know Alan and Miriam may feel different, but what do they know?

Oh sure, there was a time when I had a different opinion, but those days were long gone — two thousand years on this planet will do that to a guy.

Well, now that the cat’s out of the bag, I suppose I’ll have to tell you a few more things to keep you from bombarding me with questions…

Here’s a few more tidbits about my life – take them for what you will.

Obviously I haven’t always lived in upstate Pennsylvania; I was actually born half a world away and some two millennia past. And although I’m a persona unknown to most of the world now, long ago I was actually rather famous. Let’s see how quickly you can figure it out…

My father’s name was Zebedee and my mom was Mary Salome. My family was Jewish and originally lived in the Bethsaida region around the Lake of Gennesaret in what is now modern day Israel.

My mother was actually a sister of Mary, the mother of Jesus of Nazareth – yes, that means I was Jesus’s cousin.

I also had a rather famous brother too – a man who later became known as Saint James The Greater. I’m kinda proud of my older brother so obviously I have to show you a picture of him too.

Click to learn more about my brother

To say James and I were close is an understatement – back in the day we tore it up and were known by all as The Sons of Thunder. Sure we got into a bit of trouble, but it was all in good fun. 

Meanwhile, my dad had a fishing business that James and I helped him with it. The business was profitable enough to allow me to afford my own house and it even gave me a bit of status (I was a personal friend of the Jewish high priest at the time – hey, if you give anyone enough money, they’ll be your friend, right?).   

Now Jesus and I we also cousins of another famous preacher – the legendary Jewish apocalyptist known as John The Baptist.

The Baptizer was the first great speaker I had ever met and I actually found myself captivated by all his talk about how “the Kingdom of Heaven was at hand” and what it meant for me and my fellow Jews.

(I wouldn’t fall for all that talk now, mind you, but back then it sounded rather good).

In any case, at the time Jesus and I were both looking for something meaningful to do with our lives (fishing just wasn’t exciting enough) so we decided to follow The Baptizer around for awhile.

Eventually Jesus became a pretty hardcore apocalyptic teacher himself and he too began evangelizing. Since I was closer to Jesus, I left The Baptizer’s group and followed Jesus around for a bit. But soon enough Jesus’s group ran out of money and reality set in, so we had to give it up — I went back home to my boring life in the fishing business, while Jesus wandered off into the desert to find himself.

I honestly thought that was the end of my time as a disciple (of anybody) and I was happy just living the life of a village fisherman. However, about a year later, Jesus came back home – and he was now a changed man.

Jesus claimed he’d a revelation that he was the Son of God!

Perhaps just as importantly, he also had a new plan for his evangelical work: expansion via recruitment.

He asked me and my brother James to join him and leave our fishing business to instead become “Fishers of Men.”

We took the bait and helped Jesus find more recruits. It was a wild success – we travelled around like rock stars for awhile and after that I was pretty much by Jesus’ side from there on out – until Jesus was crucified that is!

As you can imagine Jesus’s death at the hands of his jealous adversaries was quite an ordeal – events certainly didn’t work out as I thought they were going to when Jesus first roped me into the experience and when he was murdered so unexpectedly it left myself and the other disciples in a bit of shock. We had no idea what to do next and most of us were just trying to lay low for awhile in order to save our own skins. 

Thankfully Jesus proved he was the Son of God when he rose from the dead just three days after his crucifixion and that, as I’m sure you can imagine, was rather inspiring.

On fire for his message, I took it upon myself to continue his Christ’s mission. In fact, I later wrote about my time with Jesus in a book called The Gospel of John. Watch it today on Amazon Prime (everybody has that now, right?)

Looking back now I regret the decision to get caught up with Jesus — it was all just a crazy idea. Back then I was young and stupid. Oh sure there was something charismatic about Jesus – even more so than The Baptizer.

But Jesus clearly said that he would return.

And he said that he was going to do so during our lifetimes back then.

So where the hell is he? And what’s taking him so damn long?

That’s right. I said it. 

You wanted to know what has me so upset. Well now you know. 

Happy?

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Book 1 The Pawns of Prophecy, Mary Magdalene

The Girl Who Cried Wolf (10)

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Book I: Chapter 10
June 11

Which brings us now to Mary…

Oh, where should I start? Well, to begin with, I guess I should tell you that she is currently calling herself Miriam Magdala. I suppose that is adequate since she is originally from Magdala – but that is a different story…

Are Miriam and I friends?

Well, let’s just say she is a long time business associate.

OK, to be truthful, at one time she, Alan, and I were inseparable. We all had the same mission to work on, we were all very gung-ho, and of course, we were all blessed with the same…condition.

What do I think about Miriam?

I can tolerate her – when she doesn’t get all high and mighty on me. You see, the problem is that Miriam is very passionate about The Commission – still. She has no other real interests; everything she does is about The Commission – even after all these many years, and all our MANY failures.

Don’t you find that a bit odd? I did. And I got tired of all her badgering. That’s the main reason why I left her and Alan and went off and did my own thing. 

Since we parted ways I’ve lived all over the world, but I migrated to my present home in Williamsport, PA, oh I’d say about fifty years back – give or take a decade.

Because of his willingness to get vaxxed and chipped, and given his academic status, (and because of his various Associations), Alan has enjoyed freedom of movement and thus lived all over Eurasia. Given that he is a scholar and I fancy myself as a scientist, we’ve always maintained at least a professional association.

As for Miriam, I really haven’t kept track of her these past couple centuries; oh, I’ve seen her time and again, but it was always work-related and always with negative results. I remember her telling me previously that she’d spent most of her time in the Far East and I know she said something about “being a student of world religions,” but I didn’t really pay much attention – so long as she had something to occupy her other than MY whereabouts then that was fine by me.

Which brings us to today — June 11.

To be honest, I was not that surprised to see Miriam in my visions – once I saw that Benedict was up to something, and that Alan was in trouble, well, I figured that news of Miriam would pop up next.

As usual, I was correct.

A new day, a new revelation from Him – and this time it was all about Miriam. And wouldn’t you know it – I caught her writing another one of those damn secret notes!

(Boy, this woman really knows how to make me steam!)

1492 is coming for you – MM.

“Please do something, John.” I saw Miriam whisper – even though she was alone and her intended receiver (me) was on the other side of the globe.

(Who the hell is she talking to? It also steamed me that she was wearing a face mask despite being by herself – but then again she always was a rule-following virtue-signaler (something else I hated that about her).

Meanwhile, she kept talking, “I know you feel like a prodigal son, but it doesn’t have to be like that. Acknowledge The Lord and He will make your paths straight again, John. Stop doubting Him and believe once more.”

(What the hell — why can’t she just leave me alone?)

I then watched as Miriam fell back into her chair and allowed the tears to take over. (She always one for the dramatics). She cried as quietly as she could, soiling her masks but apparently trying not to be heard through the paper thin walls of the palace.

(Yes, palace – don’t worry, I’ll get to that).

“None of us can do it alone, John.” She continued quietly, at prayer level. “Only we three can defeat him, but we must act together — though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves, a cord of three strands is not easily broken. Don’t you see, we need you? Please believe again – you may be immortal, but you are not invincible.”

(Oh, so you caught that? Oops).

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Book 1 The Pawns of Prophecy

Men of Renown (9)

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Book I: Chapter 9
June 10

Naturally, I didn’t get my wish — yup, the next night too The Big Guy forced yet another dream upon me…

And so it was that Hope and Hopelessness continued their eternal struggle – in the forms of the prophets Elijah and Enoch.

(Oh boy, whenever I get a vision of these two, it’s always a bit melodramatic – sorry. Just remember, I have no control here…)

“Our captor is The Great Deceiver.” Wailed Elijah, sitting in a pool of his own filth. “The Brother I warned the world about. Yes, it is Him.”

“He is not whom the world believes him to be.” Enoch replied stoically.

Now, as you might know, Elijah and Enoch were once men of renown, blessed amongst all. In fact, if you’ve read your Bible, then you know that when they had walked upon the earth,  neither of them had tasted death, but instead both had been taken up to Heaven without ever experiencing the grave.

Even after they had passed from this world, many tales were told about their greatness and the memory of each had inspired believers for thousands of years – and all the while, both Elijah and Enoch had enjoyed the splendor of the afterlife.

But then, some three years ago, I began to get visions of how both were sent back to Earth, and instructed to fulfill a new mission – to prepare the world for the great and dreadful coming of the Lord.

Despite their previous experience with such heavenly assignments, when they returned again to this world, I could immediately see that both men quickly discovered that the peoples of this age were much different than those they had influenced in the past – for starters everyone was wearing face masks and afraid to let the prophets even get close to them.

Despite their God-given mission, Elijah and Enoch floundered.

For over a year, I had watched as they were unable to find anyone willing to place faith in what they had to say — and so the world missed out on much of the prophecies they first spoke.

(It wasn’t really that important anyway, trust me. Also, in defense of the rest of the world, while the United Nations open border policy allowed for immigrants to travel freely (if they could provide the necessary Vaccine Passports), Elijah and Enoch had no such documentation. How Elijah ended up in the hill country of Romania, or Enoch in Southeast Asia, I’ll never know – and I’m sure they didn’t either. It didn’t help that the prophets clung to the former hygiene habits of the Old Testament, nor that they spoke ancient dialects that the people of the lands they traveled in could not understand – in short looked like more like a couple of Covid-carrying panhandlers rather than divine prophets proclaiming the coming Revelation. But I guess He didn’t think ahead on that before He sent them, huh?)

The more visions I got about The Two Witnesses, the more I could see that both prophets were not reacting well to their visionary experience – specifically whenever they got a vision it clearly incapacitated them. Luckily for them, people who observed them in such spasms wrote it off as merely some of the serious but all-too-common “immune responses” to the Covid vaccines and just let them suffer through it – because that was the norm at the time. When the local authorities observed them survive, they happily shoved a couple Immunity Passes on them although I doubt the prophets realized how valuable that kind of documentation was.

Meanwhile I knew better – they were experiencing revelations. I watch them try to resist when the visions hit them – yet their efforts were futile and they had no choice but to accept what He sent them…

Powerful images force fed into their minds, an unwelcome miasma that they had no choice but to regurgitate to any who would listen…yet few ever did.

But then, some two years ago, I became intrigued to see that both of the prophets were ‘discovered.’ At first I thought they were just being rounded up by the Covid contact tracers in their areas and taken to one of Quarantine Camps in their regions – where they’d inevitably be vaxxed, chipped, and ‘educated’ on the virus safety protocols for their area. But that’s not what happened.

Instead I watched with curiosity as each of the men was taken… somewhere else.

Although I didn’t see where they traveled to, I did witness that both prophets ended up in the same mysterious location – where they were met by a man whose identity I could never quite make out, yet who had obviously correctly identified the seers as the heavenly witnesses they were.

Then it was that the prophets were indeed vaxxed and chipped against their will (like so many other people in the world). Worse yet, it quickly became clear that their new acquaintance was in fact not doing all this out of friendship to the prophets – for the mystery man then put Elijah and Enoch in shackles and imprisoned them in a dark dungeon. But sadly their horrors didn’t end there – next the captor blinded the seers by gouging out their eyes! Finally, after dressing them in sackcloth, their evil benefactor left the blind prophets to live in filth and squalor – forsaken by the world and apparently their God too.

And yet, in spite of all of these hardships, still Elijah and Enoch prophesied – for they had no choice. (Apparently not even the Covid Vaccine could stop their visions, but then again that vax didn’t do much to stop Covid either so I don’t think anyone was surprised by yet another example of the vaccines INeffectiveness, right?)

Meanwhile, aas it now stood for the prophets, today was no different than yesterday, and promised no hope for tomorrow – and in that regard I felt akin to them.

As I looked upon them today, I saw them huddled next to one another on the cold stone floor of the dank cave that held them. Yes, although prophets, they were prisoners. After many months in this place both men were frail and gaunt, yet still they did not protest their conditions. (On the bright side, at least they didn’t have to wear those silly face masks in their cell – so they had something to be thankful for, right?)

Yet I knew that neither man had a mind made for this world – instead their only purpose was to speak about the knowledge of what was to come – and in this capacity, there were none on earth who could match their tales. (No, not even me).

Unfortunately for the world, no one recognized their talents until it was too late.

Correction — their captor did – for it was he who had arranged to have cameras record their every action and word. Thus, whilst Elijah and Enoch continued to speak about that which they saw in their mind’s eye, what they did not know was that they were involuntarily spewing forth God’s wisdom to a man whom these divine messages were never intended for!

“He holds the Seven Stars captive.” Elijah bellowed.

“Even Smyrna and Philadelphia?” Enoch asked.

“All Seven are his.”

“Then He will rule over the nations with an iron scepter.” Enoch pulled downwards on his face, stretching open the barren caves of his missing eyes.

Elijah writhed on the floor, “Any who oppose him will be dashed like pottery.”

Enoch rose up and began to twirl, “A Great Battle is coming!”  

“It has already begun!” Elijah tore at his skin as if to cast off a burning blanket.

And still their torturous visions continued…

(But thankfully, mine ended).

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Book 1 The Pawns of Prophecy, St John the Apostle

Gratitude is an Art (8)

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Book I: Chapter 8
June 9

At long last I awoke — it was nearly 10am my time and a cardinal was chirp, chirp, chirping just outside my bedroom window.

“SHUT UP!” I screamed at the red-smocked bird, before pulling a pillow down over my head – to no avail. “Ah, hell, it’s time to get up anyway.” And I reached a hand over the side of my bed and searched for the bottle of Jim Beam that was usually rolling around on the floor.

I thought about Alan – clearly he was in dire straits based on my last vision of him being accosted by those three goons. You might guess it had something to do with violating Covid curfew but I knew better – he’d just retrieved his Nail from the CEC Catacombs the timing couldn’t have been worse for Alan – it was no coincidence that those murderous men had appeared when they did…and it had nothing to do with any virus.

Despite that recent cavalcade of visions about my friend, I was left with nothing but questions about his present situation.

But let’s be clear here – I’m no sucker.

You know as well as I that He is trying to peak my interest and draw me back into The Commission. But what He doesn’t seem to realize is – I DON’T CARE! I keep trying to tell Him that but He doesn’t listen.

All my life He’s been force-feeding me these visions. Oh, I’ve fallen for His games in the past. I’ve tried to do His Will – but it never gets me anywhere. It’s a damn waste of time, I tell you.

You understand that don’t you? Please, if you learn one thing from me, learn this – don’t fall for His tricks.

Will Eisner “A Contract with God” c 1978

So Alan’s in trouble, huh?

And now I suppose He wants me to go and save him?

Sorry, not going to happen.

Oh sure, Alan is my friend, but let’s face it, he’s a big boy. He knows what’s at stake for holding one of the Three. And, really now, what’s going to happen to Alan anyway? You know as well as I that they can’t kill him, so what can they do to him? Nothing. That’s right, nothing!

So, why did He even bother to waste my time showing me those visions anyway?

As YOU are my witness, I’ll say it again – GOD, please leave me alone!!

Now, where’s that damn bottle?

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Antichrist, Book 1 The Pawns of Prophecy

The Unknown Catacombs (7)

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Book 1: Chapter 7
June 8

Unfortunately for me, my marathon vision of my friend Alan was still continuing. (I mean seriously, how much more of this can I be expected to pay attention to?)

Unfortunately for Alan, although it was but a short walk to his own apartment building, I could see that his distress was only growing worse – the man even forgot to put on his face mask while walking to his apartment! Luckily for him, none of the nighttime patrols spotted him.

After arriving home, I watched as he scourged himself in the mirror. “What are you doing, man? You heard her clear enough – she spoke straight out of Proverbs and I’d be a fool if I didn’t know the REST of the story — For the lips on an adulteress drip honey, but in the end, she is bitter as gall. Her feet go down to death, and her steps lead straight to the grave.”

(Ah, I see that he DID get the quote I was referencing in the last chapter. Well done.)

“Bah.” He replied, taking up both sides of his self-dialogue. “You read too far into this. It was merely a coincidence. She’s not married and neither are you. Don’t be so afraid to LIVE, man! No, no, tomorrow we’ll see her and make it up to her.”

“Absolutely not. Can a man scoop fire into his lap without being burned?”

“Ugh!” He grasped his head, “What about…Miriam?”

(Oops — I guess that cat’s out of the bag, eh? In case you didn’t know, Miriam is the Hebrew woman who is Alan’s long lost love. It’s really quite a pitiful story – remind me to tell you about it sometime.)

“Ha, that’s always been a lost cause. I haven’t seen her in decades. I don’t owe her anything. I’m free to be with Teri if I so choose, right?”

Thus did he continue arguing with himself, on the one hand, trying to excuse his actions with Teri, and on the other, spouting off the wisdom of the Bible as justification for his abrupt departure. And all the while seemingly trying to assure himself that he had no feelings for Miriam.

At last, as he made his way inside the door of his flat, and there his self-argument ended; for as he looked down at the pile of mail, his eyes immediately fixed themselves on a small piece of airmail that sat atop the others.

(Well at least I am not the only one that she’s torturing).

Ripping it open, I was not surprised to see him read the following…

“1492 is coming for you – MM.”

Blood drained from Alan’s face, “My God, she knows.”  

(Poppycock. Miriam doesn’t get revelations like I do, so she would have no way of knowing what’s going on here. Oh, it’s true that she does have another source for her information, but I doubt that Gabriel would be talking to her of Alan’s escapades with an intern).

As if he didn’t have enough drama already, I saw that Alan also now realized something else — he had to leave – immediately.

“Can I risk going to Rome now?” He wondered. “Perhaps Benedict will have to wait?”

Racing to the bathroom, he splashed his face with cool water. Then, looking in the mirror, “My God, what if Benedict is in danger, too?

“Is Teri mixed up in this? Is she a part of some mad plot to assassinate Bill Bates? Or Benedict? Or, God forbid – both of them?”

And, after looking at himself for a long while, “And where does Miriam fit in? Or The Brotherhood?”

Knowing there were no answers to his questions, Alan merely resolved to do that which was in his power, “I know not where Miriam may be now, but one thing I do know – I WILL see Benedict.”

Quickly then, he prepared to leave. Thankfully, this was made all the easier by his advance preparations – for this was not the first time that “Alan Zarus” had been required to abandon his life in a rush. Trying to remain calm, I watched as he flipped a switch in the rear of his closet that triggered a secret access panel which opened to reveal a small hideaway.

(Alan always was into the whole cloak and dagger scene. I actually think he fancied himself as James Bond or something.  After all, Alan was suave, debonair, and into the finer things in life. BUT, and this is a BIG but, Alan never had much of a way with women – as you have just witnessed – and he was quite a pansy when it came to violence, so I think Mr. Bond is pretty safe – he doesn’t have much competition from my friend Alan).

Reaching inside the hideaway, Alan pulled forth a pre-packed leather carryall which was filled with all the essentials he would need to retreat into hiding — until it would be safe for him to resurface elsewhere, under a new identity.

After making his way back out of the apartment, there was then only one more stop that I knew he had to make before he could truly escape the danger that was chasing him (again)…

In my dream world with Alan Zarus, it was now past 3 am; yet I knew that my friend had no choice but to tarry to the downtown sector and visit Casa de Economii si Consemnatiuni – that’s the local CEC Bank, whose impressive palace on Calea Victoriei in Bucharest held Alan’s most prized possession.

Luckily for him, Alan has a Vaccine Passport and Identichip that gave him near limitless movement privileges (how he got those freedoms is another story). He also remembered to wear his face mask – in his case a top of the line Nano Mask Platinum. He needed all of that to complete his journey this evening because he was stopped by three different patrols on his way to the bank – yet after scanning his credentials all three let him pass without problems.

Just as important as his freedom apps, Alan had long ago arranged for Elitist status with the bank and thus had been given his own access code which allowed him round-the-clock access to a private, backdoor entrance from which he could gain admittance to the Unknown Catacombs.

Now let’s understand something – Alan could not simply walk up to the back of the CEC, insert a simple key card, and then enter the secret vaults. Nor did he have to walk down some back alley and give a clandestine password to a pair of eyes belonging to an unknown bouncer behind a nondescript door slot. In point of fact, to anyone observing Alan on this night, it did not appear that he was actually attempting to gain access to the CEC at all; for in reality, Alan never approached the bank building, but instead entered into a seemingly normal row house about a block away.

Once inside, he made his way to apartment 1G, inserted his key, and opened the door to a fully furnished, yet ever unoccupied unit. After locking the door, Alan took off his mask and went immediately to the guest bedroom, where he opened the closet door and parted a mass of clothes to reveal yet another hidden doorway. This portal did in fact require Alan to enter his access code, and then submit to facial, fingerprint, and Identichip scans. Once he passed these tests, he had to speak his name so that the security system could also verify his voice identity. The system then ran one additional check – confirming that no other occupants were presently engaged inside its vaults — and then after successfully completing all this, at last the door opened — revealing a well-lit passageway.

(I told you Alan liked that ‘secret agent’ stuff!)

I watched Alan trudge along a secret walkway that led beneath the streets of Bucharest and down into the CEC’s Catacombs. Just how long the catacombs had been in existence, I couldn’t guess, but I do recall Alan telling me the CEC had been using the former death chambers for more than a century — having converted the various crypts into impenetrable treasure troves for lease to those individuals like himself who could afford to pay the exorbitant rates required to gain the privilege of storing their most secret items in such a place.

Like any of the other magnates who used these unusual deposit boxes, I knew that Alan could only gain access to his own storage location – for only one person was allowed inside the catacombs at a time and while that individual was there, a host of state of the art security measures were in place to ensure that all other crypt-cases were made off limits to the intruder.

And so, after successfully completing a few more security checkpoints, at last Alan arrived at the cache which held his own belongings. Here he paused to catch his breath – for the night was already long, and he was exhausted, yet I’m sure he knew that this was only the beginning of his flight.

Each security cadre in the CEC’s Catacombs had but one and only one key. Not even the bank personnel, at any level, had a copy of the unique skeletons which were required to open the final locks that secured these deposit boxes. Like the others who used these vaults, Alan knew what this meant — if he ever lost his key, whatever he had placed in his hidden tomb would be lost forever.Luckily for him, Alan never lost his key – despite having had it for decades – and he used it now to open his crypt’s portal.

The stone barrier was removed and a muted light was triggered, revealing the lone item inside – a small wooden caisse about one foot long and one-half foot wide. (Sound familiar?) Alan gingerly reached inside and withdrew the smoke-scorched box. Although he had held this small coffin countless times, I saw that Alan was again moved by the magnitude of his most-prized possession.

After more than a few deep breaths, Alan gained the courage required to flip the s-clasp and open the container, “Though they confront us on the Day of Disaster, the Lord will turn our darkness into light!” He prayed, before gasping involuntarily as he gazed at the thin piece of pockmarked iron inside. “Ooohhh….It’s so beautiful.”

(Now here I would have to disagree. You’ve seen this thing — does it look beautiful to you? When that murderer came into my home and then met his own untimely demise when he touched my treasure, was that a beautiful sight? No! So what is Alan talking about?)

Moments passed, but Alan quickly remembered why he was here, thus he closed the casket and placed the box into his leather carryall. Then he proceeded to carefully place his crypt-key inside the storage box and shut the tomb’s portal – effectively rendering this now-locked catacomb forever useless.

After which, Alan retraced his steps out of the Catacombs, and eventually re-emerged into Apartment 1G. The portal closed behind him and he moved the closet clothes back into place, before making his way back to the front door of the flat.

Finally ready to get on with his escape into oblivion, Alan opened the apartment door – only to reveal three murderous (and masked) men waiting for him!

And with that my vision ended – too bad for Alan, but at least I was finally off the hook. 

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Book 1 The Pawns of Prophecy

The Lion and Lamb (6)

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Book 1: Chapter 6
June 8

Unable to wake up, I was forced to keep watching my vision of my friend Alan talk with his associate Teri.  All this talk about Bates nee Ma’bus taking over the world was a bit much. 

I’m an old man and just want some peace. The fact of the matter is that so long as I can keep watching my Phillies play, I don’t really care who runs the world. Now that my team has signed Bryce Harper I’m still expecting a World Series or two so I don’t have time for all this talk about the Antichrist…

Unfortunately He doesn’t care about what I want (as usual), therefore I had no choice but to continue to endure more of this unwanted revelation…

I watched as Alan tried to dispel Teri’s accusations. “And The United Nation’s political practices have been nothing but peaceful. Hell, they’ve even satisfied the Israeli’s! If Mr. Bates and his foundation is driving that then I applaud him. Did you know that the Grand Rabbi’s have invited him to enter The Great Temple at a special ceremony later this year? Furthermore, I happen to know that Pope Francis, Pope Benedict, Rabbi Metzger, and the Ayatollah have taken strides to re-unite their faiths as well – did Bates help initiate that talk too? If so, let me be the first to sing his praises!”

“It’s is all a lie!” Teri burst out. “Francis is clueless on this issue and Benedict does so only for show. It’s a case of keeping your enemies closer. Oh, if you only knew what I know.”

“So tell me!” Alan whined.

“Bates has helped the United Nations secretly build an arsenal of over 200,000 Fire and Brimstone tanks.”

“I’ve heard of no such thing.”

“He’s hand picked four primary military commanders who will orchestrate a population annihilation — he calls them the Four Horsemen.”

“Of the Apocalypse?” Alan laughed. “Come, come, this is hearsay. Surely these tidbits would be newsworthy if they were true.”

Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, by Victor Vasnetsov, c1887

“I see — again with the conspiracies? What about Newsmax and its ilk? Wouldn’t they shine a light on your story if it was true?”

“That’s not even worth a reply – you know The Brotherhood controls the news media. Nothing negative about Bates ever gets out.”

“Rinky dink outfits like that have no power to tell the truth. Why are you being difficult?”  Teri grabbed his hand. “You KNOW this fits. Bill Bates IS the Antichrist!”

“Is that all?” Alan pulled his hand back.

At last, Teri went for broke (and surprised even me with what she said next), “Bates has the seven Chairs of Woe in his palace — that means he controls the Armageddon Clock.”

Alan remained calm, yet long moments passed as he stared hard at his assistant. Finally he asked, “Teri, how do YOU know all this?”

“My father was Reverend Antonio Abbracciavento – renowned for his knowledge of one particular book…”

“Revelations,” Alan filled in the blank. “Yes, I was sorry to hear about his passing last year.”

“Thank you. He was a good man.” Teri bowed her head. Then after a pause, she admitted. “I’m not really a Professor of Antiquities.”

“I know.” Alan smiled.

“What? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I figured Benedict has a message for me?”

“He does!”

“Go on.”

“Being a Professor is just a cover; I am a member of The Vatican’s Secret Police – the Personal Attaché for Benedict. The public may think Francis is the chief now that Benedict’s retired, but I’m sure you know the truth – Benedict stepped down so that he could focus exclusively upon his life’s mission. And his mission is now my mission too — to find and stop The Antichrist.”

“I don’t envy you. That’s a tough draw.”

“Come on, Alan. You know I’ve been groomed for it since birth.” Teri said, shoulders back, chin high. Then, pulling a scroll from her baggy purse, “In any case, here is a letter from Pope Benedict XVI. As you can see, the papal seal is still intact. Even I haven’t read its contents.”

“I’m sure.” Alan smirked as he took the missive. Yet before opening it, he tested her once more, “But, why me, Teri? What can I do to help?”

“Alan, don’t play me for a fool. Who else has published the papers on ancient religions and recurring Armageddon’s than you have? I know it’s hard to believe that Bates is really the Antichrist, but I tell you that Benedict IS convinced. You must talk to him.”

“I see.” Alan said, non-committedly.

“Look here. Is it possible that Benedict and I are wrong about Bates? YES. Hell, Alan, we HOPE we are wrong. But, what if Bates IS indeed Satan’s son? Don’t you see, we need your knowledge — you may be the only man who can stop him. That’s why Benedict specifically told me to find YOU.”

Alan remained silent for long moments, before saying, “Well it would seem that you do know quite a bit about The Antichrist. And Bill Bates. Now whether these are the same person, I cannot say.” Before Teri could interrupt, he continued, “But, it would seem that Mr. Bates MIGHT fit the profile, neh? So what do you propose?”

“Read the letter. Benedict wants you to come to Rome.”

“Ah, but I thought you hadn’t read the letter?”

Teri blushed, “I was truthful when I said I didn’t read it, but that doesn’t mean I can’t guess what is says.”

Alan rolled the scroll over — it did indeed carry Benedict’s imprimatur. Breaking the seal, he proceeded to read the short message. “You are correct. Benedict requests my presence in Rome. And yet, he does NOT say anything about Mr. Bates being the Antichrist.”

“You know he could never put something like that in writing under his papal seal!”

“So I am to take your word for it all then?” Alan smiled.

Teri’s jaw jutted out, “What are you going to do?”

“Do I have a choice? Of course I’m going to Rome.”

“Really?” Teri’s face lit up.

At last Alan smiled warmly again. “It was not my intention to give you a hard time, Teri. I can see that you really do believe what you say. That DOES mean something to me.”

Relaxing at last, Teri smiled, “I know it’s late, but why don’t we go to Karl’s Café and enjoy a Bugle to release all this pressure? After all, your time here in Bucharest is obviously over, so let me buy you one last drink.”

Although Alan remained silent, he did not decline. “Oh Hell, why not? But just one, OK?”

“You have my word, Professor.” Teri smiled.

(Somehow I knew she was lying).

Now, in my opinion, a man can do nothing better than to eat, drink, and find satisfaction in his work. Therefore, I was not surprised to see Alan and Teri leave the University and head for Karl’s Café – a speakeasy frequented by the elite of the University crowd who wanted a private venue within which they could enjoy a nostalgic pub that was from a bygone time – namely a place where patrons could enjoy a drink without having to wear face masks or be socially distant.

Karl’s was an establishment that was kept hush from the public since the citizens of Bucharest (and around the world) had long been forced to live in that New New Normal world that had been ushered in with the first Covid plandemic – a world in which large social gatherings were outlawed because of the fear of spreading the virus. Of course, since such laws were more about population control than they were about science, the academics who partnered with the state to produce that made up science and add the weight of their credentials to support said science, also enjoyed the privilege of being able to flaunt the rules – so long as they did it in private. Karl’s Cafe was one such venue that met this need.

Earlier Alan and Teri had vexed one another during their debate about the Antichrist, yet all of that seemed to be behind them now. Hours soon passed and they shared more than a few drinks together, until…

<<RING! DING!> The bartender gave the last call.

“Whoa!” Alan raised his hands to steady himself at the bar. “Clearly all these Bugles have gotten the better of me, eh, Ter?” And he smiled as he laid his head on her shoulder.

“Oh, Alan, tomorrow is so unknown. I’m happy we shared this time, but what will happen now?”

Alan smiled back through a misty haze and sighed, “Yes, I wish this night would never end.”

At that, Teri placed her hand softly on Alan’s knee and whispered into his ear, “It doesn’t have to end yet…”

With Teri’s allure racing through his veins, Alan apparently found himself unable to resist her offer.

(Now, as I told you before, I have no control over these visions and it’s not like a TV where I can change the channel. I get what I get. In this case, it appeared that I was about to see my friend get intimate with his work partner. Gee, I’m not sure the University would approve, Alan.)

Less than twenty minutes later, the pair were in Teri’s cramped apartment, on her bed, undressing one another between passionate kisses.

“Oh, Alan,” Teri gasped, ripping off her blouse to reveal a purple brazier, “I’ve wanted this since the first moment I saw you.”

Pulling her close, he kissed her deeply, “You’re lips taste like honey.” But then I saw him pause – just for a moment, and although I could not read his thoughts, I knew him well enough to make an educated guess about what just happened – he’d seen a vision of another woman!

(If so, I knew who it was. For now let’s just call her a beautiful brunette of Hebrew descent and what you need to know is that this person was Alan’s dream girl).

I watched Alan struggle as his mind was playing tricks on him – perhaps making him believe this other woman was calling out to him, reaching for him at last. For a moment, I knew that Alan’s heart leapt at the thought…

Yet, just as quickly I could see his soul sink – for if he did get a flash of his lost love, then I knew that seeing this other woman would only cause an old wound to be ripped open.

In the end, it was Teri who broke the spell, kissing Alan on the neck and bringing him back to the present moment. Apparently this worked, because Alan refocused his attention on the beautiful woman before him, growling hungrily as he kissed her back, “I’ve never seen a beauty like you.”

“Let me show you more, Professor,” she said in a husky voice, pulling Alan down to her.

As their final garments were removed, Teri sighed, “My well runs deep, let’s drink of love till morning…”

(Whoa, hold on there, Alan, did you hear what she just quoted?)

Suddenly Alan pulled back from the point of no return, “What did you say?!?”

Shocked at the break in their passions, Teri struggled to take in Alan’s retreat. “What? I don’t know.” Then, kissing him and attempting to pull him back, “Come, lover, come to—“

But Alan remained apart. I don’t know if he realized what Teri just quoted from or if instead he felt guilty due to a flood of images of that Hebrew woman, but regardless I heard him say, “I’m sorry, Teri. I can’t do this. It’s wrong for me to disrespect you like this. I’m so sorry.” And he hurriedly gathered up his things.

For a moment, I thought Teri would try to stop him, yet interestingly enough, she did not. And even as Alan hastily threw on his clothes and continued to apologize, Teri remained uncovered on her bed.

As Alan opened the door to leave, Teri merely slithered, “See you in Rome, Love.”

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After 2,000 Years, The Story Continues…