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Devastation of Epochal Proportions |
Earth was on fire. Devastation of epochal proportions was making the headlines of the morning news and every major periodical rolling off the world’s presses. In fulfilment of prophecy, the Lord’s angel had just let loose His Fourth Vial judgment on the earth. Many cities were on the eve of being wiped off the world map.
We were about the midpoint of the Tribulation Hour. Contrary to widely-held belief, the Tribulation Hour was not a time of the wrath of Satan; indeed, it was the time of the wrath of God, who was pouring forth His judgment on the world and its inhabitants that had rejected the gospel of salvation in His only begotten Son, Jesus Christ. The Tribulation Hour was also known as the Time of Jacob’s Trouble, for the Lord was bringing the Jewish people, His chosen people, into a realization of the identity of their awaited Messiah. This was the Lord Jesus Christ – their Yeshua Ha Mashiach.
The ones that had been saved out of the Hour of the Lord were the Body of Christ, those who had believed and accepted the Lord Jesus as their Messiah and Saviour. They belonged to the Church of Jesus Christ that had been snatched up into the air at the Harpazo some years ago. Now, with the active restraining influence of the Holy Spirit of God removed with the Church, it was up to the Tribulation Saints, together with the Lord’s holy angels, to maintain some order on earth. Since being banished from heaven in the recent war between his armies and the Lord’s angels, Lucifer had been consolidating his rule of earth’s vast and varied territories by totalitarian and oppressive means. It was for this reason that the Lord had sent His angels down to earth, to protect mankind from the chaos that was being unleashed on the earth by Satan’s agents of destruction, chief of whom was Antichrist, his own seed.
The half-angel, Ariel, had been protecting the Lord’s remnants in Istanbul for half a year. Concerned for the circumstances surrounding his men, I decided to issue an official order for their repatriation from the Turkish city before their active duty was over. I turned toward Ariel’s Commander.
“I’m dispatching an order to the Halfling, Ariel,” I informed Gabriel. He had flown in from Qatar in the early hours of the morning. “I want him and his men to return to base as soon as tomorrow. I’ll be putting their new repatriation date on the record. There’s nothing more they can do in Turkey: there are no evacuation plans outstanding, no remnants left to rescue. As with most cities around the Mediterranean, the wells there are all but dry. The seas have been contaminated with blood caused by the recent meteor rain; vegetation has been destroyed by fire and hail; as a result every living thing in the seas and livestock on land has died and commercial shipping and fishing have halted. Solar flares are destroying telecommunications and life as people know it. And a third of the population has been decimated. Why are we leaving them there? Let’s just bring them home.”
Gabriel nodded: “It would be for the best. I’ll personally deliver the order to the men on my way to Armenia tomorrow. I had planned to drop by anyway. Ariel should welcome the news: he’s been worrying about Mish. He’s longing to see his little brother. But, now, if you’ll excuse me; I’ve an appointment with Mishael to honour.”
“The Lord’s will be done,” I said, turning my focus back to my child.
It was the fourth day of his hunger strike. Gabriel’s efforts at persuading the child to end the strike had failed. I had known for a while that the stalemate in convincing Mishael to compromise his obdurate stance had been pushing the elder’s threshold of tolerance to the limit. This sport’s not going to be prolonged, he had vowed this morning, taking the matter into his hands.
Gabriel made his descent on the child just as dusk was starting to break. He was accompanied by Asahel and another Medic, the half-angel, Zechariel, from the Petra Medical Centre. The child made no effort to conceal his agitation at seeing the Medics. Nor at the sight of the feeding tube and an inkling that they were about to use it to carry out some kind of violation of his will and dignity. Nevertheless, he remained quietly submissive.
At this point, I had less than a soupçon of interest in the events that were about to develop. I wasn’t exactly riveted by surgical voyeurism. I rose from my swivel chair, making myself invisible before quietly teleporting to New Canaan where I conducted myself to Mishael’s apartment building. There, I assumed my terrestrial manifestation as General Micah ben Israel.
The child’s inner-city apartment had the unlived-in odour of air deprivation because bolted up like a vault and unventilated for more than a week. As well, entropy had set in within the short time the apartment became unoccupied. A thin layer of dust covered the tops of every piece of the chattels and isolated threads of cobweb strung from the ceiling corners. Now here’s an illustration in support of the Second Law of Thermodynamics, I thought. I headed for his bedroom, passing the kitchen on the way. The air there was redolent of spices, coffee beans and stale cooking.
The door of his bedroom had been left slightly ajar. I entered it, mechanically reviewed the contents of the room and proceeded to gather the few belongings I knew Mish would appreciate having back, his iPod, Mac Book and letters. I bubble wrapped them carefully and, then, packed them neatly into two large shoe boxes, which afterward, I duct taped all over.
On my way out, I spotted a sleek picture frame balanced on top of the narrow stucco mantelpiece in the middle of the living room. A single photograph graced the travertine frame. In it was Mish, posing in front of the Sea of Galilee. The child was backed up against the mast of the clinker-built Ocean Skipper, on loan from an acquaintance, Reuel, who lived in a nearby village. (Reuel Brasch was a fisherman and a remnant of the Lord’s elect.) In the child’s right hand was a foot-long tilapia, which he was holding up by its tail. He had caught the tilapia on his first nautical outing there; that was about two and a half years ago. I remembered that I had wanted a keepsake of the occasion for future nostalgia.
“Shoot it now, Mika,” my son was yelling noisily. “Shoot the picture. This thing is slippery. Whoa. Whoa. And it’s twisting about like there’s no tomorrow.”
I was adjusting the lens to put my son into focus.
“All right, Mish,” I instructed him when I was ready. “Say Selah.”
“Se . . . ”
Click.
“. . . lah.”
Whirr.
“Picture perfect,” I informed my son while I unloaded my old-fashioned Nikon camera. “I’ll get these processed by the angel, Shelumiel.”
That had been a picture-perfect day out to the Galilean coast, too. More important, being in Galilee was a diversion that had been cathartic for Mish; he’d had some emotional issues to work through that year. I picked up the frame and slipped it into my coat pocket. This photograph isn’t going to be one of those spare mementos destined for a dusty trunk in the attic, I told myself. I, then, gave the apartment one last look-over before leaving.
Still in my manifested form, I took the elevator to the Mezzanine. There I ran into Mish’s neighbour, Dr. Luc Montagna. The last time we engaged in polite discourse was a week ago when Mish had gone missing. He was one of a handful of witnesses who had seen Mish moments before his disappearance. I had interviewed him to ascertain my child’s location.
We exchanged greetings. Mishka’s physician immediately asked after his sometimes patient.
“Yes,” I assured him, “Misha’s recuperating in Petra and, for the most part, in good health. Thank you for your prayers. I’ve just been to his apartment to collect some of his belongings.”
“Are you terminating his lease on the apartment, General ben Israel?” he asked next.
I shook my head. “No,” I replied. “We’re keeping the apartment for someone else who shall be deployed here in Misha’s place.”
“Well, that’s good,” he nodded affably. “We missed Private Ben-Rubin at the Bible Study meeting last week. Please let him know we’re all asking after him and sending him our love.”
I told him I would do exactly that.
“I hope to see him again soon,” he said at last.
“I’m certain that can be arranged,” I smiled and, with that, we departed from each other.
I continued on my way to the Post Office. There, I had the shoe boxes air freighted to Petra.
Gabriel was on hand to meet me on my return to base.
“What did you do?” I asked him, feeling conscious about the widening schism between my child and me.
“We had him fitted with an NG-tube,” he replied. “As I had explained this morning, if he wasn’t going to get his nutrients the usual way, he was simply going to be force-fed.”
“How did he react to that?” I enquired further.
“As expected,” Gabriel answered, “with passive resistance. There was some squirming when Asahel was administering a sedative before fitting him with the feeding tube. Asahel had anticipated that. It was twilight before the child finally surrendered to the idea that I wasn’t changing my mind about the feeding tube.”
I retrieved the photo frame from my pocket while I gave the monitor my token inspection. “He’s sound asleep,” I observed.
Gabriel watched me place the frame on my desk. “He must need the sleep badly,” he opined. “I’ve posted a security detail at the door and windows in the meantime. Abishael’s angels have been instructed to restrict unauthorized access to his chamber. But I want you to know that I absolutely do not approve of this at all. We must put a stop to his banishment, Mika. He needs to be allowed to return home before things spin out of control. The hunger strike, the silent treatment: this is becoming a contest of willpower between him and us, and his human pride is getting in the way of recognizing the subtext. I don’t see the point in subjecting him to shame and humiliation; nor do I like their long-term implications for his emotional development.”
“Your perception that pride is the issue is untenable,” I contended. “You know Mish as well as I do: there’s hardly a proud sinew in his body. What is at issue here is fear, and the fact that the child has lost his way.”
“He’s rebelling,” Gabriel asserted. “And we know rebellion is predicated on pride. Lucifer is testament of that.”
“As the humans say, you’re comparing apples and oranges, for Mish is the absolute polar opposite of Lucifer,” I rebutted. “Let’s just agree to disagree on the issue until the truth is revealed, shall we? Now, tell me, Riel, is this the popular sentiment among the brethren – that I’m cold of heart because I’m keeping the child in isolation?”
“Have you heard something?” Gabriel asked.
I shook my head: “Not in so many words. It’s a hunch I have – I’ve had a visit from the Halfling, Qael. He appeared disappointed that I’ve had Mish’s place in the choir voided. I’m not faulting him for feeling this way, of course.”
Gabriel’s eyes rolled: “Surely Qael will not be the only brother disappointed.”
“You haven’t answered my question,” I told him.
“All the elders are in accord that Mish would benefit from being with his kindred at his time of conflict,” he replied tactfully, avoiding answering the question directly. “No one believes isolation is going to help rather than hurt him. Uriel and Raphael want a meeting of the elders to broker a truce in order to reach some mutually agreeable terms for a peaceful co-existence between you and the child, so that he may be brought home as soon as possible.”
“A truce,” I said, my mind boggling at the notion. “Peaceful co-existence. Where’s all this coming from? They make it sound as if we’re feuding. We’re not feuding, Gabriel. We’re having a conflict of values, that’s all. And they seem to think I’m disposed to the same flaws and conditions common to humanity. They do well to remember that I love the child and this is unconditional.”
“Everyone wants him home, Mika,” Gabriel reiterated, sighing.
I nodded. But I felt an ache in my chest. “I’ll take that under advisement. But we must also be faithful concerning waiting on the Lord in this matter.”
My oldest companion turned to eyeball me. “Speaking of which, what are you going to do about the brethren’s outcry?” he continued. “The Council of Elders is asking for nothing less than judgment for Abaddon. And Ariel grows impatient with each passing day.”
“I will raise the matter before the Lord at the Divine Council assembly in three days,” I replied. “The brethren will have to wait just a bit longer. Whatever goes down, we must abide by the Lord’s dictate but, rest assured, Abaddon will not get away with violating the rules and subjecting our child to his unlawful brutality.”
“We must insist on an audience with Abaddon,” Gabriel said in an impassioned plea. “He must be placed under compunction for his daring crimes against one of our underlings. You must beseech the Lord to mandate his appearance before the elders’ Council.”
“And then what, Riel?” I asked. “What are you and the elders going to do? Abaddon is Lucifer’s minion; where Lucifer and his angels are concerned, we can do nothing of our own accord but what the Lord wills and sends us to do.”
Gabriel tapped a finger at the monitor screen as if to draw my focus on our sleeping child. “This involves our youngling here,” he stated. “The elders have the Lord’s proxy to administer the affairs, safety and protection of the Halflings. Whatever decision we make concerning this child’s welfare and protection is well within the parameters of our responsibility. Surely, the Lord will not require that we seek His approbation every time a decision needs to be made in his regard.”
I nodded. “You make a cogent point, Riel. Just the same, we must seek the Lord’s will in all things. Be patient, old friend. I will go to the Lord and seek His will just as soon as I’ve returned from Belarus.”
Gabriel nodded gratefully: “The sooner the better. Now, what about you and the child? Mika, how much longer are you planning to observe him from the cover of a surveillance camera? He aches for you. Isn’t it time you paid him a visit to try to mend the rift between him and you?”
“I want to,” I replied, “but as I’ve said previously, that’s going to be his call. When he comes round to admitting he needs me and decides to front up about his fears, I shall go to him. I’m always going to care for him; he knows he can depend on me to provide him a safe harbour from any turbulence that may visit upon him. I’m his primary protector, for that’s the Lord’s will for me, which I must obey. But I want the child to come voluntarily to me. I’m never going to impose my own will on him. He’s an individual with rights, which I shall not discard as though . . . as though they were disposable razors.”
“Unless by exercising those rights he’s infringing on the will of Jehovah, such as his will to die,” Gabriel suggested. “At least, according to you, that’s what he wants to do. That’s why he’s being isolated.”
I understood Gabriel’s innuendo. I explained grimly: “The decision to isolate the child is not an attempt to foist my will on him. You know me better than that: I want nothing more than to raise him with dignity and respect. I’m doing it to keep an eye on him and protect him. His faith is badly shaken; I don’t know what he plans to do with himself or, if at all, he plans to carry out his threat to end his life. I only know that he’s in the Lord’s hands and in the Lord’s own time, He will deliver him from his fears.”
“We can just as efficiently protect the child here, at our garrison,” Gabriel demurred.
I shook my head: “He’s only going to be a distraction to the kindred here. I don’t mean to sound harsh but my decision is final: he’s remaining at the infirmary. We’re not continuing with this discussion anymore, Gabriel, so I would appreciate your putting an immediate end to it.”
I turned from Gabriel to the dossiers on my desk. I proceeded to re-examine the assignments that had been drawn up for the protection of earth’s populace. Life on earth wasn’t chugging along on low gear just because those of us in the spiritual realm were wrestling with dual battles in, and between, heaven and earth. As for the former, the Lord’s holy angels were continually engaged in warfare with Lucifer and his angels, the Fallen Ones, thwarting their plans for domination of the material world.
Earth’s political landscape was becoming increasingly volatile with the Antichrist’s armies preparing their march toward Megiddo. I needed every one of the Lord’s warriors to assist with gathering the Lord’s elect and the Tribulation Saints, and bringing them to the mountains of Petra where they could safely eke out the rest of the Tribulation Hour. Now, with Mish out of commission, we were a warrior short leaving the saints in New Canaan adrift and defenseless.
“We need to reassign District 11,” I told Gabriel, picking up Mish’s dossier. “That’s New Canaan – Mish’s present mission field. It’s Abaddon’s haunt of choice and also a hotbed for Lucifer’s transhuman incursion, so whomever we send to police this district needs to be alert and discerning. I’m leaning toward assigning the Halfling, Ariel, to the post.”
Gabriel nodded: “Ari’s the best we have among the Halflings. He should be available for deployment to a new mission after his repatriation from the Turkish tour. However, I can’t see Mish liking being replaced at all, no matter how much he loves his brother.”
“Of course, Mish is going to be incensed,” I replied, “but now isn’t the time to maintain the status quo; it’s the balance of power that needs to be preserved and in defense interest to replace him.”
My decision holding sway, I crossed out Mish’s name on the dossier and printed Ariel’s name above it.
“You’re not replacing him permanently, are you?” Gabriel asked, studying the dossier in my hand.
“Nothing ever is permanent,” I replied. “That being said, I’ve been considering relieving Mish of his duties in New Canaan altogether. I may have underestimated her risks to someone as inexperienced as our child. I want the child’s training resumed. Most of all, I want the process of his emotional maturation to fructify before he takes on another difficult assignment independently.”
“He’ll challenge you on that,” Gabriel warned. “Brace yourself.”
“District 11 is getting a new custodian,” I reiterated, “and that’s Ariel. It’s finalized. And Mish will be reassigned.”
The Commanding General tossed his latest report on top of the scattered dossiers. I knew my intractable decision had wound him up.
“First, you put him out of his own home; then, you negated his place in the choir, an activity he absolutely delights in; and, now, you’re standing him down from his post in New Canaan,” Gabriel voiced his displeasure with some choler. “What’s going to be next, Michael? What else are you going to strip my underling of?”
“I realize you’re defending the underling’s honour because he’s one of your men,” I stated. “But we can’t let our personal feelings get in the way of doing what is right. We’re at war with the Lord’s greatest Foe. What I’m doing is for the good of everyone involved. And this, old friend, includes Mishael.”
My colleague scowled, turning back to the monitor: “This wasn’t our plan, Mika. Our plan was to bring him home immediately after his discharge from the Medical Centre, not confine him in an infirmary without so much as a companion. And, now, he’s lost almost everything that ever gave him a sense of belonging. He’s only started reintegrating after the debacle over the court martial that damaged his relationship with his brothers. I cannot stand by and watch his hard work amount to nothing. With all due respect, Mika, I’m giving us a week to see if he snaps out of his rebellion. After that, I’m bringing him home.”
He got up to leave. I disliked parting with him in the mood he was in, but he had already departed for the infirmary. He was keeping a vigil of my son tonight. With a troubled heart, I left my office to undertake weapons maintenance and repair at the Armoury.
At the stroke of midnight I returned to my office. I logged on to my iFad to conduct my routine weekly virtual conferencing with the elders, Uriel, Remiel and Jediael.
“Before I allot your assignments to you, brothers,” I commenced, “I’d like an update from brother Uriel in respect of the situation in Thailand, in their coastal villages. Uriel, you were there last month.”
Uri replied solemnly: “The villages are mostly submerged. The tsunami that hit had caused greater damage and lives lost than the tragedy of the Boxing Day tsunami in 2004. Children are learning remotely, businesses are closed, jobs put on the back burner. Quite akin to the pandemic lockdowns of a decade ago, I’d say. The clean-up’s ongoing; it’s a massive undertaking. And since most of the villagers were fishermen they were at sea when the disaster struck. The decedents left behind many widows and orphans as a consequence. Their welfare has been one of the priorities of my mission: giving them shelter and all the basic essentials for their continual survival.”
“I heard from brother Uzziel that many are getting saved there,” brother Remiel informed us.
“Aye, Remy,” Uri nodded, “many underground home churches are sprouting up in the villages. It’s been phenomenal, according to brother Jehoel. The gospel is being preached to the people who dwell on the mountains as well; the people are hungry for truth about what’s going on with the world.”
“And your platoon leader is aiding with building shelters and delivering food and water to the mountain dwellers as well?” I asked.
Uriel nodded once more: “Jehoel’s assisting me soon with starting the Thai chapter of Operation: Angels Unawares.”
“That’s excellent,” I responded.
Uri continued: “And, FYI, my underling, Eranael, periodically assists brother Jehoel, with proclaiming the gospel among the villagers; as you know, with his people-skills he’s amenable to tasks of this nature.”
“When does he finish up in Borneo?” I enquired.
“It’s indefinite,” Uri replied. “There’s still plenty to be done in Borneo. The jungle dwellings are huge and the dwellers need help to thwart the evil devices of the apostate power named Chemosh. I give Eran permission to come and go as he feels is necessary, particularly now that there’s urgency for much manpower to assist with the O:AU initiative in Thailand.”
“Praise be to the Lord for Eran and Jehoel, then,” I commended. “If the brothers require reinforcements to push back Chemosh’s forces, do let me or Riel know. This is imperative. If the dark forces are making their hostile incursions into East and South Asia, our own forces need to be arrayed as a resistant front against them.”
“All our forces are always ready to respond to our Commander-in-Chief’s call to arms,” Jediael maintained. “The Western and Central hemispheres included.”
“All right,” I stated. “Now moving on to your assignments, brothers; I’ll be reading from my notes. I don’t want to omit anything apposite as these missions are heavy on details. First up, Uri: your mission this week should be a jaunt in the park.
“Prior to the commencement of the Day of the Lord, a Taiwan-based company, Golden GoosEgg, had put its four-year conception into gear by producing a film about Japanese Imperialism. To many of its shareholders and those on its board of directors, however, this endeavour was but an ambitious fiscal overreach. Four years ago, Nextflixor, which is a digital streaming service based out of Hong Kong, acquired the rights to stream this movie. However, the movie couldn’t be offered at a worse time than right now, what with regional tensions continuing to brew and Japan at their center, vis-a-vis the proposal to amend the anti-war clause provided in Article 9 of their Constitution.”
Uri interjected: “In addition to its row with China over the Senkaku Islands.”
“Indeed,” I concurred.
“We mustn’t forget the decision by the Japanese government to revisit the Kono Statement . . . ,” Jediael said.
“Kono Statement: the one that pertains to the World War Two sex slavery opprobrium?” Remiel asked.
“Correct,” Jediael replied. “That’s currently contributing to the tense relations between Japan and Korea.”
“All pertinent points, brothers,” I stated. “Obviously, it must’ve slipped the producers’ minds that a film with an emphasis on anti-Japanese Imperialism, even if discreet, would escalate distrust and foment xenophobic sentiments in the region. And any positive subtexts it might intend would only be glossed over by the majority of the younger audience used to spoon-feeding.”
“Might I add that those old enough to have lived through an occupation would be better off not to disinter the memories of their struggles against Japanese aggression,” Uri mentioned.
“Another good point,” I nodded. “This is your mission, brother Uri: do what you can to incapacitate the streaming service of this film that’s been scheduled to drop a month from today. The Enemy would simply love to see the Eastern nations begin an unnecessary war.”
“You mean a premature war,” Uri suggested, hinting at the coming war at Har Megiddo.
“Aye, Uri, you’re right,” I conceded. “I ought to have said, ‘an unnecessarily premature war’.”
“Which is just another money laundering scheme by Antichrist’s Military Industrial Complex,” Uri maintained. “To start another endless war. Well, none of this is going to happen: as you said, Mika, this mission’s going to be a stroll in the park.”
Directing my attention to Remiel next I informed him: “You have two distinct tasks to accomplish and these deal with heart issues.”
Remy responded: “Ah, is Ehyeh testing my EQ once again?”
“Aye, good brother,” I replied. I proceeded: “It appears that way. Now, your first mission takes place in Lisbon in Portugal. Your target’s name is Elëa Quintal. She’s not a believer yet but close. She’s also refused to be implanted with Antichrist’s Mark.
“This is her story: a rejection by her high school crush has left Elëa with a philosophical outlook that appeals to carnal desires: ‘Live free and do what you will’. This philosophy has pushed her sexual boundaries to experience in excess of a hundred bedfellows a year, a dangerous maxim by which to live in these times of endemic STD.”
“Ever since the sexual revolution of the 1960s twenty-five new types of STD have been found to assail mankind,” Jediael added, “and this has created a humanitarian crisis.”
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| "This has created a humanitarian crisis." |
“Your point is pertinent once more, brother Jed,” I commented. “Nevertheless, Yah has seen Elëa’s realization that herpes isn’t the legacy she wishes to leave behind at the end of her life. The Lord has also seen her heart’s desire to break free of her proclivity. However she’s powerless to deliver herself from her addiction because, unbeknownst to her, her struggle’s with the Evil One, Belial, or one of Belial’s minions.”
“And my task is to demolish the demonic strongholds of Belial and plant seeds of temperance in Elëa,” Remy suggested. “Most important of all, plant in her the seed of the gospel of salvation in the Lord Yahushua. Easy as.”
“Undoubtedly, the only person undermining Elëa’s pursuit of a life of happiness and contentment is Elëa herself,” I stated. “She needs the Lord’s salvation.
“If you’re clear what your first mission is let’s swiftly move on: now, your second mission ought to take you to the capital of Hungary. As prophesied by Yahushua, there are two young women there who are about to make a suicide pact with each other. It’s quite simple: interrupt their plans before they have even the time to be conceived.”
“Done . . . but, what’s their story?” Remy asked.
“You’re already somewhat acquainted with them,” I told Remy. “You recall the human trafficking racket you wiped out in Brussels?”
The elder nodded: “Oh yes, late last year. But what about it?”
“Well, the suicide pact is about to be made by two of the survivors of the white slavery ring you eradicated,” I replied. “First and foremost, their names: Sanne Reif, who hailed from Bern, Switzerland, and Anastasia Nastase, whose country of origin was Romania. The women were first sold into white slavery when they were abducted from their respective orphanages. These women have been good friends since adolescence when they were working for the same man in Brussels who was their pimp. After the latter’s ring was smashed, the two women fled to Budapest. Unfortunately they haven’t been able to abide by the existing social contracts of Hungary, which is further compounded by their addiction to alcohol and heroin. It may be a neurological disorder, or a form of self-defense or a PTSD, but they’re unable to function without the aid of substances to get through the day.”
Uri interjected: “These chemical substances are the preponderance of the M.O. used by the Enemy to persuade human beings to end their own lives.”
“Indeed,” I concurred. “Which is what Sanne and Anastasia are on their way to doing in order to be free of the quandary they haven’t the tools to help them break out of.”
“Because of their upbringing,” Jed opined. “Without the appropriate adult guidance and nurturing during their formative years, they wouldn’t have been accustomed to the norms of a society in order to function in that society. All Sanne and Anastasia ever knew was what was taught them by the human traffickers.”
I nodded: “Thank you, Jed. You’re absolutely correct. The skills and knowledge your adult caregivers have equipped you with at a young age right through adulthood are important for integrating into a social group to sustain that group, none of which the women were taught and, so, they’re feeling rudderless in Budapest, a completely alien community to them. But brother Remiel has been down this path before. Remy, you’ve already had a similar experience three years ago, if you recall; I’m referring to the young aspiring ballerina from Georgia.”
“Emma Tsiklauri . . . of course,” Remy recalled. “She had run away from her home in Tbilisi. She attempted to enter Moscow to audition for the Bolshoi Ballet but fell prey to human traffickers that sold her into forced child labour. She was fifteen years old.”
“It was the beginning of the Day of the Lord,” I explained to my fellow-elders. “The world’s established and abiding social institutions were on the collapse, including the realm of culture and visual arts. Emma’s hopes and aspirations were dashed when she was still on the border crossing into Russia.”
“Yes,” Remy agreed, “Miss Tsiklauri had gone no farther than the Kazbegi-Verkhnii Lars international crossing when members of a human trafficking ring from Vladikavkaz nabbed her; from there they trafficked her into St. Petersburg. For the next two and a half years, she was taught how to ply her trade throughout Moscow and its peripheral districts. When local law enforcement officers succeeded in demolishing most of the organized crimes in Moscow two years later, Emma was rescued. However owing to the lack of support for human rights victims there, Emma found herself in the same situation as Anastasia and Sanne, unable to acclimate to the Russian customs; without a sponsor, a career, life skills, in addition to being addicted to meth, she found her existence meaningless, her future bleak; and so made an attempt to end her life.”
“Yes,” I stated. “But you rescued her from her dire situation and now she’s a child of Elohim. Ergo, you’re the one brother I have the utmost confidence to entrust with those women’s lives. You also have the resources to remove the factors that are causing Sanne and Anastasia to contemplate suicide.”
“Can do,” Remy replied, adding: “As with Emma’s case, Yahushua’s love is the only tool to help turn the women’s lives around. Copy that.”
“Thank you, brother Remy,” I said, after which I turned to Jediael. “Brother Jed, your skills in defusing mafia quarrels are about to be tested again.”
“Say no more: the case of Nikolaeva and Nikitin Sokolov, heirs apparent of the renowned Russian-American crime family?” Jed asked.
I nodded: “The last of the crime families in North America.”
“The Sokolov siblings’ death sentences have just been upheld by the U.S. Supreme Court,” Jed informed us. “Their sentences have set a new legal precedent as the siblings were minors when they were first arraigned on their murder charges.”
I nodded again: “Not quite apposite to your mission . . . and I’m going off on a tangent here: the question on many people’s lips is, are the siblings natural-born killers or are they the products of social conditioning and upbringing?”
Remy chimed in: “There’s a voice in our heads that we listen to and it tells us right from wrong. It’s called conscience. We may infer from news reports that the boy, Nikitin, has stopped listening to his conscience for a long time now – that’s why he’s grown an appetite for killing. It’s life imitating art, in this case, the impact of the idiot box on the minds of today’s youth. We also know from reports by citizen journalists that Nikitin’s a slave to modern technology. His conscience is the idiot box, and the voice in his head is the audio transmitted from the idiot box. It is this auditory voice that spurs him to commit murder.”
“However,” Jed stated, “Nikolaeva isn’t your stereotypical sidekick whose conscience is altogether seared. For one thing, she reportedly abhors abetting her brother in his crime spree but she feels her hands shackled by her sense of dependency on him. She’s exceptionally obedient to her brother and submissively carries out every one of his whims without question. But conversely and paradoxically she’s the accomplice with some humanity: it’s been suggested that she’s the weak link in the chain of crime spree she’s committed with Nikitin; hence she’s the reason for their ultimate capture.
“During the slaying of their latest victim, and this was committed in broad daylight, witnesses have testified to seeing her nervously fidgeting and, afterward, sobbing disconsolately over her role in the murder. That murder scene – the act itself and the dismemberment of the head thereafter – has been described postmortem as being to-the-point and savage, but methodical in its savagery. At their trial, Nikitin had reportedly displayed absolutely no feelings; with the exception of agitation at describing the difficulty of his grisly task and apathy toward his victim whom he had hacked to pieces and then used several of the pieces as kindling for heat.
“There’s no doubt in anyone’s mind that Nikitin’s a sociopathic killer. He reminds us of the film, Natural Born Killers: killing for sport and kicks. And the fact that both Nikitin and Nikolaeva used to live in a mansion and own an Audi convertible and a Porsche respectively: well, these outward symbols of wealth aren’t lost on anyone.”
“I surmise your take is that Nikitin had a predisposition to evil owing to the influence of technology. Fair enough. But to get back to business: regrettably, the boy they slew was Juan Espinoza, whose father, Néstor, is a member of the Venezuelan-American Cartel,” I informed Jed. “Ergo, one can only imagine how deadly the older sons’ approach to vengeance is going to be.”
“Deadly enough for the saints in the West Coast, particularly among the Armenian refugees around Los Angeles,” Jed maintained. “They’re known to be routinely caught in the crosshairs of a mob war, which would likely occasion at any time now.”
“And that’s where your skills come in,” I continued. “In the process of defusing the animus between the warring families, you’re allowed – no, let’s make this encouraged – to effect some significant collateral damage: the complete crippling and elimination of the activities of these crime families.”
Jed noticeably approved: “It’s high time, too. The only reason this Cartel and the West Coast mafia have survived to this point when the rest of the North American organized-crime families have perished is their ties to the moribund papacy and the backing of the former Pope – who, now, happens to be the False Prophet.”
“He and the so-called ‘Illuminated Ones’ are, in turn, the driving forces behind the globalist elites that have put Antichrist in power,” attested Uriel.
“Exactly,” Jediael said.
“You’ve got your work cut out for you,” Uriel suggested.
“Not at all, good brother,” Jediael demurred. “I’ve waited a long time to smash the mob ring once and for all.”
“You already have a plan?” I asked.
“That I do,” Jed replied.
“Excellent,” I smiled, adding at length, “Godspeed, brothers. May Yah guide and protect you and your underlings, those who shall accompany you on your missions. May He direct your paths and grant you success.”
That ended our video conferencing for another week. My iFad went radio silent as well.
Our favourite four-legged companion started to edge toward my lap as I restored my attention to my computer monitor. He was a cat of the Ragdoll breed, had hues a combination of latte and cognac and eyes a luminous blue.
The older Halflings had decided to name him, ‘Agent Saboteur’, after he had wrecked some of their boots the first day he was brought to their billet. However, Mish had a vastly different nickname for him: ‘Fur Baby’.
“How very human and hipster,” Gabriel had opined concerning the nickname.
I cuddled and petted the Ragdoll’s head tenderly, whispering: “I know you’re missing him; I’m missing him, too.”
Purr.
“Has daddy Lumi fed you?”
Purr.
“Oh, he has, huh? Well, then, it’s time for your nap, isn’t it?”
Purr.
“Attaboy.”
I stroked the fur baby’s coat until it shone while his motor continued to redline at full speed. With the brief passage of time the motor muted as sleep and the sense of contentment overcame him.
My son drew me back to the monitor. Another spell of serial sleep talking had engulfed him.
I leaned toward the monitor and listened closely to his indistinct utterances. Nothing of his fragmented words cohered.
I thought while I observed his restless slumber: Beloved, what manner and menace of demons are being visited upon your night dreams?
It wasn’t long before I would get the answers to my question.
