Enoch: He Lived Long Ago. He Never Died. Now the Most Powerful Woman in the World is Trying to Own Him.

By Alton L. Gansky

“Look for the one I am sending you...”

 

An unusual message is popping up in unexpected places around the world--in radio commercials, movies, TV shows, even within the pages of the New York Times. Believing that someone is playing an elaborate prank, FCC agent Gene Manford and FBI agent Katherine Rooney begin an investigation. But nothing in their training has prepared them for what they are about to encounter...

A contemporary novel dealing with real spiritual warfare issues, Enoch will take you on a mind-bending, fast-paced journey through a story of good versus evil.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Realms
• Release date: Aug 18, 2011
• ISBN: 9781599798035

Alton L. Gansky

Alton Gansky (www.altongansky.com) has written a number of other novels, including Zero-G, Finder's Fee, Director’s Cut, Before Another Dies, The Prodigy, and the J. D. Stanton mystery series. He also writes nonfiction books that explore the mysteries of faith, the Bible, and God. He and his wife, Becky, have three adult children and live in Southern California.

Book preview

Epilogue

HE FIRST THOUGHT OF HIS FEET.

It seemed an odd first thought, but there it was. His gaze drifted to a pair of soft-topped shoes, each with a symbol stitched to the side.

N. He wondered why anyone would stitch a letter on foot-wear.

He raised a foot, then wiggled it. The shoe felt good. He dug a toe in the sandy dirt, then raised his head. A field surrounded him. No crops, no buildings, no people. Just a wide expanse of rugged scrub that shivered in the cold wind.

A full-circle turn revealed nothing but the same: miles of empty land. He blinked against the wind and the bits of dirt and dust it carried. To the west the sun lowered itself to the horizon. In the opposite direction, darkness crawled up the sky, keeping pace as if the descending orb pulled a curtain of night behind it.

Turning to face the sun again, he saw a break in the expanse of near-barren ground. At its edge ran a thin fence. He moved toward it, amused at the soft crunch the earth made with each step of his N-shoes.

Something scampered to his right. A covey of quail sprinted away and then took to the air, flying a short distance before making contact with the earth again. The sight made him smile.

Henick wrapped his arms around himself to ward off the chilling breeze. The material of his multicolored shirt felt soft against his arms and palms. He kept his gaze down, protecting his eyes from the sun’s glare and looking up only long enough to get his bearings and check for holes or rocks that might cause him to stumble.

The fence was a simple series of metal stakes supporting four strands of metal wire punctuated with evenly spaced barbs. He extended a finger, touched one of the points, and frowned. The knife-sharp tip drew a drop of blood. He stuck the offended finger in his mouth. A quick scan of the fence’s length revealed no gate.

A short distance from the fence ran a wide, smooth, black surface with a series of white dashes down the middle. He marveled at its unerring straightness.

He returned his attention to the fence. He wanted to be on the other side but preferred to arrive there with skin and clothing intact. Placing a hand on the top strand, he pushed down. The metal wire moved, but not enough to make straddling the thing acceptable. He tried again, this time using both hands. The wire fence gave more but still too little.

Henick decided on a different approach. He stepped to the nearest metal upright and tested it. It looked old, as if it had spent a lifetime stuck in that one spot. Seizing it with both hands and careful to avoid the stinging wire, he shook the thin metal pole. It wiggled. He leaned into it and then pulled back, repeating the motion twenty or thirty times. The metal felt cold against his bare hands, and gritty rust tinted his flesh.

When he had worked the pole loose, he lifted its base from the ground, then moved to the next upright and reenacted the procedure. With two posts loose, Henick could step across the barrier without injury.

Once on the other side, he replaced the posts, stomping the surrounding dirt with his foot until the soil was as compact as he could make it. In time, weather would reseal the posts to their original strength.

The exertion had warmed him enough to raise a film of perspiration on his brow and beneath the black hair that hung to his shoulders. The breeze found each moist area and chilled it. He could expect a cold night.

Stepping to the middle of the black path, he bent and touched the surface. It appeared smooth but felt coarse beneath his fingers. The black material radiated gentle warmth. He straightened and looked up and down the long road. It seemed to have no end in either direction. Deciding that one direction was as good as the other, Henick began to walk, choosing his course so the wind would be at his back and not in his face.

When the last of the sun’s disk fell beneath the horizon, Henick had made two or three miles. He passed the time by counting the white dashes in the middle of the strange path or wondering about the letter N on his shoes. He liked the shoes; they made walking easier.

A quarter moon replaced the sun in the sky but offered little light. Soon the final light would follow its source below the distant horizon. If he had remained in the open field, he would have had to stop his journey. Walking over uncertain and irregular terrain with no light would be foolish, but the hard path with its white lines made it possible for him to continue.

Just before the sun said its final good-bye, Henick saw a black and white sign with a puzzling, irregular shape and the words RANCH ROAD 1232. Sometime later he saw a sign that read DON’T MESS WITH TEXAS.

The air moved from chilly to cold, but the breeze had settled.

Henick kept moving.

Lights and a rumble approached from behind. The light split the darkness and gave Henick a shadow that stretched impossibly long before him. He stopped and turned, raising a hand to shield his eyes against the glare.

The roar grew louder. The lights neared.

A sudden blaring assaulted his ears, but Henick stood his ground.

What are you? Nuts?

The voice came from behind the glare. A large metal device pulled alongside. The words pickup truck entered Henick’s mind.

The vehicle stopped. Have you plumb lost your mind, boy? I coulda run you down and not even known I hit ya. What are you thinking?

In the dim light, Henick could see two people seated in the truck: a man in his sixties and a woman of the same age.

Go easy on him, Jake. He looks confused. Maybe he’s lost. The woman’s voice rode on tones of kindness.

That it, boy? You lost?

I am just walking, Henick said.

In the dark? Where you headed?

Henick thought for a moment. That way. He pointed down the long stretch of road.

Ain’t nuthin’ that way but Blink, and there ain’t much reason for going there unless that’s your home. I’m guessin’ it ain’t. Pretty small town; I think I’d have seen you before.

I don’t live there.

The man the woman called Jake exited the truck and eyed Henick. It’s a bit cold to be out in nuthin’ but blue jeans and a flannel shirt. It’s supposed to drop into the forties tonight.

It is true. I am cold.

Give him a ride, Jake. The woman had slid closer to the driver side door. We can’t leave him out here. He’s liable to step in some pothole and break a leg.

More likely he’d step on a rattler. They like the warm asphalt.

Either way, Jake, we can’t leave the man out here.

All right, all right, just keep your shoes on. Jake looked at Henick. Turn around.

Henick raised an eyebrow.

Turn around, boy. I jus’ wanna make sure you ain’t packin’.

Packin’?

Totin’ a gun. You sure you haven’t wandered off from some kinda home for the slow?

Jake!

All right, Eleanor, I don’t mean no disrespect. He motioned for Henick to turn in place. Henick did. OK, here’s the deal. I’ll give you a ride, but that’s all. Me and the wife were going into town for a meal. Friday night is our evening out. Been doing that for thirty-five years.

I would like a ride.

Yeah, well, don’t have no room for you up front, so you’ll have to ride in the back. I got some blankets to keep the wind off you. It’s the best I can offer.

Thank you. Henick climbed into the bed of the truck and leaned against the cab.

Blankets are behind my seat. I’ll get ’em.

A few moments later, Henick, snug in two wool blankets, turned his face heavenward, gazed at the stars, and wondered what a Texas was.

HURRY UP, IT’S ABOUT TO START." MILLIE MOSKOS SAT ON the sofa and worked her back into the cushion. She reached for a china cup of orange spice herbal tea.

Settle down, woman, I’m coming, although I don’t know why you want me to watch this nonsense. Harry Moskos, Millie’s husband of nearly thirty years, carried what had once been a white cup, now yellowed by age and a thousand washings. He sipped his coffee. Harry always drank coffee, a habit chiseled into his character by twenty-five years spent as a navy doctor.

It’s not nonsense. You love this show as much as I do. And you should stop drinking so much of that stuff; it’s bad for your blood pressure.

So you said this morning and at lunch. Coffee has never done me any harm. Besides, I’m a doctor; I know what is and what isn’t good for my blood pressure. He took another sip and smacked his lips. Ah, man-milk. A guy like me needs it.

A guy like you needs to find a better excuse.

Harry settled into his La-Z-Boy chair, squirmed until his body matched the well-worn depressions, and then pulled the handle that raised his legs. Yes, sir, if the navy had recliners like this on the ship, I’d still be serving instead of working ER.

Sometimes I think you love that chair more than you do me.

Just sometimes?

Millie studied her husband. His gray hair lay flat on his head, and stubble decorated his jowls. He never shaved on his days off. Over the years he added over sixty pounds to his frame. Middle age had not been kind to him. Of course, she carted an extra thirty pounds herself. They both were victims of aging in a Western society filled with every fattening food a person could desire.

I hope she has the same spirit-guide as last week. Millie raised the teacup to her lips.

What, the one that talks about alien life?

Yes. Isn’t it exciting to know that people like us live on other planets?

"We don’t know that, Millie. All we know is that Mary-Martha said it."

Not Mary-Martha; Lustar, her spirit guide, and he should know. He lived and died on another planet.

If you say so.

Mary-Martha says so, and I don’t think she’d lie to the world.

Harry chuckled.

Laugh all you want, but I believe her.

Ease up, old girl. I’m just having some fun with you. Haven’t I sat here each week with you and watched her show on television? Don’t I send her money each time I pay the bills?

It’s starting. Turn up the volume.

You keep me around just to operate the remote, don’t you?

It gives you a sense of purpose. Now hush.

Willie Lennox stood to the side of camera three, unmoving and veiled in the penumbra of white stage lights. He felt comfortable in the dark, just a step or two from the activity of others. Mr. Behind-the-Scenes, always present, seldom noticed. He thought of the stage musical Chicago. A character named Amos—another husband of a famous person—sings about his own invisibility. Mr. Cellophane shoulda been my name … The words churned up the tune in Willie’s mind.

Around him cameramen worked the large, commercial video cameras. In a room down the hall a director gave commands to the technicians over headsets while recording everything the cameras saw. The middle camera—camera two—was attached to a small boom and began to rise slowly until camera and operator hovered ten feet above the floor of the private studio.

A man who had yet to see thirty summers raised three fingers and wiggled them at the woman seated on a high-backed white throne with gold trim. Potted trees framed her seat, and plush cobalt blue carpet covered the dais. Tiny lights like fireflies sparkled on the serene, ocean background rear-projected on a screen. The flickers came from a cheap disco ball hanging overhead.

The rest of the studio held nothing but darkness and the discards from previous sets. Willie felt more connected to the detritus than to the stunning woman who sat upon the throne and stared through unblinking eyes at things only she could see.

Willie had seen every taping and live show over the last ten years. Every year, more people tuned in. Every year his wife grew more lovely and popular. He should be happy.

He wasn’t.

His discontent wormed another inch into his soul, spreading tiny barbs to anchor its position should Willie come to his senses and decide to give up the doormat lifestyle. There wasn’t much chance of that.

Returning his attention to the woman on the throne, Willie forced himself to listen. These days it was an act of supreme will.

Her body was rigid, eyes wide, and head tilted a few degrees to the left as if someone were pouring information in her right ear.

"A new chasm threatens to divide the cosmic personhood, to rend it as one tears an old cloth…the dangers of the chasm are real. The enemy approaches. Already several worlds have given in to its greed, have sipped from its fountains of lies and been drugged into compliance…Earth residents are warned. Love and hope alone can prevent this encroachment. Belief in the eternal good that is in everyone is the only power that can keep your planet from falling into the abyss.

"Be seekers of truth, searchers of honesty. Beware the false teachers with their fancy churches and promises that can never be fulfilled. Beware and be warned. The future belongs only to those who listen to the voices of the Cosmic Council. All others are pretenders, and pretenders earn their own punishment. But you are a different breed. You are an evolutionary step beyond the others. You are true believers, the ones who can send the dark, starless abyss back to its evil beginnings.

Listen to us who have gone before you, we who have lived countless centuries and seen all. Accept our love and guidance. Follow our anointed one. The future of your world and countless others…countless others…countless… Her voice faded and her head wagged from shoulder to shoulder.

…countless other worlds depend on you.

With the last words, Shirley Lennox, known to the world as Mary-Martha Celestine, ceased speaking, and her head dropped forward as if she had fallen fast asleep. No one moved. Movement wasn’t needed. They had all seen it before. Without looking, Willie knew camera two was pushing a close-up as the boom operator lowered it to the floor again as if whoever was speaking through the woman on the throne descended to the humble earth.

Slowly, as if her skull were made of concrete, Mary-Martha raised her head and stared into the glass eye of the camera. Our… She swallowed hard. Our celestial brothers have brought this message to you through me, their humble servant. We must be wise and listen to their warnings, heed their words. Nothing less than our world and countless other worlds depend on your faithfulness. That’s why we at Sanctuary so need your continued support. We are only as strong as our worldwide ministers. Your positive thoughts and financial support allow us to take the message throughout this tired world, bringing hope to the hopeless and moving the human race farther along the road of evolution—

Willie stopped listening. He saw the financial books; he knew the figures. The Church of New Revelation was flush…very flush. And that referred only to the money the IRS knew about.

The floor director held up ten fingers and began lowering one with each tick of the second hand.

Remember, your positive thoughts make a world of difference. Until next time, may the power of the universe be yours in every area of your life.

The red light on camera two blinked out.

And we’re clear, the floor director said.

Mary-Martha stood and stretched. Can’t someone get better padding on this chair? My back is killing me.

I’ll see to it, the floor director answered.

Thanks. Mary-Martha descended the five steps from the raised platform to the studio floor.

We’ll be on tape for the rest of the program. We have the interview you did earlier this week.

Willie met her as she stepped from the last tread. They married straight out of college, and Willie thanked the stars a thousand times that the ebony-haired beauty with hazel eyes had agreed to a lifetime with him. Most days, that lifetime seemed a life sentence, but when she leaned forward and kissed his cheek, he felt as he did when a smitten junior at the University of California at Riverside. That was over fifteen years ago.

A wonderful performance. He regretted the words before the last syllable escaped his lips.

The space between the two iced over. How many times do I have to tell you not to call it a performance? She lowered her voice. Especially when others are around.

They already know, Shirley. These guys are the insiders. You can’t fool them for long. I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m a little under the weather and not at my best.

You’re sick? She took a half step back.

No, just a headache. It’ll pass. Maybe some dinner will help.

She shook her head. You go ahead. I want to look over the books. The month is about to close out. She walked away from the set. Willie stayed in tow.

He would eat alone again tonight.

ONE OF THE GREAT THINGS ABOUT BEING A FILM STUDENT at UCLA, Ray Tickner thought, was all the movies he got to watch without guilt. If a man had to have homework, then movie watching made the best kind. Tonight, however, he made no pretense about watching a flick for class. He had come to the High Manor Multiplex Theater to spend time with Jocelyn Spencer, a twenty-one-year-old theater student. Blonde bouncy hair, large eyes, full lips, and skin as smooth as polished marble had caused scores of male students to pull a muscle in their necks when she walked by. If Ray hadn’t decided as a child to be a movie director, he’d switch majors just to create a film for Jocelyn.

This isn’t going to be a guts-and-gore movie, is it? When she spoke, Ray was certain any birds that heard her would swear off singing.

Not really. There is some intense action and violence, but it’s worth seeing. They stepped from the concession stand and started for the theater in the multiplex that played Danger’s Street. Ray juggled a large soda, bag of popcorn, and a package of Twizzlers. He also had a coat draped over his arm.

Why? She held a medium diet soda.

"Why do I want to see this? Two reasons. First, it stars Thom Blake. He’s one of the fastest-rising leading men in this decade. The ladies love him for his looks, but I like him because he’s a good actor—scratch that, he’s a great actor."

And the second reason?

They passed through the art deco style double doors and into the theater. The place had begun to fill. Ray hated crowded theaters. He preferred the Monday crowd. On several occasions he had been one of two or three in the theater. Perfect viewing.

Mitchell Tabor was the DP. I think he’s the best in the business.

What’s a DP?

Ray smiled to choke down a sigh. Jocelyn might be the most beautiful woman on campus, but she was not the brightest light in the projector. She knew little of movies, stating the Broadway stage was her calling. There had always been a dichotomy between those who loved the legitimate stage and those who preferred movies and television. All Ray cared about was telling stories. He chose film, but he appreciated the other mediums.

DP is shorthand for director of photography. He’s the guy responsible for the camera work. The director tells him what he wants; the DP uses his skill to make it happen.

Oh. Sounds interesting. The words would have been more believable if she hadn’t yawned immediately after speaking them.

They found a pair of seats dead center and two rows from the back. In theaters with stadium seating, Ray liked to sit where his eyes were level with the middle of the screen.

Once seated, Ray offered his date some popcorn. She shook her head. Too much starch, and the artificial butter gives me skin problems.

Ah. He shoveled a handful of the treat into his mouth. Directors didn’t have to worry about such things as skin conditions.

Don’t tell anyone, but I have a copy of the script.

Jocelyn furrowed her brow. You have the script? Isn’t that supposed to be, like, secret or something?

Yeah, it’s, like, secret.

How did you get it?

Ray smiled. I know a guy who knows a guy. He offered nothing more.

The lights dimmed, and after six trailers advertising upcoming movies, the film started.

Once the theater was dark, Ray removed a small video camera from his coat pocket and pointed it at the screen. Fortunately, no one sat to his right. He set the camera on the armrest.

Thom Blake looked good and delivered a great rendition of a drug-addicted FBI agent, sympathetic yet unforgivable. When his partner died in a shoot-out, a death that Blake’s character could have prevented, Thom delivered a heartrending scene of remorse. Ray blinked back tears. It wouldn’t do to get weepy on a date with Jocelyn. He stole a glance at her. Her eyes were dry and her expression broadcast boredom.

Oh, brother. An Arctic cod would be cuddlier. He refocused on the screen. Thom Blake had tears on his face, and Ray felt certain they were real and not something artificial from the makeup crew. Blake’s dark hair hung in his face, making him look like an orphan lost on the mean streets of Philly. The tears gave way to anger. Picking up his partner’s weapon and drawing his own, he rose and turned toward the small shop that harbored three thugs, thugs who shot and killed his friend. His intent was clear—he planned to walk into a hail of gunfire that would certainly kill him. For Blake’s character, it was the only means of redemption. With a 9mm Glock in each hand, Blake’s FBI character turned his back on the camera and started forward.

Ray leaned forward, waiting for the sacrificial moment that would seal the plot. He knew what would happen next. He hadn’t told Jocelyn this, but he saw the film last week. He planned to spend his time studying the DP’s approach to shooting the scenes but found himself caught up in the plot again. Blake was amazing.

One step. Two steps. Gunfire from the store. Muzzle flashes. Blake’s character didn’t flinch. He would make amends for the death of his partner—

Blake stopped. On the movie screen the action continued. The sounds of gunfire poured from the large theater speakers, but Blake had stopped moving.

What…? Ray leaned forward. This didn’t happen the last time he saw the film. Before, Blake let loose a blood-chilling scream and charged through a storm of bullets, his gun spitting bullets.

Instead, the screen character turned and faced the camera. Actors never faced the camera. It was the quickest way to break the illusion and short-circuit the audience’s suspended disbelief.

Yet there he was, America’s newest and biggest star at the age of twenty-eight breaking the most basic rule of filmmaking. And why had the director and film editor left the faux pas in the release version? Someone messed up big-time. The only thing Ray could figure was that this reel was from a blown shot but somehow made it off the editing room floor.

This is nuts—

Shush. I’m trying to watch the movie.

Sure, now you’re interested.

Ray studied the images. For just a moment, it looked unreal, like computer-generated animation.

Blake blinked, smiled, tilted his head, and then straightened. The smile flattened as he pursed his lips.

Time grows short. Look for the one I send you. He walks among you.

Blake turned, faced the action again, raised his guns, let out the blood-chilling scream Ray had heard the first time he saw the movie, and charged forward, bullets belching from the handguns.

A moment later, the character lay dying in the street.

The credits began to roll.

The lights came up, but no one in the jammed theater moved.

"What was that supposed

Reviews for Enoch

[kellyblackwell · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I had never read anything by Alton Gansky before reading Enoch, but after reading Enoch, you can be sure I will read more by Alton Gansky. Enoch is an incredible story that takes you on a walk with a messenger. You will witness and experience many emotions and many events from the best of the best and the worst of the worst.You will meet Henick who is almost single-minded in going where God leads him and doing His will. At times it is painful to his new traveling companion Eddie who cannot understand the reasons behind God's will in some situations. It gave me a wonderful "YES!" moment with my own questions of God and what is really His will and His plan. Henick is faithful to his Lord and to delivering His message. There are those who would like to interfere with that message and purpose.Besides being a real page turner, Enoch made me think. What would I do if I met a stranger who was simple in his needs and kind. Seeing people respond to Henick was the first part of the story that made me think and made me want to act and react in love.Enoch was a very enjoyable read. There are thrilling moments and moments of eye-stinging emotion. Situations and beliefs were probed which caused me as a reader to think and ask my own questions. This book was engaging. I look forward to reading Alton Gansky's next novel "Angel" as well.

[dccab73 · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

This was my first experience reading Gansky. After reading some of the reviews from this book and his other books, I decided to buy it and was excited to get started. It was not but a few chapters into the book that I started to become bored with it. I felt the plot was unrealistic and very thin in detail. People are seeing messages in different forms of media, film, newspaper, radio, etc. and all they have on the case is one FBI agent and an FCC investigator???? Maybe I am over analyzing here but it just wasn't credible to me. If this were to occur today, especially post 9/11, I know there would be mass hysteria and a boat load of investigators working on the phenomenon, not just two. I know this is Christian fiction, but it has to be somewhat credible to be enjoyable. While I am reading a book I want to connect with the characters and especially the plot, not thinking to myself this is not credible. I was just plain bored and had to force myself to finish the book hoping for some hidden redemption. It never came!